Categories
Consequences Markers

The Real-Life Consequences of Unconscious Thoughts and Beliefs

Whether you’re new here or have been exploring with me for a while, this post is part of a deeper dive into The Healing Elements—my system based on the idea that each of us carries an inner expert. When we learn to observe our thoughts, beliefs, emotions, and the life patterns they create, we begin to tap into our own healing potential. Each “Element” offers an invitation. This one is about Consequences.

Unexamined thoughts, beliefs, and emotions have consequences.

Whether we examine them or not, they shape our lives. But the ones we don’t examine? They can quietly take over—like weeds spreading through a garden while we weren’t looking.

Take the belief, “Being alone is terrible.” The consequence might be constant restlessness, painful loneliness, or clinging to connections that don’t truly nourish you. That belief is the seed. Your experience is the harvest.

But swap that out for “Being alone is healing,” and the consequences begin to shift. Solitude might start to feel spacious, restorative—even sacred. You may make gentler choices, slow down, or deepen your sense of self-trust. That belief is a seed that grows into an entirely different plant.

In the Healing Elements system, those plants are called Consequences—the third Marker in the A–O framework of inner change.

My Story

When I tended a big vegetable garden, I learned early: every seed can sprout. Some give us juicy tomatoes. Some turn into bindweed or creeping bellflower—pretty at first, but quick to take over and crowd out what we meant to grow.

It’s the same with our inner lives.

Auto-thoughts, Beliefs, and Emotions act like seeds. And when left alone, they germinate—whether we want them to or not.

Some of my weedy consequences included cancer, burnout, and emotional patterns like irritability, hopelessness, and joylessness. Much of this grew from a belief I absorbed early on: Stay small. In my family, especially with my mother, there was a quiet message that our value came from reflecting her—her needs, her identity. Real self-expression often felt unwelcome, even dangerous.

That blurred my sense of where I ended and others began. Later, as a therapist, I repeated the pattern—not out of neglect, but because deeply feeling with clients seemed helpful. Still, I didn’t know where empathy stopped and enmeshment began. That confusion created real consequences over time—none of them sustainable.

My Auto-thoughts back then boiled down to “Shut up.” The Belief beneath it? “It’s not safe to express myself.”

The Consequence was a life that stayed small: quieter, dimmer, and more limited than it needed to be.

An Internal Equation:

A (Auto-thought) + B (Belief) = C (Consequence)
(We’re keeping it simple for now—Emotions also play a major role, which we’ll explore next.)

Each Consequence lines up with what came before—even if we never consciously chose that thought or belief.

What Is a Consequence?

A consequence is simply a result. In this work, it’s what grows—emotionally, physically, relationally—from the soil of your Auto-thoughts and Beliefs (and, soon, Emotions).

Some are nourishing. Others are painful. But none are random.

Some people say our inner world shapes our outer world—and honestly, it does seem that way. Core beliefs may carry a kind of vibration, an energetic signal that subtly attracts matching experiences. Life often echoes that signal back—in the people, patterns, and challenges that reinforce what we already believe.

Even physics brushes against this idea. In the double-slit experiment, particles behave differently when they’re being observed—as if attention itself nudges possibility into form. It doesn’t prove anything about beliefs, but it hints at something compelling: that consciousness participates in what becomes real.

That’s why the garden metaphor works so well. Sometimes seeds blow in from past experiences or habits. But once they take root, we can respond: nurture what we want, compost what we don’t, and consciously replant.

Why This Matters

Here’s the good news: cause and effect aren’t fixed.

You can start with a Consequence and trace it back to the seed.
Or start with the seed—an Auto-thought or Belief—and imagine what it might grow into.
Either way, you’re shaping the inner garden.

This is healing work. And it’s powerful.

Try This

  • Revisit the Auto-thoughts and Beliefs you’ve explored so far.
  • Ask yourself:
    • If this thought or belief were a seed, what might it be growing in my life right now?
    • Are there consequences—emotional, physical, relational—that feel connected?
  • Notice what’s nourishing… and what may need to be pulled and composted.

What’s Next

Next up in the Healing Elements series: Emotions—the “E” in our A–B–C–D–E path. Emotions aren’t just reactions; they’re the energy that gives Beliefs weight and fuels the Consequences that follow.

But for now, let this be enough.

You’re not late to the garden.
You’re right on time.

