Every morning, before the day asks anything of me, I like to step outside with a cup of coffee and walk through my garden.
Some mornings there are exciting surprises—a new blossom, a tomato beginning to blush, or a pepper that seemed to appear overnight. Other mornings, everything looks exactly as it did the day before.
This week, my attention has been on my berry bushes. Instead of looking for fruit, I’ve been focusing on something much less exciting but far more important: the soil beneath them. I added compost, mulch, and nutrients to give them the best chance to thrive in the seasons ahead.
It reminded me that the healthiest gardens aren’t built by chasing quick harvests. They’re built by investing in strong roots.
Life works much the same way.
We often want immediate results. We want the promotion, the stronger body, the thriving friendships, the peaceful home, or the dream we’ve been working toward. But so much of life’s meaningful growth happens where no one can see it.
Roots are growing long before flowers bloom.
This season has reminded me that patience isn’t passive. It’s choosing to water what matters, even when the evidence of progress is still hidden beneath the surface.
One day those berry bushes will reward the care they’re receiving today. Until then, I’ll keep tending the soil.
Maybe that’s a lesson we can all carry with us.
Not every season is meant for harvesting.
Some seasons are meant for growing roots.
What are you nurturing today that may not bear fruit until tomorrow?
For a long time, I thought healing meant getting back to who I was before the trauma.
I thought the goal was to recover the version of myself that existed before the disappointments, betrayals, losses, and difficult experiences that shaped my life.
But lately, I’ve been wondering if healing is something entirely different.
What if healing isn’t about returning to who we were?
What if healing is about discovering who we have been all along?
A few days ago, I had a realization while talking with my children. They helped me see something I had never fully understood.
I have spent years believing there was something wrong with me.
Years believing I wasn’t enough.
Years focusing on my flaws, mistakes, and shortcomings.
Yet the people who know me best saw something very different.
They saw beauty where I saw imperfections.
They saw strength where I saw weakness.
They saw resilience where I saw brokenness.
And it made me wonder how many of us are carrying stories about ourselves that are no longer true.
Trauma has a way of changing the lens through which we view our lives.
It can convince us that we are less capable than we really are.
Less lovable than we really are.
Less worthy than we really are.
The trauma happened.
The pain was real.
But the story we tell ourselves because of the trauma isn’t always accurate.
Healing has taught me that growth doesn’t always look dramatic.
Sometimes it looks like taking a walk when you’d rather stay in bed.
Sometimes it looks like going for a run even when your pace is slower than you’d like.
Sometimes it looks like planting a garden and trusting that something beautiful can grow from the soil.
Sometimes it looks like setting a boundary.
Sometimes it looks like asking for help.
And sometimes it looks like finally seeing yourself through kinder eyes.
The truth is that I am still healing.
I suspect I always will be.
But I no longer see healing as a process of fixing a broken person.
I see it as a process of uncovering the person who has been there all along beneath the fear, the pain, and the self-doubt.
That person is stronger than she realized.
More capable than she believed.
And perhaps even more beautiful than she allowed herself to see.
Maybe that’s what healing really is.
Not becoming someone new.
But finally meeting yourself.
As we recognize PTSD Awareness Month, I hope we can expand the conversation beyond symptoms and diagnoses. Trauma affects real people—people who are raising families, going to work, building gardens, pursuing dreams, and quietly carrying burdens that others may never see.
Healing is possible. Recovery is possible. And sometimes the most important discovery is realizing that you were never as broken as trauma led you to believe.
Reflection Question
Have you ever discovered that something you believed about yourself wasn’t actually true?
I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Trauma has a way of changing the lens through which we view our lives.
PTSD is often misunderstood as something that only affects combat veterans, but trauma can result from many different experiences, including childhood adversity, domestic violence, neglect, medical trauma, accidents, or the loss of a loved one.
One of the most common trauma responses is hypervigilance—the feeling that you must constantly scan for danger even when you are safe. Another is the tendency to see yourself through the lens of survival rather than through the lens of your strengths.
Trauma changes the brain and the body. It can affect sleep, relationships, self-esteem, and even physical health. These responses are not signs of weakness. They are signs that your nervous system learned to protect you.
