gratitude

A Gentle Journey Into Wellness: Not Just for Ourselves, But for Those We Love

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

We all see life a little differently, we experience life a little differently, but to share life in the differences, that is where real roots start.

Some believe youth is eternal, at least in spirit. We laugh like we’re still teenagers, move like we’ll never grow old, and expect tomorrow to look a lot like today. But age isn’t a thief—it’s a revealer. It shows us not just how our bodies change, but how our hearts grow, soften, and begin to wonder what kind of legacy we’re leaving behind.

For me, wellness has never been just about me. It’s been the quiet gift I’ve wanted to give my children—a kind of love that doesn’t take up space or ask for credit, but exists so they never have to feel burdened by my pain or limitations. I didn’t want their lives to revolve around caring for someone who didn’t care enough to tend to herself.

I’ve watched the ripple effect of carelessness, and I felt its frustration long before I could name it. Even as a child, I knew: how we take care of ourselves touches every person who loves us.

When I married, that devotion expanded. My husband deserves my best—not because I owe it, but because I want the time we have to be rich with presence and not shortened by preventable illness. I’ve been ridiculed and labeled for how deeply I care about health. Too radical, too extreme, or paradoxically, not enough. I’ve been laughed at, questioned endlessly, and just as often—I’ve been asked for every detail. What do you eat? What do you make? Can I do what you do? I’m the one they call when someone is sick, and my heart always wants to give the remedy.

But there is no remedy that works without a shift. There is no single tea or tincture that can override a life misaligned with wellness. Healing is a choice—a commitment to a path, not a pit stop. So I no longer pour my energy into quick fixes, because they’re not the true medicine. The real work begins when someone is ready to walk a different way—not just for a moment, but for a season, or even a lifetime.

I’ve come to see that what truly helps is not handing someone my answers, but gently guiding them toward their own. Otherwise, it becomes a cycle of reaching outward instead of inward. And I’ve learned that real healing happens when we offer people a way back to themselves, not just a list of what helped us.

I’ve spent my life learning, experimenting, creating, and healing myself through deep commitment—not bandages or shortcuts. I’ve walked beside my own child through leukemia—a child who was vibrant, healthy, never even had a cavity. Raised in a home as toxin-free as I knew to create. Why did he get sick? Why do some people suffer despite all their efforts? We may never know. The world is full of invisible battles—some we inherit, some we meet unexpectedly. And in between, we must still advocate for ourselves with heart and integrity.

I’ve seen our elders age in two different ways. Some stretch their arms in Pilates and laughter. Others sit in pain, immobilized by years of neglect—not always by choice, but often by habit. It isn’t always about what we ate or did. Even the cleanest foods from fifty years ago are now filled with artificial ingredients. The purity of the past is rare today. And longevity, now, feels like a quest to navigate invisible pollutants—emotional, physical, and environmental.

There is no single answer. No universal path. There is only your path—your way of thriving, your way of healing. And it’s meant to evolve.

We live in a time of information overload. AI, social media, quick tips, endless cures. Every day, someone new says, “This is it! This is the way!” But real wellness doesn’t come from a single scroll or a trending protocol. It comes from slowing down enough to know what your body, your heart, your soul is asking for.

Sometimes, it’s frustrating to watch adventures slow down because people you love can’t—or won’t—walk the same path. It’s not my decision. But still, it affects me. Because when you love people deeply, their limitations do touch your own.

And yet—I still have the ability and the right to grow. To move. To adventure. To thrive. The word no becomes as sacred as the right foods. Boundaries begin to feel like nutrients too.

How much of yourself do you give away, and how much do you honor? That, too, is as personal as your wellness practice. This is a time of deep growth. A time to ask:

How will I honor myself… while still honoring those I love who choose differently?

How can I walk in balance—not from judgment, but with wisdom born from resistance, grace, and truth?

How can I offer presence—not to fix, but to remind someone of their own power to choose again?

The Gift of Living Well

The path is walked

not out of fear,

but out of love—

for the moments yet to come,

and the ones that shaped the way.

Choices echo through time.

Laughter lingers longer

in bodies that are honored.

Presence deepens

when the vessel is well.

This is not about perfection,

but awareness—

of what lifts,

what lingers,

what truly lasts.

Even when others pause,

resist,

or travel a different trail,

respect can hold space

for every pace,

every rhythm.

Wellness is not a race

or a rigid rule—

it is the quiet joy

of rising each day

and choosing again.

To nourish.

To breathe.

