This morning, I knew it was time to write about my health.

Not because something dramatic happened overnight. But because something finally clicked.

This week, I realized I haven’t been living from my reserves.

I’ve been living below them.

When I look back, I can see why.

Six years ago, I moved to Angel Fire Farm.

Six years ago, COVID happened.

Six years ago, I had a meth addict living on my property who refused to leave. She eventually had to be evicted, but for a long time I slept with a gun by the door. Some of you remember that chapter.

Six years ago, almost everything I thought I understood about the world began to unravel. I started seeing behind the curtain, and there was no going back.

Four years ago, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Four years ago, I reconnected with a man I believed was my twin flame. I fell in love deeply because he told me he had loved me ever since we dated in our twenties.

I did everything I knew to make that relationship work.

I listened when I was told the problems were mine to understand.

I tried changing.

I tried healing.

I tried understanding.

I even tried “microdosing” his presence, hoping I could learn how to be in a relationship that so often left me feeling completely drained.

After he left, it would take me two days on the couch doing nothing to recover.

I kept believing that if I could just become a little wiser, a little calmer, a little more healed, everything would finally fall into place. In otherwords…less me.

Then one day, something hit me. I realized I only wanted a beer when he was here. The last time he visited, he had only been at the farm for about thirty minutes when I found myself reaching for one. I remember stopping and thinking…Wait… what is this?

It wasn’t about the beer.

It was about what my body was trying to tell me.

Some part of me was trying to calm a nervous system that had been carrying far more than I understood.

I didn’t understand it then.

I do now.

Through all of it…I painted very little because I had no energy.

I created a lot in my mind.

I smiled.

I survived.

What I never stopped doing……was carrying it.

I carried the fear.

I carried the responsibility.

I carried the grief.

I carried the uncertainty.

I carried the relationship.

I carried what people might think about the choices I made. I STILL care about what one mutual friend thinks, but that is slowly dissipating.

I carried what people might think about the things I believed.

I carried all of it.

This week, for the first time, I realized my body has been carrying it too.

The fatigue.

The inflammation.

The gut issues.

The feeling that I could never quite get ahead of it.

None of it came out of nowhere.

My body has been paying the price for six years of surviving.

So what do you do when you finally realize you’re living below reserve?

You stop treating rest like a reward.

You start treating it like medicine.

These days, I’m intentionally slowing down.

I’m walking my mountain.

I’m wandering through the woods looking for mushrooms, reminding myself that beneath the forest floor, their incredible mycelium network quietly connects them all. Every walk reminds me that we are connected, too.

I’m climbing that mountain, one step at a time, rebuilding a body that has carried me through more than I ever realized.

I’m making time for quiet.

Not because it’s easy.

Because it’s essential.

For most of my life, if I sat still, I felt guilty.

Now I’m beginning to understand that stillness isn’t laziness.

Sometimes it’s the most productive thing we can do.

I’m learning that healing isn’t always found in doing more.

Sometimes it’s found in walking slowly enough to hear my own thoughts again.

Sometimes it’s found in listening to what my body has been trying to tell me for years.

I’m not writing this because I want sympathy.

I’m writing this because this realization was far bigger than I thought it was. And because I have a feeling I’m not the only one who’s been living below reserve without even realizing it.

Maybe healing doesn’t begin with another supplement.

Or another protocol.

Or another thing to fix.

Maybe healing begins when we finally stop asking our bodies to carry what our hearts have been carrying for years.

I’m finally beginning to believe that my body isn’t failing me.

It’s been protecting me.

Now it’s my turn to protect it.

Because, if I’m being honest…I’d kind of like to hang around in this human suit for a little while longer….somedays.

I’m finally getting to the point where I’m beginning to understand this beautiful, messy, magical thing we call life.

We are just walking one another home.

painting by me

The Wise One Knows