The good news is that healing is possible.
Healing may involve therapy, supportive relationships, movement, mindfulness practices, healthy boundaries, and learning to extend compassion toward yourself.
There is no “right” timeline for healing. Your pace is the right pace.
Mother’s Day is a layered day for millions of women.
In one breath, we are overjoyed to celebrate the bond we share with our children. We hold them close, laugh with them, and feel gratitude for the opportunity to love them in ways we may not have been loved ourselves. But in the next breath, many of us are grieving. Not necessarily because our mothers are gone, but because of the painful realization that we never truly experienced the kind of mothering we needed.
There is a particular kind of grief that comes from watching someone give to others what they could never seem to give to you.
Sometimes I look back at the way my mother treated my siblings and wonder if she truly saw me as her child at all. I witnessed her capacity for love, tenderness, and compassion. I saw her celebrate others, support others, and show up emotionally for others. That is what made it hurt even more. It wasn’t that she lacked the ability to love. It was realizing that, somehow, that love rarely reached me.
For a long time, I questioned myself because of it. Children naturally assume that love is earned. So when it is withheld, inconsistent, or conditional, many of us grow up believing we must have done something wrong. We spend years trying to become more lovable, more agreeable, more accomplished, more useful — hoping that eventually we will receive the softness we have been craving all along.
But some wounds do not come from loud abuse. Some come quietly through emotional absence, comparison, neglect, favoritism, or simply never feeling chosen.
Mother’s Day can reopen those wounds.
It can be painful to scroll through celebration after celebration while carrying the silent grief of never feeling protected, nurtured, or emotionally safe. Society often speaks about motherhood as though it is automatically loving, but many people are learning that giving birth and providing emotional care are not always the same thing.
And yet, despite all of this, many wounded daughters grow up to become incredibly loving mothers themselves.
There is something both heartbreaking and beautiful about learning to give your children the love you once begged for. Many mothers are actively breaking cycles while simultaneously grieving the childhoods they never had. That emotional contradiction is exhausting. It is possible to deeply love your children while mourning the fact that no one loved you in that same way.
Both things can exist at once.
For those carrying complicated feelings this Mother’s Day, you are not alone. Your grief does not make you ungrateful, bitter, or broken. It makes you human. Healing often begins when we finally allow ourselves to acknowledge what we lost instead of pretending it never mattered.
And maybe that is where the real healing begins: Not in forcing ourselves to celebrate what hurt us, but in becoming the kind of love we deserved all along.
There’s a thought that’s been sitting with me lately:
What if each human being is their own universe?
Not in a literal sense—but in the way we experience the world.
Each of us carries our own history, our own rules, our own way of making meaning out of what happens to us. No two people walk through life with the exact same lens. Even when we share space, share love, share experiences—we are still interpreting it all differently.
And maybe…that’s why it can feel so hard to be fully understood.
We Are All Living in Different “Worlds”
Think about it for a moment.
Everything you believe about yourself—your worth, your safety, your place in the world—was shaped over time. Through childhood. Through relationships. Through moments that stayed with you longer than you expected.
Those experiences didn’t just happen and disappear.
They became the rules of your inner world.
For some, the world feels safe and predictable.
For others, especially those carrying deep emotional wounds or experiences like Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, the internal world may operate very differently—where trust feels risky, love feels uncertain, and safety doesn’t come easily.
Same world. Different realities.
Why Words Don’t Always Land the Way We Mean Them
We rely on language to connect, but language has limits.
You might say, “I feel hurt,” and mean something layered, deep, and rooted in years of experience.
Someone else might hear that and think of a passing moment—something small, something temporary.
The words are the same, but the meaning isn’t.
Because when we speak, we’re expressing something from our universe—and when someone listens, they’re interpreting it through theirs.
The Gap Between Being Heard and Being Understood
There’s a difference between someone hearing you and someone truly understanding you.
You can explain yourself clearly. You can be open, vulnerable, and honest.
And still feel…missed.
Not because the other person doesn’t care—but because they don’t have the same internal reference points. They haven’t lived your exact experiences. They don’t carry your exact meanings.
And there are parts of you that simply cannot be translated perfectly into words.
So What Does Real Understanding Look Like?
