Resilience

What the Rain Knows

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


“Hope holds us when we cannot move, but water teaches us how to move again

Rain never asks permission to fall.
It arrives when the air can no longer hold what it’s carrying.
Not as punishment.
Not as collapse.
But as release.

Water understands something we often forget:
nothing clears without movement.

There are seasons when hope is all we have.
When direction feels unreachable.
When answers refuse to form.
When the body freezes and the mind circles, waiting for something, anything, to change.

Hope can be a lifeline in those moments.
It keeps us breathing when clarity hasn’t arrived.
It steadies us inside uncertainty.

But hope alone can also keep us suspended,
standing still, eyes lifted outward,
waiting for resolution to arrive from somewhere else.

Rain doesn’t wait like that.

Rain moves through.

It washes what has been held too tightly.
It softens what has become rigid with fear.
It carries away residue we didn’t know we were storing.
Tears do the same.
So does breath.
So does hydration.
So does allowing emotion to pass instead of calcify.

Water doesn’t erase the past,
it reveals what’s been buried beneath it.

When life feels paralyzing,
when anxiety locks the body in place,
when trauma makes the future feel unreachable,
hope may be the hand we cling to,
but movement is what teaches us how to stand again.

Not forced movement.
Not answers.
Not solutions.

Just the willingness to let something flow.

This next season isn’t about finding direction all at once.
It’s about letting what’s been held finally move.
So what’s real can appear.
So what’s grounded can take shape.
So hope can become something you walk with,
not something holding you in place.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
In the days ahead, we’ll listen to what water teaches,
about release, renewal, and the quiet strength that returns after the rain.

Rooted Things Do Not Rush

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


“What is rooted does not panic when the wind moves.”

Trees don’t chase the storm.
They deepen their hold.

Roots work quietly beneath the surface,
unseen,
strengthening long before they’re tested.

So do we.

Stability isn’t loud.
It doesn’t announce itself.
It simply remains when everything else is shifting.

If you feel unsteady,
don’t reach outward,
reach to your roots.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

“Belonging in New Places”

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“When old places and gatherings close, the heart does not have to close with it.”

You may not sit at the table you once knew.
But that doesn’t mean you are without a place.
Belonging can be rediscovered in surprising forms,
in a quiet morning with someone who loves you,
in a friend who says “come over,”
in a walk by the lake,
in a new ritual that feels more like freedom than loss.

When belonging shifts, it asks you to shift too.
To create, not cling.
To build, not beg.
To make room for the life that is becoming yours now.

Belonging is not a location,
it’s a light you learn
to carry in you.

Gentle Practice:
Choose one new ritual for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.
Let it be something small but meaningful.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, we look at the courage to make Christmas different without sadness sitting at a new table.

“When the Apology Never Comes”

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Closure is not something they give you, it’s something you decide.”

Some people will never say “I’m sorry.”
Not because you weren’t hurt,
but because we see ourselves and others differently when hurt is presented.

Stop waiting for their words to free you.
Your healing is not dependent on their accountability, only yours.
It’s dependent on your courage to release the story that keeps you small.

Your heart deserves peace
that doesn’t rely
on someone else’s awakening.

Gentle Practice:
Close your eyes and say:
“The closure I needed is the peace I choose.”

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow we explore choosing space, not out of resentment, but out of emotional maturity.

The Quiet Rebuild

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Resilience doesn’t erase the cracks, it teaches, where to shine light.”


The house stands again,
its walls straight, its seams sealed.
From the outside,
all appears whole.

But wholeness is not the absence of breaks.
It is the memory of them,
the quiet strength they leave behind.
The wood remembers the fracture.
The stone remembers the weight.
And in remembering, they endure differently,
not in innocence, but in wisdom.

Rebuilding is not pretending nothing happened.
It is honoring the cracks,
welcoming the light that seeps through them,
choosing to rise again,
knowing that what was once broken
can still hold,
can still stand,
can still carry.

Stillness settles differently after the storm.
It carries the hum of survival,
the rhythm of resilience,
the quiet promise that nothing ends here,
it only changes shape.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


And just as the night leaned into rest, I felt it, a subtle shift, not to disturb the peace, but to remind me that even in rebuilding, life keeps moving, and tomorrow always asks us to meet it again.

The House on the Cliff

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Even here where the earth gives way, the heart learns to root deeper.”

It was built on what looked like stone.

Strong, unmoving, safe.

But stone can be deceiving.

Over time, it begins to whisper back to the sea,

grain by grain,

returning to what it came from.

From a distance, the house still shines.

The windows reflect the light,

the roof holds steady against the rain.

echoes of laughter,

But if you dare stand close,

you feel the tremor beneath your feet.

The earth is shifting,

the cliff surrendering its shape.

Inside those walls are memories,

arguments sharp as broken glass,

footsteps that once pressed into the floorboards

and then walked away.

The house holds them still,

but the ground does not promise to.

And yet,

love remains.

Not the kind that anchors the walls in place,

but the kind that drifts like mist,

carried by wind and tide.