Categories
Auto-thoughts

Candy Was My First Coping Strategy

A Treat, a Ritual, a Constant

Candy was there from the beginning. Not just the kind from holidays or birthday parties. When I was young, my friends and I would walk the five blocks to the corner store, almost like a mini adventure — to flip through magazines, pick out candy, maybe grab a bag of chips. It felt like a choice, a treat, a moment. Now it’s everywhere. Lining the checkout lane. Disguised in Starbuck’s caramel drizzle. Waiting for you while you pump gas or buy groceries — always within reach, always promising a little lift. The kind we all rely on, often, to soften the edges of a life that can feel overwhelming. The kind I could buy with my own money. The kind that, for decades, got me through.

Sweetness That Shaped Me

Over the decades, it followed me — through childhood, through a few different fast-paced jobs in New York where candy was how I kept going, through a traumatic brain injury, and even into my own therapy practice, where I once used candy as a behavioral reinforcer for my youngest clients… and as a quiet reinforcer for myself, too. It was the most consistent tool I had: energy, pleasure, comfort, numbing — all packed into a colorful wrapper.

I used to think fruit was a second-rate substitute — nature’s humble offering next to the gold-wrapped brilliance of a Ferrero Rocher. Candy felt like something you chose; fruit was something you were supposed to eat. I didn’t realize then that my body was already adapting to a world where sweetness had to be bought, packaged, and unwrapped to feel real.

I Thought It Was Just Me

Only now — years after a Melanoma diagnosis, and the catalyst for a long slow return to myself — do I see that the candy wasn’t just a treat. It was part of the pattern. It shaped my blood chemistry, my energy swings, my mood loops. It sharpened the edges of my OCD-like thinking, giving me short bursts of relief followed by deeper crashes.

The crash was always there, but like most of us, I didn’t see it. I thought I was just moody. Just tired. Just “not myself.” I hadn’t always thought to trace it back to the sugar. We’re so conditioned to live in the spike — the rush of a quick fix — that the crash feels like normal. The exhaustion, the looping thoughts, the urgency to fix something — I thought that was my personality. But in hindsight, it was my chemistry.

Who I Thought I Was

I remember a boyfriend once told me I was moody, and I was genuinely surprised. I didn’t see myself that way. But of course I didn’t — I was living inside a body that had been run on candy and processed foods since childhood. That version of me felt like me. I didn’t have a “before.” I had rejected jarred vegetables as a baby, craved sweetness early, and found ways to get it on my own by the time I could walk to the corner store. Sweetness wasn’t a treat. It was a throughline. It shaped my taste buds, my nervous system, and maybe even my personality.

A Quieter Brain, A Calmer Loop

It’s only now, after a year of eating a whole food, plant-based, no-oil diet that I’m starting to meet a different version of myself. One who loops less often. One who can break the cycle faster. One who catches her breath sooner. My lipid profile is changing. My sleep is more deep and restorative. I no longer eat processed food — at all — and the sugar-fueled crashes that once defined my rhythms? They’re so distant now, I almost have to go looking to remember what they felt like. And, thankfully, the cravings are a thing of the past.

Not Just in My Head

What’s striking is that I didn’t change my eating to “treat OCD” or “cure anxiety.” I changed it to protect my brain — long-term — after a moderate TBI and cancer diagnosis. But the changes are showing up in my emotional landscape, too. Less internal noise. Fewer internal negotiations. More space to not manage everything. That’s new for me.

And this is what I wish someone had told me: that obsessive looping — especially the kind that hides in people-pleasing, guilt, and relentless self-monitoring — isn’t just psychological. It’s metabolic. It’s neurological. I wasn’t compulsively cleaning or checking doors. I was mentally tracking every word, gesture, and interaction, trying to stay good, stay safe, stay liked. And sugar, for much of my life, was part of the fuel that kept that loop in motion.

A Culture That Keeps Us Hooked

We live in a culture that hands us sugar (and caffeine) instead of rest. Cake for celebration. Candy as a form connection. It’s handed out at schools, at offices, in therapy rooms. It’s considered harmless, even fun. But for me — and maybe for you — it was fuel for the very loop I was trying to escape.

Maybe It Was Never You

I’m not writing this to villainize sugar. I’m writing it because I want to say something no one ever said to me:

If you’ve been stuck in looping thoughts, in control-seeking, in managing everyone’s reactions — maybe it’s not a character flaw. Maybe it’s a chemistry loop that’s finally ready to unwind.

I’m not all the way there. But I no longer believe that “there” has to come through force, willpower, or therapeutic contortions. Sometimes, it starts by clearing the crash, quieting the spike, and feeding the body in a way that makes clarity possible again.

