Editor’s Note: This post is a part of the forthcoming Special Issue of Kindred Magazine celebrating the Mother of Medicine for Mother’s Day 2025. Kindred welcomes Stephanie Mines, PhD, as guest editor for this issue.
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For this Mother’s Day, maternal mental health ecotherapist and author Dr. Allie Davis offers a moving reflection. She explores how caregiving, ecological connection—and personal transformation—are deeply intertwined. Adapted from her forthcoming book The Mother Tree Method: Reconnecting Mothers to Their True Nature, this piece invites us to reimagine motherhood not as an act of depletion, but of rooted resilience and reciprocal care.
Motherhood awakens us to the complex growth that defines our humanity—the same spark of life that animates the natural world and sustains ecosystems through daily acts of care. While awareness of ecological crisis can feel overwhelming, it is not merely a burden. It is also a call to action.
The first time I saw my Mother Tree, a weathered juniper standing alone on a scorched grassy ridge, her resilience captivated me. Her rough, peeling bark bore the marks of countless seasons, and her twisted limbs told a story of enduring harsh weather. She wasn’t the tallest or the most conventionally beautiful tree, but she stood steadfast—a quiet, unwavering presence against the elements.
I didn’t fully understand why I felt so drawn to her at the time. Over the months and years that followed, I returned to her repeatedly, seeking solace in her presence. This juniper became more than a symbol; she became a guide, reshaping how I saw myself and my place in the world. Her quiet strength mirrored my journey through motherhood, teaching me how to hold steady through life’s storms, adapt to scarcity, and nurture growth in unlikely conditions.
The landscapes we inhabit shape us, often in ways we don’t immediately realize. My bond with this solitary juniper awakened in me a sense of ecological belonging—a recognition that we are not separate from the natural world but an integral part of its systems of care, reciprocity, and regeneration. This realization marked the beginning of a profound transformation, reshaping not only how I mothered but also how I understood my place within the larger web of life.
When I became a mother, abstract questions about care, connection, and the systems shaping our lives took on profound personal significance. This transformation—known as matrescence—is a developmental process akin to adolescence, marked by profound shifts in identity, relationships, and worldview.
As I navigated this stage, I sensed that matrescence awakened a deeper belonging—to my family and the Earth. I later understood this as my ecological identity: a lived, felt sense of interconnection with the Earth. These realizations formed the foundation for maternal ecopsychology, a framework I developed to explore the intersection of maternal identity and ecological belonging.
At its core, maternal ecopsychology asks: What does it mean to mother in relationship with the Earth? How can ecological awareness transform how we care, live, and grow?
For many mothers, caregiving brings heightened awareness of how children’s futures are intertwined with the wellbeing of the natural world. Researchers call this the inheritance
factor: the recognition that our actions today shape the lives of future generations. This awareness, while deeply unsettling at times, can catalyze transformation.
Nature, our first caregiver, mirrors the resilience, interdependence, and care required in mothering. These moments—walking in a forest, breathing in the scent of a flower— remind us that growth is not solitary, but emerges from relationships rooted in reciprocity. The same forces that strip forests bare also silence caregivers. Both forms of exploitation—of mothers and the Earth—prioritize extraction over connection. They diminish our ecological imagination, our ability to envision relationships built on mutuality and belonging. Yet the Earth, like mothers, resists. Life persists even under the harshest conditions.
During my journey through matrescence, the juniper tree became both a guide and a mirror. She offered quiet presence during sleepless nights and the relentless demands of caregiving. Through her, I learned that growth, though often painful, becomes possible when we are held with non-judgment, openness, and unwavering care.
The juniper thrived in conditions many would consider uninhabitable—poor soil, unyielding sun, and scarce water. Despite these challenges, she remained a source of abundance. Her berries nourished birds and animals. Her roots enriched the soil. Her presence created life-giving connections.
Through her, I learned that resilience is not about solitary endurance, but about interdependence—a shared flow of nourishment and support. A single meaningful connection, to a tree, a place, or another being, can ripple outward, reshaping how we care for ourselves, our communities, and the Earth.
In Mother Juniper, as I came to call her, I saw a profound reflection of motherhood. Like the juniper, mothers create the conditions for life to flourish, often in circumstances that feel less than ideal. We stabilize the ground, nourish others even when resources are scarce, and hold space for growth amidst adversity.
Motherhood awakens us to the complex growth that defines our humanity—the same spark of life that animates the natural world and sustains ecosystems through daily acts of care. While awareness of ecological crisis can feel overwhelming, it is not merely a burden. It is also a call to action.
What if we reframed this eco-distress not as a problem to solve but as a profound part of our developmental journey? What if motherhood became an invitation to live in alignment with the Earth’s cycles of care, renewal, and transformation?
Through my relationship with the juniper, I began to understand that I am part of the Earth’s story, an integral participant in its cycles of care and regeneration. The juniper’s lessons ripple outward, reminding us all that healing begins with presence, growth emerges through connection, and we are never alone in the work of care.