I have a feeling I’m not alone in sensing that the world feels heavy these days. The news cycle is relentless. Often, it’s a steady stream of injustice, corruption, and suffering. Politics feel like a battleground, and at times, it’s easy to let the weight of global crises seep into our bones. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, as if we’re being asked to carry more than we can possibly hold.
For many of us—especially those who care deeply, who are wired for empathy—this can bring an unsettling mix of emotions: anger, sorrow, fear, helplessness.
It’s a familiar experience in the therapy room. Clients often express a sense of powerlessness, feeling pulled between the enormity of the world’s problems and their own personal struggles. How do we make a difference in a world that feels so broken? How do we hold onto hope without being consumed by despair?
There’s a sentiment, often attributed to the Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield, that has stayed with me: “Tend to the part of the garden you can touch.” It’s deceptively simple, but it holds deep wisdom—one that speaks to both the limits of our control and the power we do have.
The Pain of Wanting to Fix Everything
Many of us carry a quiet (or not-so-quiet) belief that if we just cared enough, worked harder, or were better, we could fix what’s wrong. Maybe it comes from childhood—the sense that if we could just manage things perfectly, our caregivers wouldn’t be upset, the people around us wouldn’t be in pain. Maybe it comes from our culture, which prizes productivity and individual responsibility, making us feel like any problem we can’t solve is a failure on our part.
But the truth is, much of life exists outside of our control. We don’t get to single-handedly rewrite unjust laws, stop wars, or cure the suffering of those we love. No amount of worry or guilt will change that. And yet, when we take in the full scale of the world’s pain, we can feel paralyzed—caught between wanting to do something and feeling like nothing is enough.
Tending to the part of the garden you can touch is not about giving up. It’s not about turning away from injustice or retreating into apathy. It’s about finding where your energy is best spent, where your care can truly take root. It’s an invitation to focus on what is within reach.
Making Peace with Our Limits
There is grief in recognizing that we cannot heal everything we wish we could. Part of tending to the part of the garden we can touch means making peace with that reality—not in a way that diminishes our care, but in a way that allows us to direct it wisely.
For those of us who feel deeply, who carry a tendency to overextend, this is where boundaries come in. If we exhaust ourselves trying to carry burdens that aren’t ours alone to carry, we won’t have the capacity to tend to the people, causes, and moments that are actually within our reach.
When we are at or approaching our limit, it’s okay to rest. It’s okay to step back from the noise of the world for a moment, to reconnect with what is right in front of us. This is not avoidance. It’s sustenance. No garden can flourish under constant depletion.
The Power of Small, Meaningful Acts
In therapy, one of the most powerful shifts is recognizing that healing often happens in small, daily choices. The same is true when it comes to facing the steady stream of issues in the world. When we focus only on what we can’t control, we miss the profound impact of what we can.
You may not be able to fix a broken system overnight, but you can advocate for someone who needs support. You may not be able to take away a loved one’s pain, but you can sit with them in it. You may not be able to change the past, but you can be mindful of how you move through the present. All of these choices represent steps forward, and the incremental momentum they embody can carry us well beyond the sense of inertia that is so easy to feel when we’re frozen.
There is nothing insignificant about kindness, about showing up, about offering what you have. A single voice can comfort. A single act of care can shift someone’s day. A single moment of presence can remind someone that they are not alone. In many ways, tending to the part of the garden you can touch is an act of resistance—against cynicism, against despair, against the narrative that says, “If you can’t fix everything, why bother?” It is a refusal to let the magnitude of suffering keep us from the work of love and care.
A Practice of Presence
So, if we put our boots on the ground, what does it look like, in a practical sense, to tend to the part of the garden you can touch?
Start close in – What is one small way you can offer care today? Maybe it’s checking in on a friend, maybe it’s advocating for something in your community, maybe it’s simply pausing to offer yourself a moment of kindness.
Notice where your energy is going – Are you spending hours doomscrolling, feeling consumed by things you can’t control? What would shift if you redirected some of that energy inward? Could we sit with any fear or anger or sadness that shows up and listen to what it’s saying?
Honor the impact of small moments – The ripple effect of care is real. The smallest act of kindness, especially if it is offered with intention, can travel further than we ever know. Even a passive smile to a struggling stranger could tilt their day more toward the light.
Return to the present – When the weight of the world feels too much, come back to your breath and feel your feet on the ground. Whether it’s personal or collective, healing happens in the here and now.
The Garden as a Metaphor for Healing
In many ways, therapy is its own kind of garden-tending. It is a process of turning toward what is within reach, of tending to the wounds, patterns, and possibilities that shape our lives. Just as we cannot heal the world in one sweeping motion, we cannot transform ourselves overnight. But with care, with patience, with a willingness to be present with what is right here, change happens. Growth happens.
Comments