The Root Back to Myself

It started with slow, quiet mornings in the backyard. Me in the grass, dirt on my feet, sipping matcha like ritual, eating my omega-3 breakfast while the cats chewed grass and chased butterflies. They’d sunbathe out in the garden like they owned the place. Honestly, they kinda did.

The air was always thick with dew, like the world hadn’t fully woken up yet. I liked it that way. It was soft, slow, and untouched. It felt like I had left the rush behind and slipped into a pocket of time no one else could find.

Then came the afternoons… laid out under the sun, letting it melt me. Soaking up vitamin D like it could fix me. I’d breathe deep. Belly rising, chest softening, breath in, breath out. Over and over. That alone started to change me. It felt like a slow return to something I didn’t know I was missing.

I’d listen. Birds singing over each other, bees doing their thing, leaves rustling, a dog barking somewhere far off, wind in the trees, my breath anchoring me to the moment.
Everything was louder and quieter at the same time.

The smells hit too… fresh-cut grass, blooming flowers, warm dirt, Australian gold melting on my skin. I could feel the sun pressing down on me, the woven towel under my back, that deep stillness humming through my body like a reminder to stay.

Sometimes I’d just lie there with golden light flickering through my closed eyelids. I’d open them for a second and boom, the sun right in my face, too bright, too much, but kind of perfect. The air shimmered like even the heat had a heartbeat.

And the nights? They had a rhythm. We’d head for the trail, cruising in the trees on scooters, boards, whatever rolled. The river ran beside us, quiet but constant. The world softened out there. The air got cooler, earthier. We'd laugh and glide through it all like we belonged. And for once, it felt like we did.

Some nights we moved slower, letting the silence breathe around us, just walking the trail after dark, moon overhead, fireflies blinking like whispers, trees leaning in close. It felt like we’d slipped through a veil. Like we weren’t just out late, but somewhere in between. The air grew thinner, and time had disappeared. Everything felt lighter. Holy. Like if I held my breath long enough, I might find myself halfway gone from this world. 


And then… it just happened. I barely even noticed.
One day I’m on scooters with my family, the next I’m miles deep into the mountains on a bike I didn’t even have before. Just me and the climb. My sweat glistening under the weight of the sun beating down on me. Testing what I’m made of. Solitude. Stamina. Strength.

I was flowing up and down switchbacks carved into the earth, legs shaking and lungs wide open. Riding through meadows wild with flowers, pedals spinning past bursts of yellow and violet like the world was blooming just for me. Frolicking on the riverbank after, barefoot, body tired, and splashing in the shallows like a kid who forgot the weight of everything.... roots and moss, dirt up my legs, no destination, just here.


Nature called me home… softly, slowly, pulling me in a little more with each day. Not all at once, not with some big revelation, but with these tiny, sacred moments that stacked up when I wasn’t looking.

I’m losing time out here. Dirt under my nails, sun on my face, wind in my lungs. And honestly? I’ve never felt more alive. 

Signed,
-Just a messy mom, rooted.