To notice the beauty

in simple rituals—

morning light,

genuine connection,

the soft art of enough.

There is wisdom in planting trees

whose shade we may never sit beneath.

In sharing moments that outlast us—

stories, smiles, small gestures—

passed down like heirlooms,

etched into generations.

Slowing down is not delay,

but devotion—

a way of making room

for what speed may trample.

For in rushing past

what asks to be felt,

the lesson may loop back

to be lived again.

The life that is tended

grows differently

than the one that is chased.

And the more care takes root,

the more joy can rise—

not to fix the world,

but to greet it

with open hands

and a whole heart.

The Space Between Our Timing

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

Some things don’t arrive when we call for them.
Answers. Apologies. Understanding.
Sometimes, even love itself can feel like it’s running on a different clock.

And when you’re the one waiting, it can ache.
When you’re the one needing, it can stir a deeper awareness—
a noticing of how timing shapes everything.
And when you’re the one who can’t respond yet,
it can bring a quiet tension you don’t yet know how to name.

We don’t all meet life at the same tempo.
Some of us move fast—urgent to solve, to connect, to resolve.
Others need time, silence, space to feel their way forward.

But what happens in the pause between one person’s need and the other’s delay?

A whisper sneaks in:
“They don’t care.”
“They’re avoiding me.”
“This always happens.”
Something quiet begins to sharpen beneath the surface—
not rage, not cruelty—just the subtle weight of unmet timing.
An edge forms. And it cuts without anyone meaning to.

This obstacle can teach.
And it can take away.
It can open us to compassion
or close us in resentment.

The question becomes:
How do we meet each other with honor
when we’re out of rhythm?
How do we stay kind when we’re tired of holding the silence?
How do we not make their timing mean something about our worth?

Not every pause is punishment.
Not every delay is disregard.
But the stories we’ve lived may whisper otherwise.

It’s not just a language barrier—it’s a life barrier.
Different nervous systems.
Different stories.
Different shapes of presence and processing.

But if we can pause—not to press, not to fix,
but to see the other in their timing—
maybe we create a space where no one is wrong.

Maybe we say:
“I’m feeling the weight of waiting. I just need you to know.”
Or:
“I don’t have the words yet, but your heart matters to me.”

And just like that, we step out of the battle,
and into the bridge.

A Rhythm We Haven’t Learned Yet

Sometimes,
I wait for you
like the moon waits for the tide—
knowing it will come,
but not knowing when.

Sometimes,
you need space
like a mountain needs mist—
not to disappear,
but to breathe.

We move like dancers
to different songs,
feet aching
when we try to lead each other
through rhythms we haven’t learned yet.

But what if this is the music?

What if the space between us
isn’t a problem to solve,
but a sacred silence
where trust
and truth
begin to rise?

So I’ll stay present—
not in pause,
but in practice.
Not waiting to live,
but living in love
while the dance finds its shape.

Whether we meet in step
or drift apart like waves—
I am still whole
and still here.
Breathing. Becoming.
With or without the answer.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

What have you learned about your own rhythm—and how do you honor it while loving someone whose pace is different from yours?

The Antidote Is Within

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

There’s a kind of expansion that doesn’t look like more doing, more chasing, or more becoming.

It looks like shedding.

Softening.

Listening to what’s already been whispering inside for years.

People ask all the time—

What do you take?

What do you eat?

What do you think about this herb or that cleanse?

But the deeper truth is this:

The best health advice I can ever offer

Is to turn down the noise

And ask yourself…

How do you feel?

Are you rested or are you rushing on borrowed energy?

Do you move your body because it brings you life,

Or because you’re trying to fix what was never broken?

Do you fall into sleep like a prayer

or collapse into it like a last resort?

How much of your day is spent

in silence,

in breath,

in the untangling of thought from truth?

Do you scrub your skin like punishment

or like ceremony—

exfoliating the layers not just of yesterday’s dust,

but of the weight you’ve carried too long?

We hold the antidote inside.

Not in a bottle,

Not in someone else’s method or miracle,

But in our ability to return

to presence,

to rhythm,

to the quiet knowing we’ve always had.

There’s a lot out there telling us how to feel better,

how to do more,

how to chase a version of beauty that was never our own.

But what if we’re not meant to do more?

What if we’re meant to realign where we give our effort—

To stop over-performing in some areas

and under-nourishing others?

What if your wholeness doesn’t need to be earned,

only remembered?

We are not trends.

We are not opinions.

We are not before-and-after stories.

