Blooming in the Valleys
We don’t talk about the hard stuff enough — the valleys, the unraveling, the moments when quitting feels like the only option. But maybe if we did, we’d feel a little less alone in them.
We Need to Talk About the Hard Stuff
I don’t think we talk about the hard stuff enough.
The seasons in life that cut us deep. The days we truly consider quitting. The nights that unravel us. The moments when everything feels like too much. The ache of postpartum. The heartbreak of loss. The silent, internal battles we carry while the world keeps spinning around us.
There’s this quote I’ve stumbled upon more than once recently, and every time it hits me at my core:
"Becoming a mother leaves no woman as it found her. It unravels her and rebuilds her. It cracks her open, takes her to her edges. It's both beautiful and brutal; often at the same time."
— Nikki McCahon
Isn’t that the truth?
Motherhood has changed me — literally and figuratively. It has split me open in ways I never expected. But if I’m honest, I feel the same way about flower farming.
Because chasing a dream you’ve tucked deep into your soul for years — finally speaking it aloud, funding it, building it, giving your whole heart to it — is vulnerable work. It’s risky. And it’s exhausting. When you take that dream — the one you've kept safe and sacred in the corners of your heart — and you actually put it out into the world… that’s a vulnerable kind of brave.
Entrepreneurship can feel lonely and relentless. There are days I look around at my never-ending to-do list and wonder how I’ll keep going. I am a wife, a mother, a business owner, and a woman deeply committed to her faith. And some days, it just feels impossible to hold it all.
We don’t talk enough about those days.
We don’t talk about how starting over — after loss, after closing a chapter, after moving to a new place — can feel like losing your footing completely. Or how heavy it is to juggle a full-time career and family, especially in blended or complex families. We don’t talk about postpartum depression enough — how hard it is to ask for help and admit that we can’t do it all. And we definitely don’t talk enough about the feeling of trying to find your voice in a world that feels saturated with shouting.
But I want to talk about it.
Because I’ve been there. I am there. And I’ve wanted to quit more times than I can count.
The Work That’s Bigger Than Me
If I am being transparent… I’ve wanted to quit more times than I can count. Today was one of those days. The weight felt heavy — again. But I kept going, because this dream is more than just mine. It’s for my family. It’s for the people who receive flowers during their highest joys and their deepest sorrows. It’s for the women I hope to employ someday — survivors who need a second chance, just like I once did. It’s for the girl I used to be — the one who survived and refused to let her story stop at pain.
I carry that with me in the quiet mornings in the garden, in the busy harvest days, in the floral deliveries that brighten someone’s day. This is not just a business. It’s a ministry. A purpose. A piece of my soul made tangible.
This dream has carried me through grief, postpartum, marriage, motherhood. It’s tested me. Shaped me. Grown me. And it has reminded me — again and again — that fruit is grown in the valley.
“Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valleys.” — Billy Graham
The Reality Behind the Beauty
Flower farming is not for the faint of heart. It produces grit and perseverance like nothing else. This work is humbling. It asks everything of me — my body, my time, my heart. The long days, early mornings, heavy lifting, endless to-do lists that never stop growing, and the kind of effort that humbles you daily. It's the behind-the-scenes hustle no one sees.
I lost a few hundred tulips overnight. Gone in a blink. Because — somehow — a rabbit decided that the best place for its nest was in a 3-foot-high raised bed filled with tulips I’d been growing for months. It dug through hundreds of dollars worth of flowers to make a cozy home. And I had to just… pivot.
That’s flower farming. One long dance with Mother Nature — and she always leads.
Floods. Pests. Wind. Disease. Soil trials. Weather you can’t predict. Every season requires grit. And still, we keep going. Because hope grows here, too.
When You’re in a Room Full of Loud Voices
There’s another layer of this I don’t think we talk about enough: trying to find your voice in a room full of loud, often inauthentic, ones.
I heard this on a podcast recently and it stopped me in my tracks:
“The market is saturated with people doing what you’re doing — in a mediocre way.”
Oof. It hit me hard.
Because I pour everything into this— into me. I strive to be authentic in all that I do. To show up as myself, to be honest in my branding, to stay rooted in what feels real and meaningful. From the way I grow and harvest flowers to the way I interact with my customers and community — my heart is in it all. And in a world full of duplication and algorithms and constant comparison, staying true to yourself can feel… lonely.
But even so — I keep showing up.
I invest in myself daily. I strive to grow the best specialty cut flowers I possibly can — not just for the sake of business, but because my community deserves excellence. My florists deserve quality. My customers deserve care.
This dream wasn’t built overnight. And it wasn’t built on copying anyone. It was built from the ground up — literally — with heart, faith, and a whole lot of grit.
I’m learning that staying rooted in who you are — that’s where the real magic grows.
Marriage, Motherhood, and Mission
And while we’re being honest — marriage is hard, too.
Holding true to the holiness of marriage in a world that glorifies giving up isn’t easy. We fight to keep God at the center. We fight to model that for our kids — to teach them what covenant and grace look like. To raise them in a way that reflects faith, love, and truth.
This journey — of being a mom, a wife, an entrepreneur, a woman of faith — it’s so much bigger than myself.
And I’m learning that sometimes, the most sacred thing we can do is tell the truth about how hard it is.
The Man in the Arena
When we remodeled my home office a couple years ago, there was only one piece of artwork I had to have on the wall — and that was this:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles... The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood... who errs, who comes short again and again... but who does actually strive to do the deeds... so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
— Theodore Roosevelt
Yes. That. All of that.
Because this is the arena. And I’m in it. Dusty, scraped up, exhausted — but still here. Still showing up. Because at the end of the day, we are all in the arena — trying, failing, loving, creating, building. And it's in the valley where the fruit grows. It’s not easy. But it’s worthy.
So if today feels heavy for you, know this: you're not weak for feeling it. You're brave for staying. You are not alone. Let’s keep showing up for each other, keep daring greatly, and keep choosing to be real — even in a world of copies.
Let us be known not for how polished we looked at the mountaintop, but for how we endured, how we loved, and how we bloomed — in the valleys.
Let’s Be a Safe Place
If nothing else, I want this space — my corner of the internet — to be a safe one.
A place where someone can walk in, heart heavy, and say:
“This is hard.”
And be met with:
“I know. You’re not weak — you’re brave.”
Let’s be the people who talk about the valleys. Who meet others there. Who cry and pray and laugh through the tears. Who keep showing up when it would be easier to walk away.
Because the valleys? That’s where the fruit grows.
From Grit to Glory
I’ll end with this:
May we keep choosing authenticity, even when it’s lonely.
May we fix our eyes on the calling, not the copycats.
May we be women of grit, of grace, of growth.
May we tell the truth about our struggles and keep our faith rooted deep.
May we remember that we are going from glory to glory and strength to strength — even when we can’t yet see the mountaintop.
Because the mountaintop is for inspiration — but the valley is where we become.
PS:
If you’re walking through a valley right now, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear your story. Send me a message, leave a comment, or share this with someone who needs a reminder: You are seen. You are strong. And you are still blooming.
With gratitude & floral magic,
Alex Winans
founder & owner, Bede’s Blooms & Co.
