Why I Built the Wellness Profiles: From Recovery to Seeds of Hope

When I first started my Wellness Profiles, they were fairly basic. They were a place for me to collect information I was learning about health, nutrition, plants, and my own recovery.

But I have always had a natural curiosity. I keep asking one simple question:

Why?

Why does this happen? Why does one plant keep appearing in my research over another? Why would I grow one plant instead of another? Why are some recommended plants difficult or expensive to access where I live? And perhaps most importantly, what can I realistically grow in the limited space I have?

The more I learned, the more those questions changed everything.

Today, my Wellness Profiles and Plant Profiles continue to expand because my own understanding continues to expand. They have grown from personal notes into something much larger: a freely accessible collection of information intended to help people better understand practical options for their own health and wellness.

Where This Really Started

Long before my stroke, I enjoyed growing food.

I loved the taste of freshly grown tomatoes, beans, carrots, potatoes, basil, and other plants. At the time, I wasn't thinking about everything I think about today. I simply enjoyed growing plants and eating fresh food.

Living in an apartment created limitations, but I found ways to grow.

For a while, I was using an outdoor garden area. Then a neighbouring commercial property sprayed around its property. I was unable to determine exactly what had been sprayed, but it was clearly not vinegar, and plants in the areas directly affected began dying within days.

Some of what I was growing had also been exposed.

For me, that harvest was finished. I wasn't comfortable eating those plants.

All that time and effort suddenly felt wasted.

At the same time, I was hearing similar frustrations from people using community gardens. People could spend months caring for their plants only to have produce stolen or plants damaged.

That made me start thinking differently.

What if I could grow more of what I needed indoors, where I had greater control over the growing environment?

I bought a stainless-steel baker's rack and a couple of grow lights and set them up in the corner of my kitchen. It wasn't an expensive or elaborate system. My thinking was that, over time, the savings from producing some of our own food could help recover the initial cost.

I couldn't grow everything we needed, but I didn't need to.

Every little bit helped.

Questioning Where Our Food Comes From

I also started thinking more seriously about the journey our food takes before reaching us.

I had worked as a delivery truck driver and had personally seen chemicals used inside transportation environments. Combined with my concerns about pesticide use and other treatments throughout food production and distribution, those experiences made me want greater control over at least some of what I was eating.

I also noticed something much simpler:

The vegetables I grew often tasted different from what I bought at the grocery store.

That gave me another reason to keep learning and growing.

At the same time, I had already spent many years assisting people in need in my community. We began growing additional produce in backyards that could become part of those efforts.

It was another small change that could create benefits for someone else.

That idea remains at the centre of what I do today: creating practical acts of love and compassion for others.

For me, this isn't about religion.

I believe Love Is For Everyone, and I believe that Actions Speak Louder Than Words.

I want those beliefs reflected in what I actually do.

LIFE Community Project and the Pandemic

Before the pandemic, I was already thinking about what would eventually become my LIFE Transitional Housing vision.

Then the pandemic arrived, and almost everything changed.

Programs I had founded went from operating a few days each week to supporting people every day. When many support services suddenly closed, we began with approximately 50 lunches on the first day.

Within days, that had grown to around 250 lunches every day.

These were grassroots efforts supported through donations and volunteers. I had been laid off during the pandemic, which meant I suddenly had something extremely valuable to give:

Time.

I used it to support people who needed help.

Eventually, I partnered with others, and for more than a year we were helping provide free lunches, clothing, necessities, and other forms of support seven days a week through what became part of the LIFE Community Project.

Then I had my stroke.

And everything changed again.

When LIFE Community Project Collapsed

My stroke didn't only change my life.

It also exposed a major weakness in what I had built.

So much of the LIFE Community Project depended on my direct involvement that when I suddenly disappeared into the hospital, much of that activity could not continue.

Without my involvement, those activities ceased. The effort collapsed, and eventually the City closed down what remained of the operation.

That was difficult to watch, but it also taught me something that continues to influence how I rebuild today:

If something depends entirely on one person, it isn't sustainable.

I had spent years trying to build support for other people, but suddenly I wasn't the person providing the support anymore.

I was the person who needed it.

That experience dramatically changed how I understood the gaps in our support systems.

Before my stroke, I had listened to people tell me about barriers they faced. I had helped people struggling with food insecurity, poverty, housing, transportation, accessibility, and navigating different programs and services.

I understood many of those problems from the perspective of someone trying to help.

After my stroke, I began experiencing some of them from the other side.

I Became Someone Seeking Support

I spent 29 days in the hospital.

When I returned home, I needed oxygen and a walker. I could barely stand for any meaningful length of time. I had to relearn basic things, including walking and communicating.

For weeks after my stroke, I couldn't even remember my wife's name.

The person who had been helping run programs supporting hundreds of people suddenly needed help getting from a bed to a chair.

That changes your perspective.

