After the Noise, the Listening

Where seasons reach out to one another, the change is purposeful.

There is a moment after the holidays that often goes unnamed.
The lights dim, the schedules loosen and the energy makes a quick shift.
What remains is full of information.

The body is still processing.
The heart is still sorting.
The nervous system is recalibrating after intensity, whether that intensity came from joy, grief, connection, separation, or expectation.

This is not a time to decide who you are or where you’re going next.
This is a time to be most present and purposeful.

What you feed your mind right now matters.
What you allow into your presence matters.
What you replay, what you consume, what you dwell in, all of it becomes structure.

Not because it’s right or wrong,
but because attention builds architecture.

What you notice stabilizes.
What you resist persists.
What you listen to teaches you
where alignment already exists.

This is where renewal actually begins,
not with resolutions,
not with pressure,
not with fixing anything,
but with purpose.

Are you moving through the day with kindness or resistance?
Are you feeding your body nourishment or distraction?
Are your thoughts pulling you backward, or allowing you to arrive fully here?

The past is a foundation, not a destination.
Memory can guide, but it cannot lead.

You don’t step forward by erasing what was.
You step forward by using it as experience,
by choosing a slightly different turn,
by experimenting with one small shift.

A new path doesn’t announce itself loudly.
It opens quietly when you’re willing to listen.

The forest doesn’t explain itself.
It invites you to breathe
and discover what is already alive.

Today doesn’t ask you to change your life.
It asks you to notice it.

Gentle Practice:
Lower the volume, just a little.
Less input, more purpose.
Ask one simple question, without needing an answer:
What is available to me right now?

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, we explore change and how small shifts in attention can quietly realign an entire season.

“When Families Fracture”

“Love doesn’t disappear when people part, it just finds quieter pathways.”

Not every family gathers.
Not every story has a warm reunion.
Not every heart is ready for reconciliation.

And that is okay.
Distance doesn’t mean love is gone. It means that healing is happening separately, at its own pace. You can honor where you are without shaming yourself or others. You can celebrate with those who feel safe to share your heart with, even if that circle is small or different every year.

Some connections mend in silence,
others in time,
others not at all,
all are valid.

Gentle practice:
Write a note (you don’t have to send it) to someone you love but can’t be close to right now.
Let it soften your heart without forcing connection.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, we gather everything from these two weeks into a closing.

“Where Distance Becomes Gentle”

“Not all distance is punishment; sometimes it’s the safest place to breathe.”

There are seasons when families fracture into separate rooms, separate holidays, separate traditions. It hurts. It confuses. It questions your worth. You wonder if you did something unforgivable or if love simply misplaced itself along the years. But sometimes distance isn’t rejection, it’s growth unfolding unevenly. Some people aren’t ready to sit together yet, and that truth doesn’t have to harden your heart.

Healing rarely begins in the middle of chaos. Sometimes it happens in quiet kitchens, long walks, RVs parked outside the noise, or in the hands of those who learned to love from afar. You can grieve the closeness you imagined while honoring the peace you’ve found. Both truths can live in the same breath.

Distance can soften edges
where closeness once cut deep.
Let the space become a kindness,
a place for hearts to sleep.

Gentle practice:
Take a few minutes today to bless the space, not the separation.
Say: “May every heart grow at its own pace.”

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow we’ll explore the rooms we cannot share, and why that is sometimes holy.
(This piece begins a two-week series on navigating holidays with truth, energy, boundaries, finances, and heart.)

The Art of Allowing


“Acceptance is not surrender, it is trust in the wisdom of what is.”

Autumn continued its slow undoing. Leaves fell without hesitation, trusting the ground to receive them. In that surrender was grace, not defeat.

Allowing does not erase the ache; it honors it. It gives emotion space to breathe, to teach, to transform. Happiness and sorrow can share the same hour, they are not untrusting of the other, but companions in growth.

The path forward wasn’t about control but openness, a willingness to meet life where it is and keep walking.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, the path will curve again, leading somewhere familiar yet newly seen.