Soft light. Warm water. A moment to set down what you've been carrying. This is one of the simplest rituals in the nest, and one of the most quietly powerful.

The full ritual is waiting for you below. Download it, print it, keep it close.

Warmly, Kathy

A Ritual A Shower By Candlelight

4.73MB ∙ PDF file

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A little about me

Hi, I’m Kathy. A guide, a gatherer, a maker of sacred space, and a woman who found her way home to herself after years of putting everyone else first.

For years, I wore many hats at once. Single parent, community manager in a role I was promoted into before I believed I deserved it, event organizer. And later, a family caregiver. Learning all over again how to give without losing myself in the giving. Caring for everyone, in every direction, all at the same time. What I had to learn, slowly and imperfectly, was that I mattered too. What I found on the other side of that, through stillness, creativity, and the women who gathered around my table, became everything I now offer.

There’s a place at the table with your name on it.

This is where the stillness practice begins. Not with a technique or a timer, but with a corner of your home you can claim as your own. A candle. A chair. A quiet place to say, this is for me. Download it below, tuck it away, and begin when you're ready.

Warmly, Kathy

Create Your Sacred Space Guide

13.7MB ∙ PDF file

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A little about me

Hi, I’m Kathy. A guide, a gatherer, a maker of sacred space, and a woman who found her way home to herself after years of putting everyone else first.

For years, I wore many hats at once. Single parent, community manager in a role I was promoted into before I believed I deserved it, event organizer. And later, a family caregiver. Learning all over again how to give without losing myself in the giving. Caring for everyone, in every direction, all at the same time. What I had to learn, slowly and imperfectly, was that I mattered too. What I found on the other side of that, through stillness, creativity, and the women who gathered around my table, became everything I now offer.

There’s a place at the table with your name on it.

A short meditation to walk you in through the meadow and bring you all the way to the garden bench. Pour yourself something warm, find a quiet few minutes, close your eyes, and let me take you there.

Warmly, Kathy

A little about me

Hi, I’m Kathy. A guide, a gatherer, a maker of sacred space, and a woman who found her way home to herself after years of putting everyone else first.

For years, I wore many hats at once. Single parent, community manager in a role I was promoted into before I believed I deserved it, event organizer. And later, a family caregiver. Learning all over again how to give without losing myself in the giving. Caring for everyone, in every direction, all at the same time. What I had to learn, slowly and imperfectly, was that I mattered too. What I found on the other side of that, through stillness, creativity, and the women who gathered around my table, became everything I now offer.

There’s a place at the table with your name on it.

A letter from the Garden, mid-May.

the days following my return from the ocean —

There is a particular kind of disorientation that follows a deep rest.

I came home from just a few days away to Vancouver Island, on the west coast of Canada, bags full of salt air and silence, and for a full day I could not quite find my footing. I felt unsteady. Unfocused. Like someone had shifted the furniture while I was away, and now I was moving through a familiar room in the dark.

On the drive home from the airport, I watched a crow fly above the freeway. I turned to my daughter and said, just a short time ago we were watching eagles soar across the water. Now look at us. We laughed. But something in it was also true, and a little tender.

The island does that to you.

It takes time to arrive at that kind of stillness. And apparently, it takes time to leave it too.

As you press play on the videos, close your eyes.

Imagine yourself there by the ocean.

Take what you need.

The sound of the waves. The birdsong overhead. The wind.

What I know now, and wish I had remembered yesterday, that foggy, unsettled day after I returned, is that the ocean was never really out of reach. It was sitting right there in my camera roll. One small moment away.

And then I remembered the wind.

That sound does something the quiet lapping of water couldn’t quite do on its own. It moves through you, blowing the cobwebs loose from all the corners of your mind. The mental clutter. The low hum of obligation.

I could have stepped away from the unpacked bags and the grocery list, and let myself be there again, just for a few minutes. Not to escape what was in front of me. But to ease the crossing. To give myself a bridge between that open, unhurried version of myself and the one who had to do laundry and think about what to make for dinner.

Stillness is not a place. It turns out it’s portable. We just forget to carry it with us.

I’m curious whether you have ever felt this, the day-after-return feeling, the slight grief of ordinary life rushing back in. And if you have, what did you reach for?

Warmly, Kathy

A little about me

Hi, I’m Kathy. A guide, a gatherer, a maker of sacred space, and a woman who found her way home to herself after years of putting everyone else first.

For years, I wore many hats at once. Single parent, community manager in a role I was promoted into before I believed I deserved it, event organizer. And later, a family caregiver. Learning all over again how to give without losing myself in the giving. Caring for everyone, in every direction, all at the same time. What I had to learn, slowly and imperfectly, was that I mattered too. What I found on the other side of that, through stillness, creativity, and the women who gathered around my table, became everything I now offer.

There’s a place at the table with your name on it.

Visit The Hummingbird Nest Website

Early May, while the garden is still new.

a note from the Garden —

The garden has just been planted.

The lavender is still young, the roses not yet climbing, the chamomile just beginning to soften the edges of the path. I have been out here in the early mornings, tucking things into the earth, wondering what will bloom and when. There is something so hopeful about planting before you can see what will grow. It asks you to trust what isn’t visible yet.

That is what I am doing here, in everything I am building. Planting.

The Hummingbird Nest is new ground. The paths are being laid, the spaces are taking shape, and everything is a little tender the way new things are. But the garden is open. And I wanted you to be the first one in.

The garden is the place I built for stillness. Not the kind of stillness that asks you to empty yourself or get very serious about breathing. The kind that simply invites you to stop moving for a little while. To sit down. To let the morning be enough.

It is the first place I come each day when I need to remember who I am beneath the noise. I think it might become that for you too.

I have recorded something for you. A short meditation to walk you in through the meadow and bring you all the way to the garden bench. Pour yourself something warm, find a quiet few minutes, close your eyes, and let me take you there.

Warmly, Kathy

PS: The garden is always growing. Come back whenever you need it.

A little of what’s ahead in the garden

In the weeks to come, I’ll be adding stillness practices, meditations and journaling prompts to help you find your way back to yourself whenever you need it. Consider this your first taste.

Warmly,
Kathy

A little about me

Hi, I’m Kathy. A guide, a gatherer, a maker of sacred space, and a woman who found her way home to herself after years of putting everyone else first.

For years, I wore many hats at once. Single parent, community manager in a role I was promoted into before I believed I deserved it, event organizer. And later, a family caregiver. Learning all over again how to give without losing myself in the giving. Caring for everyone, in every direction, all at the same time. What I had to learn, slowly and imperfectly, was that I mattered too. What I found on the other side of that, through stillness, creativity, and the women who gathered around my table, became everything I now offer.

There’s a place at the table with your name on it.

Visit The Hummingbird Nest Website