Maybe it’s not about someone saying, “I know exactly how you feel.”
Maybe it’s quieter than that.
Maybe it sounds like: “I may not fully understand, but I’m here.” “Help me see it the way you do.” “I believe you.”
Real understanding isn’t perfect. It’s intentional.
It’s someone choosing to step closer to your world, even if they can’t fully live in it.
A Shift in Expectation
What if the goal isn’t to be completely understood?
What if the goal is to be seen—honestly, gently, and without dismissal?
To be understood enough that you don’t feel alone in your experience.
And to offer that same grace to others—recognizing that they, too, are navigating a world shaped by things we may never fully see.
Final Thought
If we are each our own universe, then connection isn’t about becoming the same.
It’s about learning how to visit each other’s worlds with care.
January didn’t unfold the way I expected — and honestly, that feels like a theme I’m learning to accept more gracefully.
I was scheduled to run a 5K earlier this winter, but the race was first rescheduled to the first weekend in February and then eventually cancelled altogether due to severe weather and safety concerns. Between extremely low temperatures and icy roads, outdoor running became less about discipline and more about risk — and that’s not a tradeoff I’m willing to make.
So instead, I’ve found myself back on the treadmill at my local gym.
The Treadmill Reality
I’ll be honest: I’m not a big fan of treadmill running.
I love the rhythm of running outdoors — fresh air, changing scenery, the way your body naturally adjusts to the terrain. The treadmill feels repetitive, controlled, and mentally harder for me, even when the miles are shorter.
But right now, it’s the safest option.
And this season is teaching me that safe training is smart training, even when it’s not my favorite.
Learning to Adjust the Plan
With races being postponed or cancelled, I’ve had to step back and look at my race calendar more realistically. Instead of forcing a rigid plan, I’m giving myself permission to adjust.
My goals for this year include:
2 half marathons (Marine Corps Historic Half-Marathon) and Blue & Grey Half Marathon
1 full marathon (Richmond Marathon-Maybe)
Army 10-Miler
1 ten-kilometer race– Local race
A 5-mile race– 4th of July
Possibly 6 (5K) races– Father’s Legacy Race, St. Patty’s Day Race, Fight Against Autism, Go for Bo, and 2 more TBD races.
Altogether, I’m aiming for around 12 races this calendar year — but with flexibility built in.
Because life is unpredictable. Weather changes. Schedules shift. Bodies need rest. And none of that means failure.
Training With Flexibility (And Grace)
This season has reminded me that growth isn’t always about pushing harder — sometimes it’s about adjusting smarter.
Running on the treadmill isn’t ideal for me, but it keeps me moving. Rearranging my race schedule doesn’t mean I’ve lost momentum — it means I’m protecting my health and longevity as a runner.
I’m learning to:
listen to my body
prioritize safety over stubbornness
adapt my goals instead of abandoning them
and stay committed without being rigid
That balance matters — not just in running, but in life.
Moving Forward
I still love running. I still love the goals. I still love the feeling of progress.
But I’m also learning to leave space for reality.
This year isn’t about perfection — it’s about consistency, flexibility, and showing up in ways that make sense for the season I’m in. Whether that means icy sidewalks, cancelled races, or treadmill miles, I’m choosing to keep going — thoughtfully.
This month, I’ve been deep into Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes — and let me tell you, this book could not have arrived at a better time. It’s honest, funny, bold, and full of the kind of energy that nudges you out of your comfort zone in the best way possible.
I’m almost done with it as this post goes live, and I already know it’s one of those books I’ll revisit whenever I need a reminder to choose myself, to stretch, to be brave, and to embrace opportunities even when they feel intimidating. Shonda writes with a voice that feels familiar — like a friend sitting across from you telling the truth you’ve been avoiding. And this month, I needed that voice.
Interested in Reading Along?
If you’re interested in reading along with me, here are the versions I recommend:
Hardcover / Paperback – Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes 👉 Buy on Amazon
Companion Journal – The Year of Yes Journal (for reflection & personal growth) 👉 Buy the Journal on Amazon
What “Yes” Has Meant for Me This Month
Reading Year of Yes during the holiday season has felt surprisingly grounding. It’s pushed me to think about what I want next, what I’m afraid of, and where I’ve been shrinking myself out of habit rather than choice.
