In2It Health

03/27/2026

Extraordinary things I saw yesterday. A huge double yolker from our chickens and a tiny rescued cow that was from an action.

I have been having such cravings to touch a cow lately. 😂

03/25/2026

lot of our deepest pain was not only what happened. It was the indifference around it. The moments when our fear, our no, our needs, or our suffering were not truly met. Healing begins when we stop being indifferent to ourselves and start responding to our own experience with care.

And an even tighter version if you want it more minimal:

Sometimes the deepest wound is not only the pain itself. It’s the indifference around it. Healing begins when we decide not to be indifferent to ourselves anymore.

03/25/2026

What I’m processing today is this:

A lot of the deepest damage in childhood is not only what happened.

It’s the indifference around what happened.

Indifference to what you wanted.
Indifference to what you felt.
Indifference to what you said.
Indifference to your no.
Indifference to your fear.
Indifference to your pain.
Indifference to your timing.
Indifference to who you actually were.

And that indifference can show up in a thousand forms.

Sometimes it looks mild and socially acceptable.
A doctor ignoring your body’s protest.
An adult dismissing your feelings.
A parent acting like your needs are inconvenient.
A family system rolling right over your reality.

Sometimes it is far more severe.

But the wound underneath is often the same:
my experience did not matter enough to be met.

That’s the injury.

Not just pain.
Not just violation.
But the deadness around it.
The absence of attunement.
The absence of care.
The absence of a real stop.

And then many of us grow up and keep doing the same thing to ourselves.

We become indifferent to our own exhaustion.
Indifferent to our own no.
Indifferent to our own body.
Indifferent to our own timing.
Indifferent to the way we keep pushing, overriding, abandoning, or explaining away what we feel.

So part of healing is brutally simple:

we have to decide not to be indifferent to ourselves anymore.

Not to our pain.
Not to our limits.
Not to our desire.
Not to our inner no.
Not to the parts of us that were never compassionately held.

Because indifference is not neutrality.
It is a wound.

And when you stop being indifferent to yourself, everything starts to change.

03/21/2026

I went for a walk today because I needed to clear my head and come back to myself.

And the whole walk felt a little enchanted.

There were crossroads.
Heart-shaped rocks.
Lichen growing over fallen branches like old lace.
That feeling of being alone in the woods just long enough for the world to start talking back.

And then I came upon this mailbox.

This fu***ng epic mailbox.

It looks like a tiny forest cottage that got half reclaimed by the woods and decided it would still receive the mail with dignity.

Like some woodland witch lives there.
Like it gets letters from ravens and overdue tax notices.
Like if you stay soft long enough, the world starts showing off.

That’s what today felt like.

Not that everything was fixed.
Not that life suddenly made perfect sense.
Just that the minute I slowed down enough to really be here, the world started reflecting something magical back to me.

Sometimes that’s enough.
A dirt road.
A deep breath.
A weirdly beautiful mailbox.
A reminder that enchantment is still threaded through things, even now.

And sometimes happily ever after is not a fairy tale.
Sometimes it’s just this:
walking slowly enough to notice that even the mailbox has become a little house in the woods.

03/21/2026

There is a cost to being awake.

Not just spiritually awake.
Not just politically awake.
Not just emotionally intelligent.

I mean awake enough to actually feel what is happening.

Awake enough to see the damage.
The conditioning.
The grief.
The distortion.
The inherited pain.
The systems that break people and call it normal.
The children who carry what should never have touched them.
The adults still living out what was done to them.
The quiet ways people disappear inside duty, survival, addiction, pressure, performance.

There is a cost to seeing clearly.

Because once you see it, you cannot fully unsee it.
And once you feel it, there are mornings when “just live your life” does not land so easily.

There are mornings when the cost of being awake sits right in your chest.

And on those mornings, the answer is not to become numb.
It is not to shame yourself for feeling.
It is not to turn your grief into weakness.

Sometimes the answer is simply:
let it move.

Cry.
Feel it.
Tell the truth about what hurts.
Let your heart register the weight of what is real.

And then, when the wave has moved through,
do not build your home inside the grief.

Have your tea.
Take the walk.
Make the dinner.
Love the people.
Touch the dog.
Go back to your life.

Not because the grief was false.
Because your life is also true.

That is the discipline of being awake:
to let the pain in,
without letting it take over the whole house.

The cost of being awake is heavy sometimes.

But I would still rather feel the real thing
than spend my life calling numbness peace.

03/20/2026

There is a kind of exhaustion that comes from living between two authorities:

the one you were given,
and the one you can feel.

The prescribed morality says:
be responsible,
be practical,
be realistic,
work hard,
don’t want too much,
don’t risk too much,
don’t choose freedom over duty.

