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-

When the Heart Still Loves Through Silence

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

There are days when the silence feels louder than change.

There are days when the silence feels louder than change.

Not the silence of peace, but the kind that echoes with the absence of voices once etched into the rhythm of our lives.

Some of us were called to nurture long before we became parents—offering safety, presence, and a steady heart to those around us.

For many of us, devotion to family has been our life’s compass.

Not because it was perfect, but because love asked us to show up—again and again.

We built lives around togetherness.

Around movement and meaning.

There were no screens pulling us away from one another—

only open space to dance, to rollerblade through seasons, to bike through neighborhoods and trails,

to learn about health, connection, nature, and one another.

Daily life wasn’t something we rushed through—it was where we grew.

It was where we created lasting memories that lived in the simple things:

shared meals, big laughter, tearful lessons, and quiet prayers.

We’ve loved with everything we had—through joy, through change, and through the ache of evolving relationships.

Some of us walk with the sacred presence of a child whose physical form no longer walks beside us,

but who remains in every breath, every beam of light, every quiet knowing.

That kind of love doesn’t disappear—it transforms.

It lives in the wind, the water, the whisper of trees.

It shifts its shape but not its depth.

Love doesn’t always shield us from heartache.

And sometimes, those we’ve lifted and stood beside

no longer recognize the hands that helped them rise.

There are stories still held close to our hearts—

chapters not yet ready to be told.

Sacred truths remain tucked beneath the surface,

not out of fear, but out of wisdom.

Some changes are too tender to name aloud while still in motion.

But even in silence, there is strength.

Even when misunderstood, we choose to rise with integrity,

and stand for love, even when it is not returned.

There comes a point in our becoming when we realize—

this path is not about defending ourselves

or justifying our presence in someone else’s story.

It’s about remembering who we are

and staying aligned with what is true for us.

There may be times we are asked—silently or directly—

to explain our love, our choices, or our silence.

But growth doesn’t always ask for explanation.

It asks for honesty.

It asks for the courage to stay grounded

even when everything around us invites confusion.

Often, beneath what people show us

lives something deeper they may not yet know how to hold.

Some project their pain outward,

and in that, it becomes easy to forget what is ours

and what is not.

This is where discernment becomes a sacred act.

Where we learn to witness without absorbing.

To hold compassion without carrying the weight.

To be present without getting pulled into a storm that doesn’t belong to us.

We can allow others their experience

without interrupting it—

without taking it on as our own.

This is not detachment,

but respect.

Respect for our own path, and for theirs.

We are not here to carry what another soul is meant to walk through.

We are here to stay rooted in our own truth,

to rise in integrity,

and to trust that understanding unfolds in its own time.

To those who have been silenced,

erased, misunderstood—

You are not alone.

Your path is valid,

and your heart is still whole, even when it feels fractured.

You do not need permission to evolve.

You do not need recognition to be worthy.

And you never needed validation to keep loving from afar.

There is a space where transformation and tenderness coexist,

where the ache deepens our wisdom,

and where even in absence of understanding,

we choose growth.

Let others twist their stories.

Let them believe what they need to.

We—just keep walking in truth.

One day, the light that tried to be smothered

will burn so clearly through us,

no one will be able to deny that we endured

with grace,

with love,

and with a strength that can only be born through sacred change.

🌿 A final whisper…

We do not rise because it is easy.

We rise because love teaches us to keep standing—

even when no one is watching.

Even when we are forgotten.

Even when life shifts its form.

We rise because our story is not over.

And our light—

is still ours to carry.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

Becoming Me: From Movement to Meaning

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

There was a time when health meant how much I could do, how much I could carry, how long I could push before resting. I worked out with intensity, studied every herb, food, and method that could improve strength or reduce fat. The knowledge I gained was real, the discipline was real—but the peace was missing.

What I didn’t realize then was how much I was bypassing the essence of health: how I felt.
Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, soulfully.

I’ve always loved creating things by hand. Oils, salves, teas, tinctures, healing masks from spring water and clay, or wild herbs from trails I walked barefoot. Nature was always whispering truth—I just wasn’t still enough to fully listen.

While I still love fitness, clean food, herbal medicine, and conscious care for the body, I no longer confuse output with worth. I no longer miss the sacred moment just to be—to breathe, to rest, to listen.

I’ve learned that beauty is not just in appearance.
It’s in presence. It’s in the natural glow that comes from joy, peace, connection.
Rosing cheeks and clarity in the eyes can come from a moment in the sun, a homemade mask from riverbed mud, or laughter with someone you love.

I’ve also realized that listening deeply—especially to my children’s perspectives—requires that same presence. Each of my children experienced their childhood differently. Some of their stories don’t match mine. But I’ve learned to hear them, to honor their voices without needing to defend or reshape mine. That, too, is healing.

I no longer try to fix everything or keep everyone close.
Instead, I honor where we all are—right now.
I’ve chosen to be me.
Not a version of what anyone else needs, but an honest, whole, and healing version of who I am becoming.