And it’s reminded me how important it is to say “yes” to the things that bring me joy — including my writing.
Which brings me to the second half of this month’s update…
Tidewalker Series Update: Book Two Is Taking Shape
Book Two has been a steady work in progress these last few weeks, and Year of Yes has absolutely inspired the way I’m approaching the deeper emotional layers of this story.
Here’s what I’ve been working on:
🔹 Tweaking Ezra’s Internal Conflicts
Ezra is growing, stepping into responsibility, and feeling torn between his father’s expectations, his own dreams, and the love he shares with Neri. I’ve been sharpening the moments where he questions himself, struggles to find balance, or wants to belong in both worlds. His emotional journey is becoming richer and more nuanced.
🔹 Deepening Grandmother Fatu’s Backstory
Her presence is becoming more powerful. I’ve been exploring:
how she shaped Ezra’s childhood,
her connection to the tidewalker world,
the truth behind the shell she gave him,
and how her story ties both worlds together in ways Ezra is only beginning to understand.
🔹 Building Tension Between the Two Worlds
This has been one of my favorite parts to develop. The differences and misunderstandings between Neri’s world and Ezra’s — the traditions, expectations, and pressures — are all becoming clearer and more dramatic. This tension will shape much of Book Two’s conflict.
What’s Coming in Early 2026
Writing this book feels like saying “yes” to myself — yes to imagination, yes to creativity, yes to finishing something that matters deeply to me.
In early 2026, I’ll be sharing:
sneak peeks of new characters,
more world-building details,
and updates as the story evolves and the two worlds collide.
If December has taught me anything, it’s that growth happens when we stop waiting for fear to settle — and move forward anyway.
📚 October Book Club: Reflections on The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer
🌸 Discovering The Untethered Soul
Every so often, a book finds you exactly when you need it most. For me, that book was The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer. I picked it up during a season when I was craving peace — not the kind that comes from everything being perfect, but the kind that comes from acceptance, presence, and release.
This book isn’t about fixing yourself; it’s about learning to let go — to release old pain, quiet the constant noise of the mind, and step into a state of inner freedom. Singer invites us to see our thoughts and emotions as passing experiences, not permanent truths. The more we allow them to flow without resistance, the more peace we uncover within ourselves.
📖 A Brief Summary
In The Untethered Soul, Michael A. Singer explores what it means to truly be free — not just externally, but internally. Through gentle wisdom and practical insight, he guides readers to recognize the voice inside their head, observe it without judgment, and stop identifying with it as their “self.”
He teaches that true peace doesn’t come from controlling life, but from surrendering to it. By loosening our grip on pain, fear, and expectation, we can begin to live with open hearts and unshakable calm — no matter what’s happening around us.
Reading this book has been a turning point in my healing journey. It’s helped me see that holding onto old pain only keeps me stuck in the same patterns — replaying stories that no longer serve me. Singer’s words reminded me that peace isn’t something to chase; it’s something we uncover once we stop resisting life as it unfolds.
I’ve started noticing my thoughts more — catching myself before getting swept away by worry or judgment. When I feel tension rising, I pause, breathe, and remind myself to soften, to let it pass through.
This practice has changed how I move through each day. Whether I’m journaling before bed, running in the early morning light, or tending to my garden, I carry this quiet awareness: I am not my thoughts. I am the one who observes them.
That realization alone has brought me so much freedom.
🌼 How It’s Helping Me Grow
Healing is not about erasing the past; it’s about learning to hold it gently, without letting it define who you are now. The Untethered Soul has helped me make peace with what once felt heavy.
I’m learning that growth isn’t always about doing more — it’s often about releasing what no longer belongs. Just like in my garden, I’ve learned to prune back what’s overgrown, to make room for new life.
The more I release, the lighter I feel — and the more space I have for joy, creativity, and stillness.
💭 Reflection Prompt for Readers
Have you ever read a book that arrived in your life at just the right time? What lesson or truth from it helped you let go, grow, or find peace within yourself?
Share your reflections in the comments — I’d love to hear what stories are helping you heal and bloom. 🌿
Haven Harvest Living 