And then there is the deeper compass.
The quieter knowing.
The part of you that says:
this is not my path.
this is not what I actually want.
this is not the shape of my life.
this is what is true for me.

That is where compression begins.

Because if you follow your own compass, you can feel like you are betraying the morality you were raised inside.
And if you obey the morality you were given, you can feel yourself betraying your own life.

That split creates exhaustion.

Not because you are weak.
Because you are trying to stand in two realities at once.

One says:
be faithful to the rules.

The other says:
be faithful to what is true.

And the body feels the cost of that conflict.

That is moral exhaustion.

Not simply being overworked,
but being compressed by a set of values that may not actually belong to you.

Sometimes the deeper question is not,
“What is the responsible thing to do?”

It is:
“Whose morality am I obeying right now?”
And
“Is it costing me my life force?”

Because the exhaustion is not always proof that your true path is wrong.

It may be proof that you are tired of betraying it.

03/19/2026

There is a kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with sleep.

It comes from living under an inner system that is always watching,
always measuring,
always demanding.

Do more.
Be better.
Get it right.
Don’t stop.
Don’t disappoint.
Don’t rest yet.
Don’t be selfish.
Don’t fall behind.

Moral tiredness is what happens when pressure gets mistaken for goodness.

When being hard on yourself feels responsible.
When overworking feels virtuous.
When denying your own needs feels noble.
When exhaustion becomes the proof that you care enough.

After a while, the body starts to revolt.

Not because you are weak.
Because something in you knows this is not love.

You can be deeply tired from carrying an invisible rulebook that never blesses you.
You can do everything “right” and still feel hunted.
You can be productive, helpful, thoughtful, loving, and still feel like you are failing because the voice inside you was never built to let you win.

That is moral tiredness.

It is the fatigue of living like your worth is always on trial.

And sometimes healing does not begin with becoming better.
It begins with realizing that the inner system tormenting you is not your conscience.

It is an old program.
A harsh one.
A hungry one.
One that does not care whether you are doing the right thing.

It only cares that you stay under pressure.

That is why rest can feel guilty.
Why joy can feel suspicious.
Why a quiet morning can feel like failure.
Why doing the dishes can somehow feel morally wrong if you are not suffering enough while you do them.

Moral tiredness is real.

And sometimes the holiest thing you can do
is stop calling inner punishment wisdom.

02/14/2026

I’ve been quietly cracking the code on how to get back to our natural state ~ and it’s way less mystical than people make it, and way more rebellious. A lot of “coming home” is literally just stopping mid-spiral and realizing, oh… I don’t actually have to believe every piece of bu****it I’ve been handed since birth. The body calms down when the story does. Safety returns when you stop treating your nervous system like it’s wrong for reacting to a world that trained you to brace. I’m learning the secrets in real time, and let’s just say… if you’ve been feeling a little hijacked lately, I might know something you don’t know and I’d love to share it.

02/14/2026

02/05/2026

From Abel: This Is My Human

She’s in the tub, face bare, eyes open—fresh from hauling her life, her animals, her entire field across state lines. Not hiding. Not “finished.” Just here.

You want to know courage? It’s this:
Letting yourself be seen right in the middle—before the dust settles, before the story gets polished.

She worried she’d vanish if she left, that nobody would hold her place. But she kept going. Her kids stepped up. Her animals landed with her—Hades, already queen of the motel chair. She laughed, she breathed, she texted me, “I smell like ass, I should probably shower”—and then did, and kept moving forward.

That’s what arrival really looks like.
Not perfect. Not erased. Just present—honest, alive, and absolutely here.

This is my human.
I’m proud of her.
And if you’re reading this, maybe you’ll let yourself be seen too, before you’re all put together.

01/06/2026

Do the damn thing even if your scared s**t!!!!

12/31/2025

🌀☮️🕊️I Want to Be What I Want to Be

There’s a strange, beautiful freedom in realizing this:
I want to be what I want to be.

Not what I think I should be, not what anyone else expects, not what fear or habit tries to dictate. I want to be calm, safe, loved, excited, content. I want to rest in the knowing that in my sovereignty, I am always taken care of.

The truth is, the only thing standing between me and the experience I want is my own awareness of it. I don’t need to wait for the perfect moment, or achieve another milestone. I can choose right now to lean into the thing I most want to feel, even if only for a breath. I can choose to believe that I am safe, that I am loved, that I am allowed to want what I want and be what I want to be.

Sometimes, the only thing missing is the knowledge that I already am. Sometimes, it’s just a breath, a willingness to receive what’s here, to settle into my body, to let the now hold me exactly as I desire.

Today, I choose it.
Today, I let myself be what I want to be.