Author: Judith Driscoll

Chaos for the Soul: Weeds Before Wildflowers

Post author By Judith Driscoll
Post date June 19, 2025
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I was doing a reading for someone who shared that she’d been struggling with focus and memory. She was worried—wondering if something deeper might be going on. Later, I messaged her and asked if we could have a different kind of conversation—one not about intuition, but about food.

“Have you ever tried a whole-food, plant-based, no-refined-anything diet?” I asked.

She said she hadn’t, but was open to making incremental changes.

And I’ll admit—I flinched inside.

Not outwardly. I kept my tone steady, supportive. But inside, something tugged at me. Incremental sounded like hesitation. Like one of those well-meaning stalls people use when they’re not quite ready to change. It caught me off guard—mildly aggravating in a way I didn’t fully understand at the time.

Later, in reflection, I realized:

I’ve made nearly every major life change in small, uncertain, winding steps. I just didn’t recognize them as such until afterward.

The Irony of Resistance

That’s the tricky thing about discomfort—it often points to something we’re not fully owning. Her hesitation wasn’t what really bothered me. It was the way it challenged something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself: I still carry a fantasy that deep change should come quickly—through clarity, conviction, maybe even willpower. Not weeds.

She wanted to take the scenic route to change. And I, who has taken the scenic route for the past two decades, didn’t trust it would work.

But it has worked.

I quit smoking in 2002—not from a single vow or dramatic break, but through a series of quiet reckonings. I’d never even thought of myself as a smoker. I only smoked during times of stress or neediness, when something inside me felt unheld. I had a similar addiction to processed sugar that didn’t get resolved until more than a decade after a melanoma diagnosis. But slowly, those needs began to find better outlets. One small shift at a time.

And really, most of my changes came that way.

They didn’t arrive like lightning. They came like land slowly healing—first with tough, scrappy weeds no one admires. Then maybe clover. Then wildflowers. At first it looked messy. Uneven. Like nothing good could come of it.

But here’s the thing: the weedy period—the one that looks the worst—is often doing the most important work. Actual honest-to-goodness weeds break up compacted soil, draw nutrients up from deep underground, and begin restoring the balance that allows other life to take hold.

It’s not pretty. But it’s essential.

Over time, the roots of my convictions went deep, my internal “soil” got stronger, and the whole inner landscape eventually changed. Today I don’t eat processed foods or animal products at all.

The Unseen Power of Small Steps

There’s a strange kind of grief that can show up in the early stages of change. When I let go of food I used to use for comfort—or people who were only in my life because I couldn’t imagine life without them—I felt a kind of absence. Like something had been scooped out of me.

Back then, I couldn’t yet picture what would fill that space. I couldn’t see the strength or softness that might grow there. So it felt lonely. Empty. Sad.

But little by little, I started choosing differently.
Eating differently.

Surrounding myself with people who support who I am now—not who I used to contort myself to be.

Changing what I turn to when life feels unbearable.

And while none of those steps seemed particularly radical in the moment, taken together they’ve added up to something very real. Something solid.

How Values Take Root

I used to think values were things you declared: I believe in this now. I stand for that. But more often, they arrive like seeds. Quiet. Unassuming. You don’t even notice they’ve landed.

Maybe a person who has accomplished something you admire says something that lingers.

Maybe a film shifts how you see the world—about animal rights, or food, or healing.

Maybe an illness makes you rethink your own body, your own choices.

At the time, you don’t make drastic changes. You just carry that seed with you.

Over time, it starts to shape your choices. Not dramatically, but subtly: what you put in your grocery cart. Who you spend time with. How you speak to yourself.

One day you look back and realize: you’re living differently.

Not because you overhauled your life in a weekend—but because that value grew stronger than your resistance.

It didn’t arrive with a trumpet. It quietly took root and stayed.

The Long Arc of Healing

After my melanoma diagnosis in 2012, I followed the Gerson therapy diet for two years. I was deeply committed. Eventually, I returned to what I thought of as “healthy eating,” with some Mardi Gras–style lapses along the way. Years later, I developed basal cell carcinoma on my face.

Based on two authors’—Anita Moorjani and Lissa Rankin—mind-bending books that made a case for looking into root causes of cancer we often don’t consider, I started making a concerted effort to find my voice.

At the time, I still didn’t fully see the pattern. But looking back, it’s clear: healing wasn’t a finish line I crossed. It was—and still is—a landscape I keep tending. Every return, every recommitment, every small decision has helped shape a terrain I now trust.

If You’re on the Slow Path

So now, when someone tells me they want to make incremental changes, I take a breath. I remember that slow change is still change. That nothing done in the direction of healing is ever wasted.

If your progress looks uneven, tender, or slow—if your transformation feels more like compost than fireworks—you’re not alone.

You’re not failing.

You’re in the middle of becoming.

Tags conscious living, emotional growth, healing, incremental change, mindset shift

Course Episodes GO Tools

GO: The First Tool for Rewriting Your Story

Post author By Judith Driscoll
Post date June 11, 2025
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A simple reminder: You already know how to do it—your intuition just needs room to speak.

