THE SECRET GARDEN
It starts quietly. Maybe you buy a basil plant at Trader Joe’s, feel a flutter of pride when it survives the week. Next thing you know, you’re rearranging your windowsill to give your rosemary more sun, muttering about root rot like it’s a relationship red flag. You're not planning a wedding or shopping for onesies—you’re Googling “best soil for heirloom tomatoes” at 2 a.m. Welcome to the not-so-secret fantasy life of the modern single woman: we want a house, yes—but more importantly, we want a garden.
Forget the Pinterest boards packed with ring shots and nursery mood boards. The single girl’s daydream now looks more like a raised bed of kale, lavender flourishing in terracotta, and a compost bin that sparks as much joy as a Cartier Love bracelet once did. This is not a drill. The girlies want to grow things—on purpose. And we’re not talking about succulents or those cursed fiddle leaf figs. No, we want actual gardens. With worms and weeds and full-on harvests.
For a generation of women who’ve been told to “have it all,” the quiet resistance is this: we want the land. We want to feel the dirt under our nails. We want to build something slow and steady, with roots. A garden symbolizes all the things we’ve learned to value most: growth, nurturing, resilience, and peace. It’s the anti-Instagram: no algorithm, no urgency, no performance—just soil, water, and a deep exhale.
today’s gardens are less about moral cautionary tales and more about literal sustainability—emotional, physical, financial.
In mythology and literature, gardens have always stood in for paradise, fertility, creation, and restoration. From Eve’s original (albeit doomed) Eden to Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden, this patch of earth has long been a place of renewal and feminine energy. But today’s gardens are less about moral cautionary tales and more about literal sustainability—emotional, physical, financial. The garden is where we grow what we want, in our own time. And maybe that’s why it hits so hard. In a world of burnout, breakups, and a baffling economy, a garden gives back. It feeds us, heals us, and never talks back. It grows because we tend to it. Unlike dating apps, it rewards consistency. Unlike work, it doesn’t demand perfection. Unlike society, it doesn’t ask when you’re getting married. A garden asks, simply, “Did you water me today?”
Single women are claiming land in a quiet revolution of rosemary and rhubarb. We are the fastest growing group of homeowners in the U.S., and we’re planting roots—literally. While some dream of diamonds, we dream of daikons. The data backs it up: millennials and Gen Z are reviving the age-old practice of gardening, especially in urban and suburban pockets. But this time, it’s not your grandmother’s pastime—it’s a form of resistance, healing, and self-sufficiency.
Gardens symbolize peace, and the process of gardening offers what few other things in life do: longevity. Studies have shown that people who garden regularly tend to live longer, healthier lives. The physical activity, the connection to nature, the sense of routine—it’s all basically therapy in a watering can. It grounds us (pun intended) in the present moment and reminds us that life isn’t always immediate, clickable, or instant. Some things require waiting. And some things are worth the wait.
What’s so sexy about a head of lettuce? Control. Autonomy. Freedom. A garden means you don’t have to depend on Whole Foods for herbs or on someone else to nourish your soul. It's you, the bees, the bees doing their thing, and the reward of snipping fresh mint for your evening tea or watching your sunflowers stretch toward the sky like they’re doing yoga in golden hour. It’s also, let’s be real, vibe maintenance. The aesthetics of a garden? Top tier. The scents? Divine. The personality? Grounded, chic, low-key witchy. Think of it as quiet luxury, but dirtier. Raised beds over red bottoms. Farmer’s market energy but in your own backyard. You’re not bragging—you’re blooming.
This shift isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. From Black women reclaiming ancestral practices of farming and herbalism, to TikTok’s cottagecore explosion, to wellness communities hawking adaptogenic herbs and edible flowers, the garden is having a glow-up. A humble one, but a glow-up nonetheless. We’re not just planting because it’s cute. We’re reconnecting to something ancient, something real, something that makes us feel less like content and more like a person. And here’s the truth no one really says out loud: tending to something, watching it grow, gives you a kind of hope you can’t get from swiping right. Whether it’s chives or cherry tomatoes, the act of planting says, “I believe there’s a tomorrow worth growing for.”
So no, we’re not desperate for rings or baby bumps. We’re dreaming of sunlit mornings in our backyard sanctuaries, harvesting basil and making pesto like it's a religious rite. We’re saying yes to compost and no to timelines. We’re embracing slowness, softness, and sustainability—in our hearts and our habitats. A garden is not a consolation prize. It is not what you do because you didn’t get married. It’s what you do because you know yourself. Because you love the earth. Because you’ve stopped waiting for someone else to build your dream life and started planting it, one seed at a time.
In the end, the garden is the partner: quiet, patient, generous, and always growing. And honestly? That’s the kind of love we’ve been looking for.