Newsletter 3: 11/29/25 That’s where the light gets in

Hello Dear Friends,

As I sit to write this newsletter, the cursor blinks at me like it’s waiting for something I haven’t found yet. I don’t have a plan or a polished idea for what’s supposed to spill out. It feels a lot like crafting with herbs, showing up empty handed, and trusting the process, a dance I've become quite familiar with this year. 

Thanks for being here. <3

This week has been tender. Heavy in places I didn’t expect. I keep bumping up against the belief that I should have it all together by now, only five months after everything in my life fell apart. I keep thinking I should know how to balance full-time work, run a business, tend to my heart, and root myself in a new community all at once. The truth is… the world moves faster than I do. I’ve always been a deep feeler, and wish to taste and touch each moment.

I want this to be a space where I share the real pieces of my life as a young herbalist and as a woman walking a path I was never shown. A place to talk about the medicines I’m making, the herbs I’m learning from, inspirations that come with the seasons, and the honest unfolding of rebuilding my life. 

I’m not here to “scale” my apothecary in the way the world expects. I want to grow in the ways that feel alive, sharing with people I love, sharing at markets, offering my creations in the little shops in town, and connecting with the hands that use them.

It feels like we’ve drifted so far from the people who make the things we put on and into our bodies. We rarely know their names, their stories, or where the plants came from. I want to bridge that gap.

Recently, I co-facilitated at a women’s retreat. I cooked, guided practices, and shared my apothecary. On the last night, we held a womb-healing ceremony and I guided an abdominal massage that I learned during my postpartum doula training. We used the warming womb oil I’ve been brewing for months. Watching women remember that their own hands can heal them was so special.

I’d like to share this massage technique in the next newsletter. If you want to join in, you can grab womb oil from the shop. Practices like this used to be weaved into women's lives. Grandmothers handed them down like prayers. Somewhere along the line, we lost the thread. I’d like to pick it back up.

Lately I’ve been paying attention to the natural world and letting it mirror things back to me. It’s one of the things that helps me make sense of what I’m experiencing.

On the retreat, I led a hike through red rock country. I asked each woman to gather three objects without telling her why. When we reached a quiet place, I made three little altar spaces: one for shadow, one for creation, one for light. It was beautiful to watch the women place their objects down and realize what they represented. The earth speaks in ways we can understand without thinking. 

The other day I sat outside and noticed the bare trees. Tears came fast noticing the vulnerability of this season, of the earth and my life. Feeling stripped bare in the same way. I wondered for a moment if the trees ever resent the wind for taking their leaves. But they know better. They know the cycle

bloom and fall

bloom and fall

again and again.

When I finally let myself sink into what was there I found grief waiting. I let myself feel the weight of it fully, swimming in heaviness. And in a few minutes, something softened. I used to think feeling deeply was a flaw. Now I understand it’s one of my greatest gifts. I’d rather feel everything than numb myself into silence.

Sitting with what’s present, without rushing it, without demanding it to conform to an unrealistic standard feels like the only way through. Letting every moment move through me, instead of boxing it up in a dusty corner of my mind.

I learned a new song in a women’s circle recently:

Forget your perfect offering

And ring the bells that still can ring

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in

That’s how the light gets in.

The way we move through the world is our offering. It’s not meant to be perfect. We crack open We fall We rise. The light will always find the openings.

I hope you step outside sometime soon and listen. Let the earth show you the parts of you that are hiding. We aren’t separate from her. 

The next newsletter will have the guided abdominal massage practice. Men can use it as well. It supports digestion as much as the womb.

Take a wander through the shop. I’d be honored if these potions found their way to you or someone you love this season.

I’m always here. Just hit reply.

Be well. Be nourished. Be kind.

Blessings
Mary, From Earth and Eden