ABL #2: A topiary of tension

Reframing intrusive thoughts through gardening

If the past few weeks have felt like … a LOT … I’d like to report that it’s not just you.

The news cycle is horrifying and relentless. The world is burning, so both the trees and everybody’s allergies bloomed earlier than usual. I started a new job, but not before my inner critic got loud again. That freakin’ guy left the door wide open for the external critics to join us, and wouldn’t you know it, they were loud, too! I had a midday meltdown on the phone with my best friend, Hattie. I had a panic attack watching TV (if you are claustrophobic, the Jeremy Renner 60 Minutes is not for you). I dreamt that my cat ran away, that my family members were injured, and that I had a rash on my palm.

To cope, I’ve leaned hard on the anti-burnout tools and practices that usually help at times like these: regularly journaling for 3+ pages, taking myself on long, unplugged walks, reviewing my notes from the boundaries workshop I took in 2021, and intentionally connecting with specific friends to talk through different stressors.

Recently, Hattie reminded me of another tool, the guided activity journal she gave me for Christmas to combat “bad days, sad days, and stark-raving mad days.” I opened it to a random page.

“Coloring break! TOPIARY GARDEN OF TENSION,” the page read. “Show us your panic level by coloring the topiaries.”

Did I doubt that coloring in some doodles would really solve this particular stressful situation? Absolutely. But gardening and stress management is such a Chloe combo that I took it as a sign and got out my crayons anyway.

I scrawled big loops of dark green sadness through the financial tree and added some yellow swirls of fury. Then I started on the ivy winding its way up the trunk. I was diligently filling it in with light green (for worry, according to the printed legend) when I noticed that same ivy snaking intrusively up every single topiary.

Here’s the thing about English or Common Ivy: It will grow anywhere. It survives in USDA hardiness zones 4 (Maine, Montana) through 13 (Hawaii, Puerto Rico) and is an aggressive, even invasive grower. Its aerial roots latch onto rocks and trees and buildings, prying them open and swallowing them up.

It grows best in partial to full shade and provides dense coverage, leaving little room for anything else. It’s a perennial evergreen, so it never goes to seed or dormant. And it’s toxic to ingest.

With that worry-colored crayon in my hand, I had an epiphany: All of the anxiety, anger, resentment, hurt, and negative self-talk swirling around in my head … were just ivy.

Like ivy, my inner-critic intrusive thoughts thrive in full shade, because few if any can hold up to the light of serious scrutiny. They’re perennial evergreens, always there and always growing. Unchecked, they choke out anything good trying to grow too near, and if I let them — if I focus on them for too long, or if I give them too much of my energy — they start to take over everything.

As I tell customers at the plant nursery where I work part-time, vines need the support of structure and boundaries. They’ll grow wherever you tell them to, but if you don’t tell them where to grow, they’ll grow wherever they want.

This metaphor is especially poignant for me this spring. My fiancé Josh and I are getting married in June at his grandmother’s property, which is covered in that same ivy. I’ve been over there several times in the past month, ripping vines straight from the ground to clear the overgrown pathways. It’s not backbreaking work, but it is painstaking to trace each vine to its breaking point in the treeline. After an hour of tearing out ivy, I had only a pile of denuded vines and a ruffled carpet of matted pine needles to show for it.

And the ivy isn’t the only one who’s overstepping. As I colored, I also realized that most of these creeping, choking intrusive thoughts stemmed from a seething resentment over boundaries I felt had been crossed. Boundaries I hadn’t actually communicated with anyone in the first place. (Cue even more shitty feelings about how, because I failed to communicate, I don’t even have a right to feel the way I do about it!)

What is topiary if not an aggressive setting and maintaining of boundaries? You can’t prune a plant once and expect it to stay that way forever. Trees grow, pushing against that boundary till a rogue branch stretches too far.

But boundaries have consequences when crossed. For a topiary, it’s as severe as having that branch cut off — which is a good reminder that cutting off access is an option available to you as well.

Here’s another thing about ivy: It’s a background plant.

It’s never supposed to be the focal point. Nobody visits an arboretum for the ivy.

You are allowed to rip that shit out and burn it. But if you don’t get it by the root, it will grow back. If you don’t address the source of these intrusive thoughts — You have no right to ask for this level of time, attention, and care from so many people; Everyone’s talking behind your back about how much they hate your ideas; People only tolerate you out of obligation — then they’ll keep coming back to choke out whatever positive thinking du jour you’re trying to grow.

I’m still digging for those roots. And I still haven’t pruned the topiaries, because I want to set firm boundaries without cutting the people I love. When it comes to gardening, my style has always been more natural than manicured.

It’s all just ivy. And there’s a lot of growing season left.

Coming Up

I promised you I’d share some reading notes this month from my advance reader copy of The Good Enough Job: Reclaiming Life From Work, coming May 23 from Portfolio Books. You’re actually going to get those notes next month because last week I had the exciting opportunity to interview the author, Simone Stolzoff!

I’ll be sharing some of our conversation with you on launch day, May 23 — be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss it. Paid subscribers will also get my top highlights and marginalia from the book.

Preorder The Good Enough Job through the Anti-Burnout Bookshop.