We are stories still being told,

and no one else gets to hold the pen.

Expansion is personal.

It begins with small choices that honor what’s real:

a breath,

a stretch,

a kind word to the mirror,

a walk without your phone,

a plate of vibrant food grown in soil, not manufactured in labs.

Play your instrument.

Take the trip.

Paint what you see in your dreams.

But do it because something inside you calls you forward—

not because an algorithm says you should.

You don’t need to change who you are.

You just need to come back to yourself.

And from there,

everything expands.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

The Waters We Come From

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Time didn’t take me, it grew me.”

~Kerri Elizabeth~

Time moves like water—fluid, steady, and often unnoticed until we stop to feel its depth.

One day, you’re raising four children under one roof. The next, you’re watching them raise their own—each carving their unique path through the landscape of life. Some close, some far, some seen only in spirit. You could never have imagined it all unfolding this way. At their age, the future felt like a myth. Now, I live it daily. Not by reaching for what’s ahead, but by anchoring myself fully in today.

As I sit quietly with a fresh breeze brushing across the lake, I’m reminded how water has always spoken to me. It’s been a teacher. A comforter. A mirror. From floods in childhood to moonlit swims and the scent of salt and minerals clinging to my skin—it all remains, floating in memory.

Each body of water holds a story. Each ripple, a reflection of growth, grief, grace.

Sitting atop a mountain, a lake looks small. But in it, it feels endless. Life is like that. From above, a season looks brief. From within, it can feel infinite.

I think of the nourishment the Earth offers us—the way the water heals, the soil grounds, the sun energizes, and the breeze renews. The wisdom of nature is a retreat for the soul, and a reminder that healing is not always something we do, but something we allow.

Where the Waters Teach

I am the parent,

of the parents,

once the child,

now the still shore.

Where water once rushed

through muddy childhood floods,

now it moves through

quiet lines on my face—

each one etched with memory.

Some children are near,

some carried by the wind,

and one

rides the current between realms.

I don’t reach forward anymore.

I dwell.

In birdsong.

In sunlight through cedar.

In the mineral kiss of the lake.

Time didn’t take me,

it grew me.

And here I float,

held by waters

that knew me before I knew myself.

The Waters We Come From

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Time didn’t take me, it grew me.”

~Kerri Elizabeth~

Time moves like water—fluid, steady, and often unnoticed until we stop to feel its depth.

One day, you’re raising four children under one roof. The next, you’re watching them raise their own—each carving their unique path through the landscape of life. Some close, some far, some seen only in spirit. You could never have imagined it all unfolding this way. At their age, the future felt like a myth. Now, I live it daily. Not by reaching for what’s ahead, but by anchoring myself fully in today.

As I sit quietly with a fresh breeze brushing across the lake, I’m reminded how water has always spoken to me. It’s been a teacher. A comforter. A mirror. From floods in childhood to moonlit swims and the scent of salt and minerals clinging to my skin—it all remains, floating in memory.

Each body of water holds a story. Each ripple, a reflection of growth, grief, grace.

Sitting atop a mountain, a lake looks small. But in it, it feels endless. Life is like that. From above, a season looks brief. From within, it can feel infinite.

I think of the nourishment the Earth offers us—the way the water heals, the soil grounds, the sun energizes, and the breeze renews. The wisdom of nature is a retreat for the soul, and a reminder that healing is not always something we do, but something we allow.

Where the Waters Teach

I am the parent,

of the parents,

once the child,

now the still shore.

Where water once rushed

through muddy childhood floods,

now it moves through

quiet lines on my face—

each one etched with memory.

Some children are near,

some carried by the wind,

and one

rides the current between realms.

I don’t reach forward anymore.

I dwell.

In birdsong.

In sunlight through cedar.

In the mineral kiss of the lake.

Time didn’t take me,

it grew me.

And here I float,

held by waters

that knew me before I knew myself.

What If We Had No Mirrors? A Reflection on Aging, Beauty, and Living Naturally

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

Yesterday, I saw myself in a way I hadn’t before. It was a sunny afternoon, and I was with my daughter—nearly 40 now, though I could still feel myself walking in her age. We were at a sprawling plant nursery, checking out with our treasures of green, when I looked up and caught a glimpse in a mirror near the counter.

There I was—me. But not the me I feel inside. Instead, a version touched by time, by sun, by the softness that aging brings. I stood there for a moment, surprised. Not saddened. Not shamed. Just… aware.

What If We Had No Mirrors?