I experienced barriers I had previously only understood through the experiences of others.

I was recovering from a major stroke, struggling financially, unable to work as I had before, dealing with serious physical limitations, and trying to navigate what support was actually available.

Then came another major challenge: open-heart surgery.

My experiences through the stroke, the long recovery, and eventually open-heart surgery dramatically changed how I viewed community support.

I saw gaps I hadn't fully understood before because now I was living inside those gaps.

There is a major difference between knowing that a system is difficult to navigate and depending on that system while you're exhausted, recovering, struggling financially, dealing with mobility or communication barriers, and simply trying to make it through another day.

I began to understand more deeply why someone might not complete an application, make it to an appointment, reach a food bank, follow complicated instructions, or access a program that technically exists.

A service being available does not automatically make that service accessible.

That distinction now influences almost everything I am rebuilding.

Starting Again

When I finally returned home from the hospital, most of my plants were dead or dying because there had been nobody available to care for them.

My wife would help me sit in front of the plants so I could work with them. I tried to save what I could, remove what couldn't be saved, and eventually begin planting again.

It might sound like a small thing, but at that point in my recovery, small things were enormous accomplishments.

Getting from the bed to the couch could exhaust me. Getting to a chair could mean needing a nap before I could do anything else.

But I kept going.

Day by day, I began rebuilding my strength.

And even during that long recovery, I was already thinking about rebuilding my programs.

I didn't know exactly what they would eventually become because my experiences were changing me.

I knew I wanted to rebuild.

But I also knew I couldn't simply rebuild everything exactly as it had been before.

I had learned too much.

When Notes Became Wellness Profiles

As I learned more about my recovery, nutrition became increasingly important to me. I was being encouraged to make healthier choices, but there was another reality:

We were struggling financially.

Being told what you should eat doesn't automatically mean you can afford it.

That distinction became extremely important to me.

I spent a tremendous amount of time watching educational material, reading, researching nutrition, learning about plants, and trying to understand what practical choices were actually available to me.

Then I realized something.

I already had some of the tools I needed.

I knew how to grow plants.

Growing some of my own nutrition could be relatively inexpensive. Caring for the plants also gave me something manageable to work on while I recovered.

But I had another challenge:

Memory.

I could learn something and then struggle to remember it later.

So I took notes.

Those notes grew.

And grew.

Eventually, those notes became what I now call my Wellness Profiles.

More than five years after my stroke, my memory continues to improve, although it has been a slow process. I still reference the Wellness Profiles myself.

They remain tools for my own learning while becoming resources I can freely share with others.

Why Certain Plants Keep Appearing

During the early part of this journey, I was trying to grow almost anything I discovered that might support my nutritional and wellness goals.

The problem was space.

How many plants could I possibly squeeze into an apartment?

Which plant should come next?

Which plants were actually worth dedicating limited growing space to?

As my research expanded, I began noticing something important.

The same plants kept appearing again and again.

One plant might contain several nutrients or compounds I was researching. It might have multiple practical uses while another plant offered fewer reasons for me to dedicate limited space to it.

That changed how I looked at indoor growing.

Instead of asking:

How many different plants can I grow?

I began asking:

How much practical value can I create from the plants I have room to grow?

That is a very different question.

It is also one reason my Wellness Profiles connect so closely with my Plant Profiles.

The more I understand what is actually contained in plants, their traditional uses, what research supports or does not yet establish, how they can be grown, and how they might be practically used, the better choices I can make.

Why Ontario Plants Matter to Me

Accessibility is also why I prioritize plants native to Ontario and Canada whenever practical, followed by other plants that are commonly available here or can be grown indoors year-round in small spaces.

I don't want to create a resource filled with examples that sound wonderful but are difficult, expensive, or unrealistic for the people I am trying to reach.

That is one of my frustrations with a lot of health and wellness advice.

People are told:

Eat healthier.

Buy organic.

Grow a garden.

Shop at local organic farms.

Those can all be worthwhile options, but they are not equally accessible to everyone.

What about the person living in a small apartment?

What about someone who doesn't have a backyard?

What about someone who cannot afford organic produce?

What about someone with mobility barriers?

What about someone struggling to afford groceries at all?

What about the person who technically qualifies for assistance but cannot physically get to where that assistance is provided?

My own recovery taught me that last question in a way I didn't fully understand before.

Telling someone what they should do without providing a realistic path for how they can do it doesn't remove the barrier.

I want to work on removing the barriers.

Rebuilding Differently

That is one of the biggest differences between what I was building before my stroke and what I am building now.

I am not simply rebuilding the old programs.

I am using everything I learned before my stroke and everything I experienced after it to build differently.

I know what it is like to provide support.

Now I also know what it is like to need support.

I know what it is like to be physically unable to do things that once seemed simple.

I know what it is like for money to be extremely tight while being told that healthier choices are important.

I know what it is like to have information available but struggle to remember it.