Love that no longer clings to presence,

but transforms into distance,

into respect,

into silence that is still holy.

The house leans closer each day,

its weight too much for the cliff to hold.

And in the waiting,

You do not know the hour of its fall,

only that it is coming.

you learn to stand in stillness,

to send love out like a breath into the ethers,

trusting it will reach

even those who no longer sit beside you.

Because sometimes love is not received,

not returned,

not even recognized.

Sometimes love is simply released,

unbound by time,

unshaken by space,

a light traveling where it is most needed.

And so you stand,

watching the cliff crumble,

hearing the hush before the collapse.

Not afraid.

Not clinging.

Only witnessing.

Only loving.

Next week, the storm gathers again…

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

The fall has not yet come, but the silence before it is deafening. Next week, the storm gathers again…

 Echoes of Rejection

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 

“Love never fails; it simply reshapes itself and makes room to breathe. Rejection may look the same, but its essence is different.”

Rejection is not always loud.

Sometimes it comes as absence

a chair left empty,

a phone that does not ring,

a silence that stretches longer than the horizon.

At first, it feels like a mistake.

Surely the echo will fade,

surely the door will open again.

But silence can harden,

it can become a wall,

and soon you realize you are standing

on the outside looking in.

Rejection leaves a mark,

but it also leaves clarity.

It teaches you where love was conditional,

where belonging was borrowed,

where you tried to plant gardens

in soil that was never fertile.

And yet,

love itself is not gone.

It does not die with distance.

It reshapes,

becoming the wind that carries your prayers,

the river that flows unseen beneath the earth,

the light that reaches across time and space

to whisper:

“I am still here, even if we are apart.”

In this echo,

you learn that love does not need to be received

to remain true.

It can be given freely,

released like seeds into the wind,

trusting they will root where they must.

The ground is shifting again… and the house leans closer to the edge.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

The echo does not fade. It sharpens, carrying the weight of what is slipping away. Tomorrow, the house leans closer to the edge, and the ground begins to give.

Shadows at the Edge

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“At the edge of shadows, light waits to be seen, reminding us that endings are only thresholds to another beginning.”

Change doesn’t always come crashing.

Sometimes it lingers at the edges,

the way dusk slowly unravels daylight,

barely noticed until the sky is no longer blue.

There is a silence that weighs heavier than words.

It doesn’t scream, doesn’t accuse

it simply waits,

like a shadow just out of reach,

asking you to notice what has already shifted.

You walk through the day as if nothing has changed,

yet the air tastes different,

like rain just before it falls.

The trees seem to lean in,

the wind carries whispers you can’t quite hold.

Trust is not stolen in a single act,

it erodes,

grain by grain,

like cliffs giving way to the sea.

And by the time you notice the hollow beneath your feet,

the land is already gone.

You learn to sit with the silence,

to watch without rushing,

to let stillness teach you what words never will.

Because even in the shadows,

love can take new form

not the love that clings,

but the kind that releases into the wind,

trusting it will reach where it needs to go.

And somewhere in that silence, a storm is still gathering…

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

And still, the silence grows heavier, pressing against the walls of certainty. What happens when it finally breaks? Tomorrow, the storm begins to scatter its disguise.

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The Silent Divide

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

While distance and division may widen the space between you , take care to the division within, thats what separates you.

There are moments

when silence speaks louder than words,

not a gentle silence,

but the kind that carves distance,

a canyon slowly widening

between what was once close.

Trust does not always shatter

with a single strike.

Sometimes it erodes quietly,

grain by grain,

until one day you realize

the ground beneath your feet

is not where you thought you stood.

And so the divide grows,

not with noise,

but with the whisper of absence.

You feel it before you see it,

like the faint tremor of earth

before the cliff edge crumbles.

What falls away was never yours to hold.

What remains is the quiet knowing

that the soul sees more clearly

when the noise is gone.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

But silence never stays still. It gathers, it thickens, and it waits. Tomorrow, we step closer to the shadows that rise where trust once stood.

Rebuilding Quietly

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

Not all rebuilding begins with hammers ,some begins with the choice to stand still and listen.

There is a silence that settles after the last echoes fade, not the hush of peace, but the stillness of a place deciding what it will become.

The rebuilding does not announce itself.

It starts in small, almost invisible ways: a stone set back in place without thinking, a path cleared because your feet naturally follow it, a breath drawn without the weight you’ve been carrying for months.

No one stands in a circle to mark the moment. There are no blueprints, no fanfare, no clear signal that now is the time to begin again. The work starts inside , in the soft decision to believe in the ground beneath you, even if it’s still damp from the storm.

And perhaps the most surprising thing is this: sometimes the first piece you set in place is not for shelter at all. It’s for beauty, a reminder that what is worth living for has survived, even here, even now.

Rebuilding is not about erasing what happened. The lines are still there, the cracks still visible, the ground still bearing the shape of loss. But within those shapes, there is space for new roots to find their way down.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

This series moves through the storm’s rise, its breaking, and the quiet work that follows. What comes next will not be the same as what was lost but it may hold a strength that only comes from having been rebuilt.