Rooted & Raw: BOUNDARIES AND BECOMING: What It Means to Be Well in a World That Isn’t Well With You

They’ll say, “You’ve changed,” like it’s an insult.
Like waking up to your own exhaustion and choosing to stop bleeding out for people who never bring a bandage is betrayal.
But what they really mean is: You’re no longer easy to take advantage of.

The journey to true wellness isn’t soft-spoken or soaked in lavender.
It’s jagged. Loud.
It looks like saying no when everyone expects a yes.
It sounds like silence when others demand an explanation.
Saying no isn’t just self-care—it’s self-resurrection.
It’s self-respect.
It sets you free.

It’s about reclaiming your intuition in a world that profits from your disconnection.
It’s about rejecting hustle culture and performance-based living.
It’s remembering that rest is your birthright—not something you earn by being productive enough or palatable enough.

Especially for healers, empaths, and women—the space-holders and soul-bearers of this world—healing often looks like setting the boundaries you were once afraid to.
Like realizing yes can be sacred—but no? No can be holy.
Saying no isn’t harsh.
It’s honest.
It’s real.

Growth isn’t always pretty.
And peace? It tends to provoke people—especially the ones who only loved the version of you that didn’t have boundaries.

Choosing peace over performance isn’t betrayal. It’s becoming.

It’s becoming a boundary in motion—firm, loving, and no longer bendable.
It’s becoming the storm and the shelter, unshaken by those who can’t weather you.
It’s becoming the author of your own story—even if no one claps for the rewrite.

The old you would’ve rushed in. Fixed it. Smoothed it. Swallowed it.
The new you pauses. Breathes. Listens inward.
You’re no longer their soft place to land—you’re the mirror they avoid.

The truth is, some people weren’t loyal to you.
They were loyal to your lack of boundaries.
Be wary of those who feed off your light but never feed your soul.

And when you finally start choosing yourself, you’ll bury every version of you that made their comfort a priority—and never visit the grave.

You’ll feel the pull to explain yourself. To shrink again.
Don’t.
Don’t get sucked back in.
Stay focused. Stay rooted. Stay free.

Because people can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.
And this journey? It doesn’t look good on Instagram.
It’s sacred. Messy. Unapologetically raw.
It’s about burning down what’s toxic so something true can rise in the ashes.
It’s saying: “I’m not carrying what isn’t mine anymore.”

That’s the mantra.

Because some people don’t want healing.
They want your time. Your energy. Your validation.
But never your truth.
And definitely not your boundaries.

If your peace requires them to grow, they’d rather lose access to you than face their own reflection.
Let them.
Let them burn the bridge and call it boundaries.
Let them talk loud and say nothing.
Let them carry the version of you they created in their heads.
Let them drown in their own projections.
Let them be offended.

You’re not here to be understood by the unhealed.

A peaceful life is not about betraying yourself to keep the peace.
It’s about asking harder questions.
Having the uncomfortable conversations.
And somewhere in the wreckage of the old you…
Something sacred is reborn: self-respect.

This is what healing really looks like.
Understanding that boundaries aren’t walls—they’re doors.
They don’t cut you off from love; they filter out what love is not.
They help you discern what’s nourishing versus what’s just familiar.

And sometimes?
They save your damn life.

Every time you say no to what drains you, you say yes to what rebuilds you.
To rest.
To creativity.
To relationships that don’t ask you to shrink.

Because when you stop performing wellness and start living it, you realize:

You were never too much.
You were just around people who expected you to be less.

Keep shining. And keep rising.

RECIPE:

Rooted & Raw Reclamation Bread  

When you choose peace over performance, and boundaries over burnout, something deeper starts to rise.
Not just in your spirit—but in your kitchen, too.

I didn’t realize how much I’d been rushing everything—meals, moments, myself—until I started baking bread a few years ago.

There’s something holy about slowing down long enough to let something rise on its own terms.
To watch simple ingredients transform, not because you forced them—but because you honored the process.

That’s what this loaf became for me: a quiet kind of reclamation.
A way to nourish the version of me that finally stopped pouring from an empty cup.

So whether you need a reset, a ritual, or just something warm to remind you that slowness is sacred—
This one’s for you.

Ingredients:

4 cups bread flour

2¼ tsp active dry yeast

2¼ tsp sea salt (I use garlic sea salt for a little extra soul)

2 cups warm water

Extra virgin olive oil (for drizzling)

Optional toppings: shredded cheese, sliced jalapeños, everything bagel seasoning

Instructions:

1. Start with the dry. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the bread flour, yeast, and salt. Make a well in the center.

2. Add the water. Pour in the warm water and stir until a shaggy dough forms—nothing fancy, just blended and messy in all the right ways.

3. Oil the edges. Drizzle a bit of EVOO around the edges of the bowl to help the dough pull away easier later.

4. Cover and let rise. Cover the bowl with a clean towel or plastic wrap and let the dough rise at room temperature for about 2 hours, until it doubles in size and looks soft and bubbly.

5. Prepare your surface. Wipe down a clean surface, dust it lightly with flour, and gently turn the dough out. Knead just enough to shape into a round loaf.

6. Final touches. Place the loaf on parchment if needed. Dust the top with flour, then score it with a sharp knife to help it rise evenly.

7. Flavor your boundary. Top with your favorites—cheese, jalapeños, or everything bagel seasoning for a savory kick.

8. Bake boldly. Place the loaf into a preheated Dutch oven at 475°F. Cover and bake for 28 minutes, then remove the lid and bake a few more minutes if you want a deeper golden crust.

9. Let it rest. Cool for at least 10–15 minutes before slicing. 

You’ve waited this long—let it settle. Let it speak.