I know what it is like to depend on someone else just to accomplish something that once took almost no thought at all.

Those experiences changed how I think about accessibility, dignity, independence, and community support.

They also strengthened my belief that we need to create pathways that help people build greater independence where possible, rather than simply creating systems they remain permanently dependent upon.

That is why I keep looking for practical options.

Not perfect options.

Not expensive options.

Real options.

Knowledge Shouldn't Be Another Barrier

That is why my Wellness Profiles and Plant Profiles are freely available.

No paywall.

I had to spend years finding, comparing, organizing, and trying to understand this information for myself. Not everyone has the time, ability, interest, or circumstances to do that.

If I have already done the work, why wouldn't I share what I have learned?

My goal is not to tell people what they must do or suggest that plants can replace appropriate medical care.

My goal is to give people better access to information so they can understand their options, ask better questions, make informed choices, and discover practical ways of supporting their own health and wellness.

That thinking is also expanding into Cultivated Care: exploring useful products, skills, and activities connected to plants we can grow ourselves.

It all connects:

knowledge, growing, accessibility, practical skills, health, wellness, independence, dignity, and community.

From Wellness Profiles to Seeds of Hope

That brings me to where I am today.

I am preparing to launch Seeds of Hope, a series of in-person events centred around individual plants and what we can learn from them.

I have just completed my work around Sweet Basil, with Dandelion coming next. I have also been building resources around Sweetgrass, Mullein, Narrowleaf Plantain, and Broadleaf Plantain.

I already have seeds ready for future growing cycles.

But Seeds of Hope isn't simply about handing someone seeds.

The bigger question is:

What becomes possible from one seed?

Participants can learn about the plant, explore its nutritional and wellness potential, learn how to access seeds inexpensively or freely, and learn practical ways to grow in small spaces.

The goal is to make participation as close to free as realistically possible and to develop ways of helping people who genuinely cannot afford even those small costs.

Because accessibility has to mean more than saying:

Everyone is welcome.

We also need to ask:

Does everyone actually have a realistic opportunity to participate?

One Plant Can Become Much More

I am continuing to learn as well.

I am exploring how plants can become more than something we eat or drink.

I am learning about making cordage from plants. I am exploring basket-making and working with lavender and other plant materials. I am learning about practical activities that may also provide calming, creative, social, or wellness experiences.

A lavender basket, for example, isn't a cure for anxiety, nor should it be presented as one. But growing lavender, working with our hands, engaging our senses, creating something beautiful, or participating in a calming activity may offer some people a positive experience.

If an activity can help someone experience even a little less stress, create something they're proud of, spend time with others, or discover something they genuinely enjoy, that has value.

We don't have to solve someone's entire problem for an activity to be worthwhile.

Sometimes improving someone's day matters.

Sometimes learning one new skill matters.

Sometimes growing one plant matters.

And sometimes the person I teach will become far better at something than I ever will.

That is part of the beauty of sharing knowledge.

This Is Still Growing

My Wellness Profiles are not finished.

My Plant Profiles are not finished.

Cultivated Care is not finished.

Seeds of Hope is just beginning.

Neither am I.

Every plant I research teaches me something else. Every question leads to another question. Every growing cycle gives me another opportunity to observe, test, learn, and improve.

I am still recovering.

I am still learning.

I am still growing.

And I am still asking:

Why?

My stroke took away much of what I had built.

The LIFE Community Project collapsed without my involvement, and eventually those efforts came to an end.

But my stroke also gave me a perspective I never would have chosen to acquire.

I went from being the person providing support to being someone who needed support.

I experienced barriers from both sides.

I saw weaknesses in our support systems that I had previously understood only through the experiences of the people I was trying to help.

Today, those experiences are helping shape what I build next.

What I learned because I needed it for myself can now become something I freely share with someone else.

I cannot make anyone change their life. I cannot make someone grow a plant, eat differently, learn a new skill, or take greater interest in their health and wellness.

What I can do is create opportunities.

I can freely share knowledge.

I can help someone access seeds.

I can show how I grow plants in small spaces.

I can share what worked for me and what didn't.

I can continue researching and improving the Wellness Profiles.

I can build programs with accessibility in mind because I now have a much deeper understanding of what it means when something is technically available but practically inaccessible.

And I can create spaces where people who want the opportunity and are ready to try have somewhere to begin.

That is what all of this has grown into.

From a few plants in the corner of my kitchen, to notes I needed because I couldn't remember what I had learned, to Wellness Profiles, Plant Profiles, Cultivated Care, and now Seeds of Hope.

My experiences changed the direction, but they did not change the underlying purpose:

Create more opportunities. Remove more barriers. Share more knowledge. Build greater independence. And create more love and compassion for all.

One seed.

One plant.

One person.

One opportunity at a time.

That is how I believe meaningful change grows.

Love Is For Everyone.

And for me, love requires action.