Categories
Course Episodes HOme

How to Listen to Your Own Higher Wisdom

For anyone learning to trust their intuition

Most of us are taught to trust outer authority—experts, systems, institutions. But there comes a point when that model breaks down. Something inside us starts tugging for a different kind of guidance: one that doesn’t require an hourly fee, paperwork, or a formal request.

That’s where intuition comes in.

You don’t have to “get” intuition—you already have it. What most of us need is to begin using it again, with trust and consistency.

You Already Know More Than You Think

In a recent Heal with Kelly podcast interview, Vishen Lakhiani, founder of Mindvalley, says:

“Intuition is a muscle. The more you practice it, the better you get. But as we grow up, we’re often taught to ignore it, to stop believing in it. That’s why, for most people, the ability fades. Not because it’s gone—but because it hasn’t been used. The good news is, you can bring it back.”

This is a powerful reminder. Your capacity for intuitive knowing hasn’t disappeared—it’s just waiting for you to reconnect.

The Illusion of Separation

In the same podcast, Vishen reflects:

“The greatest lie is that we’re separate.”

At our most alert, task-oriented level of mind (the beta brainwave state), we often feel cut off—from each other, from nature, from our Source.

But when we enter more relaxed states—especially the alpha and theta brainwaves we access in meditation, daydreaming, or quiet reflection—that illusion begins to fade. In those moments, intuition becomes more accessible, not just as inner knowing, but as connection—to something larger than ourselves.

That connection is where higher wisdom flows.

Why I Can’t Tell You How to Get There

When I was in my 30s, I had an EEG that showed I naturally spend most of my time in those relaxed alpha and theta states. For me, intuitive access isn’t something I have to work for—it’s just where my system tends to live.

That doesn’t give me much to offer by way of an understanding about how to get there. But it’s also why I encourage you to explore what helps you shift into a quieter, more intuitive place. It might be breathwork, time in nature, journaling, or music. It might be prayer or stillness or movement. It might be letting go of the need to know, or a concrete, intellectual grasp.

There’s no one right way. And your way might change over time.

Let the Practice Be Messy

Tuning into your inner guidance is vulnerable. Especially at first.

You may sense something but hesitate to believe it. You may get something that, if you trust and follow it, would steer your path in a completely new direction.

You may wonder if you’re making the whole thing up. That’s normal. Learning to trust yourself takes time.

Don’t put added pressure on yourself. A writing prompt during a quiet moment might be helpful:

  • “A word or image popped into my head…”
  • “There’s a feeling I can’t quite explain…”
  • “What would my life look like if my thinking (about this topic) turned on its head…”

Then you can ask yourself:

  • “Do my intuitive responses mean anything?”
  • “Does this new feeling resonate at all?”

You’re not trying to be conclusive—you’re inviting an internal dialogue. That’s where intuition really comes alive: not in perfect answers, but in original, creative thought and exchanges between your higher wisdom and your here-in-this-world self.

When You Get Stuck

If your mind blanks or doubt creeps in, pause. Try something simple:

  • Ask your intuition a yes/no question.
  • Hold your hands out like an old-fashioned scale.
  • If the right hand feels heavier, let that be your “yes.”
  • If the left feels heavier, that’s your “no.”

Ask small questions and follow the thread:

  • “Is this about the past?”
  • “Is this something I’ve experienced before?”
  • “Is there a word I need to hear?”

You’re not solving a puzzle or looking for definitive answers. You’re staying in conversation with your more creative, more expansive, self.

Honor What Comes Naturally

Your intuition will likely express itself in certain ways—through feeling, images, sudden words, or even body sensations. It might be a knowing that doesn’t anchor itself in any of these ways. You might notice that certain questions or topics open the channel more easily. That’s worth honoring.

Try saying:

  • “This is what I’m most tuned into.”
  • “This is where I feel most confident.”
  • “These are the kinds of questions that light up my insight.”

You don’t have to be an all-knowing oracle like the ones on YouTube. Just notice what’s already coming through clearly for you. That’s where your guidance flows most easily.

You are your own best expert.

The world doesn’t need more polished advice. It needs more people willing to listen deeply, speak honestly, and trust the wisdom that arises in stillness.

Let yourself practice. Let yourself be unsure. Let yourself receive.
That’s how your inner voice gets louder.
That’s how you become the guide you’ve been waiting for.

I’d love to hear how this lands for you. Or if you just want to say hi, click Say Hello below. I’m here.

