Last Sunday, I attended a silent retreat hosted by Kayla and Carli from The Balance Project.
If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t really need to go.
I’ve had a few weeks of chaos at home, and I was craving a slow day in the garden with my babies, pottering around, watering plants, cooking something nourishing and simply being home.
But there was something inside me that felt called to go.
Perhaps you’ve felt that before too.
That quiet nudge. That inner knowing. That feeling that says, “Go. You don’t know why, but just trust it.”
That’s how I always feel around Kayla and Carli.
I trust them.
I love how I feel in their presence. I love the spaces they create. I never really know what I’ll get out of their events, circles, or gatherings, but I always walk away feeling calmer, more grounded, more centred… and somehow knowing myself a little better.
And today was no different.
The Beauty Of Simply Being
The retreat was held at The Oaks.
There were different places around the property where you could simply exist.
A fire pit with chairs surrounding it.
A tent where you could have a massage or sit quietly under infrared light.
Open spaces, trees, nature, silence.
And isn’t it interesting how foreign silence can sometimes feel?
No notifications.
No responsibilities.
No one needing something from you.
No expectations.
Just… you.
At one point, I found myself sitting in an open field surrounded by trees. I sat there for about twenty minutes in complete stillness before opening the workbook we had been given.
And then I saw it.
A tree.
A beautiful, tall, strong tree.
I can’t explain why, but I was drawn to it.
I felt like I needed to go closer.
To touch it.
To observe it.
To simply be with it.
The Tree That Held Its Scars
As I stood in front of this tree, I noticed deep lines running through its trunk.
Indentations.
Scars.
The closer they were to the roots, the more there seemed to be.
As the tree grew higher, the lines became less noticeable.
And as I looked at those scars, something shifted inside me.
Those lines reminded me of our own wounds.
The experiences we carry.
The traumas.
The belief systems we inherit from our family, our culture, our upbringing, our ancestors.
Some of these beliefs serve us beautifully.
Others don’t.
But sometimes we don’t even realise which ones are ours and which ones have simply been passed down to us.
Sometimes we carry wounds so long that we mistake them for who we are.
We begin believing:
“I’m not smart enough.”
“I’m not interesting enough.”
“I’m too much.”
“I’m not enough.”
“People won’t understand me.”
“Who am I to do that?”
And before we know it, those wounds begin shaping our decisions.
They stop us from expressing ourselves.
They stop us from growing.
They stop us from becoming who we’re truly meant to be.
But as I looked at this tree, I realised something.
Those scars didn’t make the tree ugly.
They made it beautiful.
They made it strong.
They made it unique.
The tree wasn’t trying to hide them.
It wasn’t apologising for them.
It simply stood there.
Strong. Confident. Grounded. Proud.
Its scars were simply part of its story.
And perhaps ours are too.
Maybe Your Wounds Aren't Meant To Be Hidden
I realised today that we spend so much of our lives trying to “fix” parts of ourselves.
Trying to become someone else.
Trying to fit in.
Trying to look, sound, act or live in ways that feel more acceptable.
But what if the very things we’re trying to hide are actually the things that make us who we are?
What if your scars are the very reason someone else feels safe around you?
What if your struggles are the reason you can hold space for others?
What if your story is exactly what someone else needs to hear?
Maybe the goal isn’t to erase our wounds.
Maybe it’s to stop allowing them to stop us.
A Realisation About Myself
Lately I’ve been wanting to build more of an online presence.
And if I’m honest, I’ve had doubts.
Do I sound professional enough?
Am I smart enough?
Is what I have to say even interesting?
Can anyone relate to me?
Are there chiropractors who know more than me?
Absolutely.
There are probably practitioners who know more about pregnancy, babies and paediatrics than I do.
But they aren’t me.
They don’t carry my story.
They don’t carry my experiences.
They don’t carry my voice.
And perhaps that’s enough.
Maybe people don’t connect with us because we have all the answers.
Maybe they connect because we’re human.
Because we’re real.
Because they see parts of themselves in our stories.
Maybe my purpose online isn’t simply to talk about chiropractic.
Maybe it’s to simply be me.
To share my thoughts.
My reflections. My lessons. My struggles. My joys.
And if that gives someone else permission to live more authentically themselves, then maybe that’s enough too.
The Trigger I Didn't Expect
There was another moment today that caught me off guard.
I saw a young girl sitting peacefully beside her mother.
Simply being.
No phones. No distractions. No expectations.
Just together.
And unexpectedly, I felt sad.
Not because I don’t spend time with my kids —we spend a lot of time together. I homeschool my children, we’re together most days, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But seeing them reminded me of something I’ve been missing.
That quiet, unhurried presence.
The kind where you’re not teaching, organising, cooking, cleaning, planning the next thing or trying to squeeze one more task into the day.
Just… being together.
I realised that even though I’m physically present, I’m not always fully present.
My mind is often on the business, the house, dinner, the garden, or the hundred other things that come with wearing so many hats.
That hurt.
Because that’s not the relationship I want with my children.
I want connection.
I want slowness.
I want to sit and draw together.
Crochet together.
Talk.
Laugh.
Simply be.
And as I sat with that sadness, I realised something important.
Just because I haven’t created enough of those moments lately doesn’t mean I can’t create them now.
My eldest just turned thirteen.
Time moves quickly.
Another thirteen years and she’ll be twenty-six.
And suddenly, what feels important shifts.
The laundry can wait.
The dishes can wait.
The emails can wait.
Connection can’t.
Perhaps That's The Real Lesson
Maybe life isn’t asking us to do less.
Maybe it’s asking us to become more intentional.
To remove the distractions that no longer serve us.
To stop saying yes to things that pull us away from ourselves.
To stop abandoning our own needs.
To stop waiting for the perfect moment to be present.
Because maybe presence is the thing we’re all truly craving.
And maybe our scars, our wounds and our experiences aren’t here to hold us back.
Maybe they’re here to guide us.
To soften us.
To remind us what truly matters.
Like the tree.
Scarred. Weathered. Strong. Still standing. Still growing. Still beautiful.
And maybe we are too.
A Gentle Question For You...
If you were sitting beneath that tree today, what would it be trying to show you?
What wounds are you still allowing to define you?
What parts of yourself have you been hiding?
And where in your life are you longing to be more present?
If you were sitting beneath that tree today, what would it be trying to show you?
What wounds are you still allowing to define you?
What parts of yourself have you been hiding?
And where in your life are you longing to be more present?
