Harvesting Wisdom Blog Series – Week 3

Autumn has a way of making me reflective. Maybe it’s the golden light in the late afternoons, or the scent of leaves turning crisp underfoot. Maybe it’s the way the fields around me—bare in spots, full in others—remind me that not all growth looks the same. Some crops come easy. Others struggle but still bear fruit.

And then there’s what happens when the harvest is over: the leftovers, the scraps, the compost. At first glance, it looks like waste. But given time, those discarded bits turn into the richest soil for the next season.

It struck me recently—our hardest years work the same way.

The Years That Felt Like Loss

There are chapters in life that feel stripped bare. For me, some of those were the years I lost people I loved, years when betrayal shook my marriage, and the years when caring for aging family pulled more from me than I thought I had to give.

In the middle of those seasons, I didn’t feel wise. I didn’t feel strong. I felt undone.

Maybe you’ve had seasons like that too—when grief emptied the color from your days, or change swept away the ground under your feet. You might have wondered, What good could possibly come from this?

At the time, it looks like barren fields. Nothing left to gather. Only loss.

Compost for the Soul

But here’s the surprising truth: with time, those stripped seasons become the compost of our lives.

What looks like waste becomes fertile soil.
What feels like the end becomes the beginning of something new.
What we thought would break us becomes the richness that sustains us.

I didn’t know it then, but the years I spent walking through loss were quietly teaching me things I carry now:

• Compassion for others’ pain, because I know what it’s like to hurt.

• Boundaries, because I learned that giving everything away left me empty.

• Courage, because facing heartbreak and still choosing to move forward taught me I could survive more than I thought.

Those hard years were making me rich in ways that only hindsight could reveal.

A Story From the Camino

A couple years ago, I walked part of the Camino de Santiago in Spain—a centuries-old pilgrimage. The trail winds through vineyards, villages, and farmland. Pilgrims carry what they need on their backs, step after step.

What struck me wasn’t just the beauty of the journey, but the resilience of the land itself. There were stretches where vineyards had clearly been pruned back hard. At first, the vines looked almost lifeless. But the locals explained: That’s how they grow stronger. That’s how they produce the richest grapes.

I carried that lesson home with me. Sometimes life cuts us back, strips us down, leaves us looking bare. But what feels like loss can, with time, become the very source of our richest fruit.

The Coaching Lens

When I coach women in midlife, I often remind them: wisdom isn’t usually learned in the easy years. The easy years give us joy and rest—and we need those desperately—but it’s the hard years that deepen our roots.

Think about it:

• The year you held it together for your kids while your own heart was breaking—wisdom.

• The year you said goodbye to a loved one—wisdom.

• The year you finally set a boundary, even though your voice shook—wisdom.

It doesn’t mean those years were good. They were painful, unfair, sometimes downright devastating. But they added depth, resilience, and strength you may not have gained any other way.

That’s the hidden richness of the hard years: they compost into wisdom, fueling the next season of your life.

A Gentle Reframe

Instead of asking, Why did this happen to me? (a question we all ask, and rightly so), try this reframe:

“What richness has grown in me because of what I’ve lived through?”

This isn’t about minimizing your pain. It’s about noticing what has quietly been created in the soil of your life.

Reflection Prompt

Take 10 minutes this week with your journal. Write about one of your hardest seasons. Then ask yourself:

• What qualities in me grew stronger because of that time?

• What do I carry now that I wouldn’t have if not for that experience?

You may find that pain planted seeds you’re only now ready to harvest.

Carrying It Together

If you’re reading this and thinking, But I don’t see any richness yet, please know this: sometimes the compost is still breaking down. Wisdom takes time. Your story isn’t finished, and what feels like waste today may become fertile ground for tomorrow.

That’s why community matters so much. When we can’t see our own growth, others can remind us of what’s already sprouting. If you need that reminder, I’d love to welcome you into the Midlife Surprise Society—our free community where women gather to share stories, strength, and yes, even the hidden richness of the hard years.

Closing Thought

Autumn teaches us that beauty and loss walk side by side. The leaves fall even as the harvest is gathered. The fields look bare even as the soil grows richer underneath.

The same is true for us.

The hardest years of your life may not look fruitful on the surface. But deep down, in ways you may not yet see, they are creating the richest soil for what comes next.