Categories
Auto-thoughts Beliefs Consequences Course Episodes Discourse Emotions Family Markers

Inner Terrain: What You Repeat, Believe, Feel, Absorb, and Grow

A daily walk through the terrain of your mind

We want to fix ourselves.
Of course we do. We want the pain to stop. We want the patterns to change. We want to feel better—now.

But real healing isn’t always quick. And it doesn’t usually start with fixing.
It starts with understanding.
And understanding can take years—even decades.

So here’s what I’ve learned:
What if healing begins with a daily walk through the garden of your inner life?
Not a metaphorical stroll, but an actual practice.
A ritual of noticing what’s growing in the landscape of your thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.

Every morning, I take this walk.
And every day, I discover something new about what’s been quietly taking root in my mind.


The Daily Garden Walk: What You Notice

Picture yourself stepping onto a familiar path.
This is your inner terrain—part wild, part tended, all yours.
As you walk, you start to notice the weeds and seeds—things that were already growing before you ever thought about healing.


What You Repeat: The Woodland Sorrel

There’s woodland sorrel everywhere—carpeting the path, creeping into every flower bed.
You didn’t plant it, but somehow it’s taken over.
Delicate little heart-shaped leaves, almost pretty—until you realize it’s absolutely everywhere.

That’s what your repeating thoughts are like.
They show up quietly, innocently:

“You’ll never get this right.”
“People don’t really care what you think.”
“There’s no point in trying.”

You didn’t consciously plant these thoughts.
But they seeded like crazy, and now they’re the background soundtrack of your mind.


What You Believe: The Buried Junk

You notice a bare patch where nothing grows.
You’ve tried planting there, but the soil won’t cooperate.

So you dig a little. And you hit something hard. Not a rock—an old pipe.
You keep digging and start unearthing the most ridiculous things: rusty farm equipment, a single tennis shoe, and—I kid you not—a bra that someone apparently buried before moving out.

That’s what your buried beliefs are like.
They’re not visible on the surface, but they’re absolutely shaping what can grow:

“You’re too much.”
“Love has to be earned.”
“It’s not safe to want things.”

These beliefs weren’t meant to be planted in your garden.
But there they are, taking up space underground.


What You Feel: The Wilting Corner

Something’s drooping in the corner.
Not because it’s a bad plant, but because it’s been ignored.
You water the showy flowers, the ones everyone sees.
But this little corner? You forget it exists until you notice the wilting leaves.

That’s your emotional landscape.
The feelings you don’t make time for—loneliness, disappointment, that low-grade sadness that never quite goes away.
They’re not dying, exactly. Just… thirsty.


What You Absorb: What Flows Downhill

There’s runoff seeping into your garden from uphill—road salt, fertilizer from the neighbor’s lawn, whatever got washed down from higher ground.
Your soil absorbs it whether you want it to or not.

That’s what absorbed patterns are like—the family rules, cultural messages, and social expectations that flow into your life without asking:

“Don’t make waves.”
“Be grateful for what you have.”
“Good people don’t get angry.”

You didn’t plant these rules.
But you’ve been living by them for so long, they feel like natural law.


What You Produce: The Demanding Beauty

And then there’s the plant that’s absolutely thriving.
It’s gorgeous, productive, everyone compliments you on it.
But honestly? It’s exhausting. It demands all your water, all your attention, all your best soil.
It produces beautiful fruit, sure—but you’re depleted.

These are the consequences of everything else—what you produce as a result of your repeating thoughts, buried beliefs, ignored feelings, and absorbed patterns.
The results that look good from the outside but cost you something essential.


The Practice

This walk isn’t a one-time garden tour.
It’s a daily ritual.

I don’t march through with pruning shears, ready to hack everything down.
I just… notice. What’s spreading? What’s struggling? What’s been planted by someone else’s hands?

Some days I pull a few weeds.
Other days I just water what’s wilting.
Sometimes I discover something beautiful I’d never seen before, hidden behind all that sorrel.

The point isn’t to have a perfect garden.
The point is to know what’s growing in yours.

Because once you can see what’s there—really see it—you can start making choices about what deserves your attention, what needs to be composted, and what you’d like to plant instead.

Your inner life is a garden.
It’s been growing all along, with or without your conscious participation.

What’s growing in your inner garden right now? Take a moment this week to walk your own path and notice what you find.

