motherhood

Beneath the Veil

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

You may never be seen in the way you want to be seen, but in that is reflective peace that requires a steady love within.

A letter to the invisible woman in all of us

There is a woman they don’t see

Not because she’s hiding

but because she’s been asked to wear so many names

that her own has grown quiet

She became Mother

And somewhere in the becoming

the rest of her waited

patient

aching

evolving

She held babies in one arm

while holding her breath with the other

She learned to smile while unraveling

She fed everyone first

then forgot she was hungry

No one asked if she was still dreaming

No one asked what she was giving up

to become so dependable

so strong

But she remembers

She remembers when she used to cry without hiding it

when her body was still her own

and her time belonged to something other than survival

She remembers the girl she used to be

wild with wonder

unsure and unapologetic

hopeful in ways she didn’t yet know would cost her

And yet

the woman she is now

has grown from those very roots

She is soft where she once braced herself

fierce in ways she never expected

She no longer begs to be understood

she simply becomes

And that

finally

is enough

She has learned that hardship is not an interruption

it’s a teacher

That pain doesn’t disqualify her

it deepens her

She dances now

not perfectly

but with grace that wasn’t born from ease

but from endurance

She knows the difference

between protecting and controlling

between letting go and giving up

She knows how to hold a boundary

with an open heart

She knows how to forgive

without losing herself again

She no longer tries to prove her worth

through what she gives away

She’s learning how to belong

to herself

This is the woman beneath the veil

not invisible

but infinite

And if you ask her now

she will tell you

There is joy here

There is peace

There is room to rise

Reflection:

A quiet reflection for you, if you’re still reading…

If this touched something in you, let it.

Let it remind you of the wholeness you still are beneath the roles.

Let it call forward the part of you that has waited quietly for someone to notice her.

Maybe today is the day you write her a letter.

Maybe today is the day you remember:

you are not invisible,you are becoming.

~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.