The Truth of Wellness

I used to measure wellness
by how much I could carry,
how much I could do
without breaking.

I didn’t know
that strength
wasn’t in the weight I lifted,
but in the grace
of letting go.

I’ve found more beauty
in riverbeds and spring mud
than any sculpted space indoors.
The color in my cheeks
comes now from earth and breath,
from silence and wind,
from honoring my body
instead of managing it.

Now I listen—

To the garden as it teaches,
to the ache of my heart
that just needs time, not judgment,
to the knowing that rises
when I’m still enough
to receive it.

Healing isn’t a product.
It’s presence.
It’s allowing life
to move through me
without needing to control
how it looks.
It’s feeling good—
and letting that be enough.

-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 ~

The Power of Acceptance in Emotional Journeys

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

There comes a point in the journey where the heart softens—not from giving in, but from waking up. You stop trying to convince others to feel what you feel, to see what you see, or to meet you where you are. You begin to understand that everyone carries a different story, a different storm, a different kind of silence inside.

Emotions rise like tides, not to drown us, but to remind us we are moved by something deeper than logic. And just as the ocean does not ask the shore to change, we can allow others to have their waves, their rhythm, their expression—without losing our own.

Change doesn’t always come from words. Sometimes it comes from the quiet presence of someone who has chosen to live differently. To listen more. To judge less. To stay rooted in their own peace, even when the world around them trembles.

This is the practice:
To feel deeply,
To love without needing agreement,
To honor our path without forcing it upon others.

And So I Stayed

I let the wind speak louder than my need to be right,
And the silence hold space for what wasn’t mine to fix.
I watched the world spin its stories,
And chose to become still.

No need to correct, no urge to convert—
Only the pulse of truth
softly
beating
in my chest.

Let them feel.
Let them be.
And so I stayed—
Not to change them,
but to remain
changed.

From Blogging to New Beginnings: My Story

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth
A serene seascape with a wooden deck in the foreground, featuring an inspiring quote about determination by Kerri Elizabeth. The sky is light blue with soft clouds, and the calm water reflects the colors of the sky.

Change requires a presence, presence requires a change and both need acknowledgment to serve purpose.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

Change is inevitable

To all that have followed my Blog for years and been so supportive of me. I appreciate you and love reading your blogs. I enjoy hearing your beautiful stories about life, love, art, and so many other things. Closing my blog to embrace change has been a difficult decision but a necessary one.

I will soon close my blog down. The process of saving and backing up all my work is no small task. Please enjoy reading and writing to me for the next couple of weeks, and then I will send my final good-bye.

I have a new project, I have been working on for years off and on. I am going into the final stages of finishing it. Closing my blog to embrace change will help me focus on this new venture.

This has been a beautiful place to heal and write and so many of you have been such great supporters.

My son’s cancer journey

I started writing for one reason. That soon changed. I began writing my heart and soul out during a long battle. My son, Zakary Ryan, battled Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He was 19 when diagnosed. At 24, he left behind his physical body to explore new territory. Nothing has been more heart wrenching and life changing for me. Closing my blog to embrace change hasn’t come without many emotions.

Zakary’s journey changed me and continues to. I am now headed into my 8th year of developing a new and most profound relationship with him. What was taken, lost and emptied out is being filled with new knowledge. He is gently guiding me and as I listen more, he moves me more, sometimes not so gently actually. He is a force to be reckoned with.

It is time to close out this part of my journey. It has been changed and transformed a few times over. I have clarity this part of the journey has served its purpose and place. It’s time to say good-bye and embrace closing my blog for the change it will bring.

Sunshine

Sunshine is my soul voice. It is the deepest, most aligned, and authentic version of me. This happens when I am tuned in, of course. My life as everyone’s does, goes in and out of noisy times. Mine is noisy around me and taking extra effort to stay grounded and focused. As I have taken time from Social Media platforms I have noticed a significant change in my concentration and focus. What was an experiment is moving me to shut it down completely. The next couple weeks I will be shutting down all avenues except email and phone of course to contact me.

It has taken some time to evaluate this decision while entering into a new phase of learning and experiences.

I value this experience with WP and everyone here. Nevertheless, it is time to leave now. I have a very big project ahead. Can I do it all? YES, but will I be fully aware while staying connected to my most authentic self? Closing my blog to embrace change will allow me to focus and be fully attentive.

Good-byes

Isn’t there a phrase that teaches us, when one door closes another opens? It’s time to close this door but keep the experience with so many beautiful lessons.

I have tried different avenues to keep this door open while still pursuing the finish of my current project. Every door slam I hear moves me farther into a period of concentration and full presence. This decision wasn’t made quickly but carefully. Closing my blog to embrace change feels like the right step ahead.

Thank you

Thank you for being here when I really needed other voices and friendships to share with. Meaningful voices here have been such a comfort for me during some really tough times. This blog carries many emotional journeys. It is my story from a depth you don’t see on the surface. Thank you to you all.

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: