🍂 Rooted in the Dark: An October Reflection
I wanted to jump on here before sharing November’s journal post — partly to pause, partly to catch my breath, and partly because it feels right to share what’s been stirring lately. October has had its own rhythm — slower, quieter, reflective. The clocks have changed, the days feel shorter, and everything seems to be asking us to pay attention to what’s unfolding within, not just around us.
When life stills like this, we start to hear the quieter truths — the ones we sometimes miss when things move fast. I’ve been thinking about how easily, over time, we can drift from our own knowing. How we start to see ourselves through the eyes of others — through their words, expectations, or doubts. It isn’t always intentional; sometimes it’s just the slow work of forgetting our worth. But just like nature, we’re built to return to balance. Give us a little space, a little light, and we remember how to grow again.
Recently, the same message keeps circling back to me — in study, in talks, in unexpected moments: the harder the thing we’re going through, the better the story that’s being written.
Real Talk Kim said something that really stayed with me:
“When you stay quiet in the season of your becoming, you risk sleeping through your own awakening.”
It’s a reminder that silence can protect us for a time, but it can also keep us from blooming. Sometimes, the work is simply finding the courage to trust our voice again — even if it trembles.
And while I believe deeply that beauty and meaning can rise from hardship, I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. There are things that happen in this world — to good people — that are inexcusable. Pain caused by cruelty or neglect isn’t part of some divine plan. We live in a world shaped by free will, and sometimes, the choices of others bring suffering we never deserved.
But even then — especially then — healing can still grow from the cracks. That doesn’t mean the pain had purpose, only that your life still does. What we choose to do with our healing, with our lessons, with our compassion — that’s where the light comes in.
In herbal medicine, there’s a concept I love: synergy. A plant’s strength isn’t in one compound, but in the way its parts work together. The bitter and the sweet, the root and the flower — each plays its part. Maybe that’s true for us too. The joy and the grief, the strength and the softness — they don’t cancel each other out. They complete the picture.
That same truth echoes through nature and philosophy. As John Muir wrote,
“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”
And Aristotle, centuries earlier, observed that “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
I’ve come to understand this more deeply through my herbal medicine studies and my own healing — the way the body, mind, and spirit are intertwined. You can’t isolate one without affecting the other. Even the smallest part — an organ, a nerve, a cell — reflects and influences the whole. The human eye, for example, is a miracle of synergy: light, lens, nerve, and brain all working together so we might truly see. The same applies to our emotional and spiritual vision. When one part of us heals, it helps the rest of us remember how to see clearly again.
And then there are those small moments of synchronicity — when the same truth crosses your path again and again until you finally pay attention. I don’t think those are coincidences. I think they’re gentle reminders — a kind of grace — that we’re still being guided, even when we can’t see what’s ahead.
I’ve also been thinking about the people who hold space for us — the ones who don’t try to fix or judge, who simply show up and listen. The ones who really see us and remind us who we are when we’ve forgotten. Those humans are rare, but they’re gold. I hope you have one or two in your life — and I hope you remember to be that for someone else too.
So if you’re feeling weary or unsure of what’s next, know this: even the smallest light still pushes back the dark. The seed doesn’t question why it’s buried; it simply trusts the process. Maybe this season isn’t about being lost, but about rooting — deeply — in the soil of what’s yet to come.
🌙 Seasonal Ritual: A Moment for Grounding
As the evenings draw in, make yourself a simple herbal tea — something earthy and soothing like chamomile, cinnamon, and a touch of honey.
Find a quiet spot, hold the cup in both hands, and breathe slowly. Ask yourself:
What truth about myself have I forgotten?
And what would it look like to live as if I already believed it?
No pressure, no fixing. Just gentle remembering.
With warmth and quiet faith,
The Wild Remedy
✨ Coming soon: “November Garden Notes — Listening, Learning & Liberation.”
Stay connected at thewildremedy.org or join our Wild Circle community for slow-living reflections, natural product updates, and stories that remind us we’re all growing — together.