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-