Pruning Sheers and Seed Packets

Two Approaches to Peer Support

Peer support is like the way my wife and I interact with our yard in Nashville. We're more than halfway into Spring and two things are happening . I'm constantly trimming, cutting, pushing back on nature, killing weeds, sawing, spraying, riding a noisy smelly machine just to keep the grass at bay. She's constantly inviting in. The four groundhogs get carrots and broccoli, the birds—a variety of seeds, the squirrels—peanuts and bread scraps, the foxes—meat sticks and eggs, the possums—cat food, the raccoons act like little bandits grabbing whatever they can, and the deer aren't shy about biting the bloom off flowers.

My work in the yard is to set boundaries, make decisions about what I allow in and how much, where to draw lines. I work tirelessly, push back, nurture selectively, use the right tools for each job, and try to consider the big picture. Kim's is to celebrate life in all of its diversity—to feed the creatures for the sheer pleasure of giving. It requires no earning on the part of the animals. She celebrates their growth: fifteen house wrens on the front porch this spring, a fox with two pups, a mom with baby groundhogs.

But she gets carried away. Like when she created so much "invitation" a couple of years ago that skunks dug in under our patio, taking months to finally chase away.

In peer support, I see both of us everywhere.

There are peer supporters who work like I do in the yard. They help people set boundaries, make decisions about what to allow in their lives and how much. They're willing to push back against destructive patterns, help people use the right tools for their situation, and keep the big picture in mind. They know that sometimes growth requires cutting away what isn't serving, even when it's hard.

Then there are those who work like Kim. They celebrate people for exactly who they are, right now. They offer support freely, without requiring anyone to "earn" it first. They see beauty in every person's journey and genuinely delight in small signs of growth—someone showing up to group for the third week in a row, a person speaking up for the first time, someone trying something new.

Both approaches can transform lives. The boundary-setters help people reclaim their space and energy. The celebrators help people remember their worth and possibility.

But like our yard, both can get carried away. I've seen peer supporters become so focused on what needs fixing that they forget to celebrate what's already growing. And I've known others so committed to unconditional acceptance that they've enabled situations that ended up harming the very people they wanted to help—their own version of skunks under the patio.

The magic happens when we learn from each other. When Kim sees the skunks have become a real problem, she doesn't abandon her generous spirit—she just gets more thoughtful about how she expresses it. When I see those fifteen baby wrens thriving because of her care, I remember that sometimes the most important work is simply making space for life to flourish.

Maybe the best peer support holds both: the wisdom to know when to set a boundary and when to offer grace, when to challenge and when to celebrate, when to provide tools and when to simply witness. Maybe it's less about choosing between the approaches and more about learning to move fluidly between them, reading what each moment requires.

After all, the most beautiful gardens—and the most healing relationships—seem to need both the pruning shears and the seed packets, both the careful tending and the wild invitation to grow.

Ben Overby