07/15/2026
A little over two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Los Angeles for the annual Postpartum Support International conference. It was my first time visiting the city, and I was excited to explore somewhere new while also attending advanced trainings and seminars to help me better serve the clients I have the privilege of holding space for every day.
The trainings were impactful. My notebook is overflowing with ideas, research to dive into, book recommendations, and pages of notes that will undoubtedly shape my work.
But the thing I can’t stop thinking about had nothing to do with the conference.
One evening after dinner, we decided to walk around and explore. As mentally tired as I was after a full day of learning, I wanted to soak in as much of this new place as I could.
That’s when I saw it.
From across the street, I couldn’t quite tell what I was looking at. As I got closer, I realized it was a tree covered in hundreds of tiny white tags, each with a handwritten message.
A wishing tree.
I spent a long time reading as many wishes as I could. They were written in different languages by people of all ages. Some wishes were wonderfully simple: a new puppy, their favorite team winning the World Cup. Others carried the weight of someone’s heart: healing for a loved one, peace in the world, love, understanding, hope.
Standing there, I was struck by something so beautifully human.
No matter where we come from, what language we speak, or what we’ve lived through, we all long for many of the same things. We all want to be loved. To belong. To feel safe. To heal. To find peace. To hope for something better.
If I had added my own wishes to the tree, they might have been these:
I wish for self-acceptance and self-love for every little girl who has ever been made to believe she was “too much.”
I wish for a world filled with more curiosity and less criticism.
I wish for a world that makes more room for thoughtful, meaningful questions instead of expecting everyone to have all the answers.
I wish for a world where people feel less pressure to measure their worth by productivity or success and more freedom to laugh, play, rest, and simply be.
For a moment, that tree reminded me that beneath all of our differences, our hopes connect us.
So I’ll leave you with the same question I’ve been asking myself…
If you could hang one wish on the wishing tree, what would it be?