It hit me: I’m almost 60. But I don’t believe in “aging” in the way society speaks of it. I believe in evolving. In learning. In living closer to the earth. I don’t wear makeup—not because I’m against it, but because I love the way nature feels on my skin. I love wind-swept hair, the kiss of sunshine, and the medicine of plants.

What would life be like if we had no mirrors?

If our reflection only came from rippling water, or from the way someone’s eyes lit up when we smiled? If we were reflected only by the kindness we gave, the presence we offered, and the energy we carried?

Would we worry so much about wrinkles or wild strands of hair? Would we still feel the need to cover, conceal, or enhance? Or would we simply be—unfiltered, untamed, and entirely enough?

Aging as Evolution, Not Decline

That moment reminded me: I want my reflection to be a thank you, not a judgment.

A recognition of how far I’ve come, of how deeply I’ve felt, and of how naturally I choose to live.

Mirrorless

Let the water be my mirror

Let the wind paint lines of grace

Let the sun write stories on my skin

And time slow down its pace

Let reflection come in ripples

Not in glass with harsh demands

Let me be revealed by presence

And not by culture’s hands

I’ll wear the earth with reverence

Let my wildness show through

For beauty is in living

And in living, I am true.

~ Kerri Elizabeth ~

Nature’s Wisdom: Finding Strength in Storms

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth
A view of a tall tree with a trunk in focus, showcasing bright green and yellow leaves at the top, set against a clear sky.

Growth takes a lifetime of strength through life’s storms, don’t miss a drop of rain or a ray of sunshine.

~Kerri Elizabeth~

Whisper to me your journey to the sky
Speak slowly so I can write them all
Share with me every rain drop you’ve felt
Every shiver in life’s storms that brings strength
As you stand protecting me

Strength through life’s storms creates resilience and endurance.
Share with me every ring you earned at your core
As you share, I’m listening
To the winds shuffling your leaves
The crackling among your branches
The dew among the grass sharing precious reflections
Nature will inspire you with growth
Where God so creatively painted all the answers

After enduring the challenges, you will feel sunshine often after gaining strength through life’s storms.

If you like this one, my hope is you will also like the one posted below:

There is where you’ll be

If you love music , this is a great song:

Emotional depth within sunflowers and the Roots of Perception

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Sunflowers seek the sun, yet their strength lies in their unseen roots. Depth isn’t just what we see—it’s what we feel.”

A close-up painting of a sunflower with vibrant yellow and white petals radiating from a dark center, symbolizing warmth and positivity.

Whether in a tree or a sunflower, with eyes closed or open, color there or gone, roots are the traveling wonder with emotional depth.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

Depth perception colored or not
Precision and emotion, traveling wonder
Emotions spill upon a silently colored moment
Stillness presents depth with or without the amazement of color
Can you see beyond your vision
Where depth is found by the distance a root grows
Surrender your vision to your heart, where emotional depth and perception truly intertwine
Where emotional depth perception sets you apart
How deep do your roots grow
Where are your roots and which way did they go
How deep have they grown
A tree does not say, this way
It is after the storms where depth is gained
It was in the heart where emotional depth perception remains

…………………..

If this poem resonated with you, you might also enjoy my links below:

Kerri-Elizabeth.com 

Pivot for Love
Separately Found While Always Connected

Here is an amazing read on Sunflowers facts…https://www.appleyardflowers.com/flowerdiaries/sunflower-facts/

The Priceless Love of Grandchildren

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth
Grandchildren are a wisdom and soul level of understanding that give a
new depth to love.

A lifetime of healing through a grandson’s heartfelt message

All drawn out from the heart

A grandsons interpretation

A gift for his Nina (me, his word for grandma)

Felt to my core

In detail he drew a journey

So close to my own

How would he know

He drew from his heart

A soul level child

A depth misinterpreted by emotion

I see as intuitive wisdom

He’s a gift with a message

Listen, he carries a heart key

A grandson’s heartfelt message can reach more than most will ever even see

The love of grandchildren

Each with a gift of sharing their heartfelt messages

Listen, more importantly, hear

Stand with their experiences

They teach at a depth

Unmatched

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

Grandbabies Make the World Go Round

Love in the Petals

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

Where your petals grow I want to go

What are you looking for

What moves you closer to the sun

Is there something more you know

Does the moon move you

Do you stare upon the stars

I want to know your secrets to growth

I want to sit with you on a windy day

Swaying to natures harmony

Your center sings a song

Your petals dance along

Together let’s be

Free to grow

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

This painting is headed to its new home.