Categories
Nature Nudges

My Suburban Yard Had Plans for Me

I didn’t plant the violets. I never had to — they’ve always grown here, scattered generously across my half-acre in Minnesota. But I only started noticing them differently long after my brain injury — after I had already become a vegetable gardener, after I’d learned to grow my own food and even started foraging. The real turning point came when I discovered how much more wild foods had to offer me. I was reading about plant compounds that support immunity and skin healing, and there they were: violets. Already present. Already offering.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. Over and over, plants I hadn’t planted began appearing right when I needed them. The more I noticed, the more I wondered: is this coincidence… or communication?


Healing Isn’t Always Linear (Or Visible)

More than a decade ago, I sustained a moderate traumatic brain injury during a horse-jumping lesson. There was internal bleeding in the brain, and I spent time in the hospital. I don’t remember everything, but I do remember needing a walker for a while because my balance was off. I remember not being able to tell which keys on my own keychain unlocked what. I was advised — unofficially — not to see clients for thirty days. My speech was too slow, but no one told me directly. That was the beginning of the long, invisible part of recovery.

What’s lingered isn’t just memory lapses or fatigue. It’s a deepened sensitivity — to food, to chemicals, to people’s energy. Anxiety and obsessive thoughts (Pure O) crept in where clarity used to live. Years later, after a stage 2 melanoma diagnosis in 2012, I doubled down on healing. I started eating more vegetables than I ever imagined possible, started foraging, growing, and blending every bit of nourishment I could coax from the earth. That was the turning point. And that’s when I began noticing what had been quietly growing around me all along.


The Plants Were Already Offering

At first, I thought I was doing all the work — researching, testing foods, logging symptoms, eliminating triggers. But something shifted when I stopped looking only at what I was putting on my plate and started paying attention to what was growing just outside my door.

The violets had always been there, but now I saw them. Chickweed appeared in soft green carpets. Dandelion pushed up through the pathways. Virginia waterleaf caught my attention with its speckled leaves, just as I was learning how deeply nourishing it could be.

They weren’t just plants anymore. They were patterns. They showed up right when I needed what they offered — cooling, cleansing, nourishing, supporting. They weren’t the foods I thought I needed. They were the ones I actually needed.


What Science Now Confirms

For a long time, I thought this was just personal — maybe even poetic. That the plants growing around me seemed to match my healing needs. But then I started reading the science, and the pieces fell into place.

Healthy soil isn’t just dirt. It’s alive — teeming with bacteria, fungi, and microbial communities that shape the health of the plants growing in it. When those plants are picked and eaten soon after harvest — especially raw or lightly rinsed — they carry that microbial life into our gut. And what’s in the gut, we now know, speaks directly to the brain.

Research has shown that exposure to certain soil microbes (like Mycobacterium vaccae) can reduce anxiety-like behaviors and even increase serotonin production. Other studies link the richness of the soil microbiome to the richness of the gut microbiome — and in turn, to better mood regulation, immune function, and nervous system resilience.

What I’d stumbled into intuitively — eating what grew near me, simplifying my diet, trusting the weeds — is something science is only just beginning to understand: that the land and our bodies are in conversation. That healing might not come from far away, but from just beneath our feet.


Relational Eating and Green Messengers

These days, I don’t think of food as just fuel, or weeds as things to fight back. I think of them as signals. As responses. The violets, the chickweed, the dandelion — they were already growing while I was still trying to figure out what was wrong with me. They weren’t waiting for a diagnosis. They were already offering support.

My diet isn’t restrictive anymore — it’s relational. I eat what calms my nervous system, not what excites my cravings. I notice what helps me sleep, what keeps my thoughts from spinning, what makes me feel steady in my skin. And often, those things grow just outside the door.

I don’t romanticize the hard parts. The brain injury, the melanoma, the anxiety that still flickers at times — they’ve been real and sometimes brutal teachers. But in their aftermath, I’ve become someone who listens more closely. Not just to symptoms, but to signals. And the land — full of green messengers — has been one of the clearest.


What’s Growing Around You?

It’s been nearly 17 years since the brain injury and over a decade since the melanoma diagnosis — long enough to forget some of the hardest parts, but not the way they reshaped me. I didn’t expect healing to come through food. I certainly didn’t expect it to come through the weeds. But looking back, I can see a quiet intelligence in what showed up uninvited. The more I paid attention, the more it felt like the land was listening, too.

Maybe healing doesn’t always start with effort. Maybe it starts with noticing what’s already growing — and asking why it’s here.


Auto-Thoughts

Quick, automatic thoughts that pop up in daily life—often shaped by old beliefs and past experiences.