Before we change anything in our lives, we have to learn how to see. That’s why the first step in The Healing Elements is noticing. We start by observing the patterns—those repeated thoughts, deeply held beliefs, and emotional states that shape what we expect from the world. Most of us don’t even realize we’re running old scripts until we feel stuck, disconnected, or overwhelmed.

Once we notice, we can begin to work with those patterns directly.

That’s where the first tool comes in: GO.

What Is GO?

GO stands for Generate Opposite. It’s simple, but not simplistic. And it’s often the key to real movement—the kind that feels like forward motion after a long time of circling the same emotional terrain.

Here’s how it works:
Take a recurring thought or belief that feels limiting or painful. Write it down. Then write its opposite. And for the next few days, speak the new thought as if it were already true.

Let’s say the original thought is, “I don’t deserve to be happy.”
Your opposite might be: “I deserve happiness.” Or even: “My joy is natural and safe.”

The goal isn’t to wallpaper over something difficult. The goal is to offer your mind and body a new emotional posture—one you can begin to inhabit through language, imagination, and presence.

Sometimes we think affirmations are silly because they don’t match our current reality. But what if they’re not meant to match it? What if they’re meant to reshape it?

You Can Start with Emotion, Too

GO works with emotion as well as thought.

If you’re feeling anxious, try to generate an experience of calm or safety. That might mean stepping outside, talking to someone you trust, or engaging in something that brings joy or inspiration.

A new thought is powerful. But a new feeling—especially one you create on purpose—is transformative.

Two Loud Teachers

My first real encounter with GO didn’t look like a self-help moment. It looked like two screaming goats.

Leo and Orion arrived with tiny voices and cherubic faces. But as they grew, their vocal cords matured into something else entirely. Let’s just say their bleating could pierce through walls—and often did.

Their cries always escalated when I was immersed in something quiet: writing, reflecting, or planning.

My first internal reaction?
“Shut up.”

And that was the thought I wrote down.

Then I asked: What’s the opposite?

“Speak up.”

It startled me. I hadn’t realized how much of my life had been spent managing silence—keeping things in, playing small, avoiding conflict. Behind that two-word outburst was a much deeper belief: “It’s not safe to be fully seen.”

That’s the one I rewrote next:
“It’s safe to be real.”
“My voice is welcome.”

I didn’t believe these yet. That’s not required. But I spoke them anyway. Wrote them down. Lingered with them.

And over time, I began to notice when I did feel safe, when my voice was heard, when something in me settled instead of bracing.

The Story Beneath the Story

GO helped me recognize how my external world was echoing back my internal state.

Even my melanoma diagnosis showed up with a kind of message: stop disappearing.

I don’t think I “manifested” illness on purpose. But I do believe my soul was asking for something different. It was trying to reroute my attention—not just to my health, but to my life.

There are patterns that want to be undone. GO helps loosen them. It offers an experimental framework: What if the opposite were true? What if you lived into it just a little?

A Few Helpful Affirmations

Of course, it’s not magic. But sometimes it feels like it.

Here are a few affirmations I worked with during a time when I needed a new story:

I know who I am.
I love myself.
I matter.
I feel connection.
I am deserving.
I am lighthearted.
Life is magic.

Some were the direct opposite of an old belief. Others were simply the emotional tone I wanted to amplify. Either way, repeating them gave me a sense of spaciousness—like my mind could stretch a little wider.

Try It for Yourself

So here’s what I invite you to do:

Choose a thought or belief that feels limiting or painful.
Write its opposite.
Say it out loud, as if it were already true.
Try writing the opposite emotion, too—what you want to feel instead. Let it sit alongside the new thought.

You don’t have to do anything else right now. Just begin with the act of generating the opposite.

There are many ways to expand from here—imagining the opposite vividly, play-acting it in daily life, or looking for evidence that it’s already starting to take shape. But we’ll get to those in other posts.

For now, just GO. Let the opposite idea exist. Speak it. Let it change the shape of your thoughts.

This is how stories begin to shift—word by word.

Send a Message

Tags Affirmations, GO, Healing Elements, mindset shift, personal growth, self-awareness, Thought Patterns

HOme Tools Uncategorized

What If We’re Missing the Point?

Post author By Judith Driscoll
Post date May 31, 2025
No Comments on What If We’re Missing the Point?

A simple reminder: You already know how to do it—your intuition just needs room to speak.

On healing, intuition, and the soul’s deeper logic

From Noticing to Understanding

In my last post, I wrote about noticing—learning to recognize the thoughts, beliefs, and emotions that shape our inner terrain. Often, what we notice is what’s not working.

But then what?

Are changing those thoughts, beliefs, and emotions the most helpful thing we can do? Sometimes yes. Sometimes there’s an intervention that helps us shift our pattern or redirect the story. But other times, it’s not about changing anything at all—it’s about seeing it in context. A larger picture. A deeper pattern.

And that’s where it helps to learn how to access something bigger.

Our own higher power.
Our immediate connection with intuition.
Something I call HOme.

A Healing Path That Didn’t Follow the Rules

In July of 2012, I was diagnosed with stage 2 melanoma. The pathology report (Breslow depth: 1.3 mm, mitotic rate: brisk) suggested a higher risk of spread, and every doctor I consulted—my oncologist, surgeon, and two GPs—strongly recommended further treatment.

The second surgery would have removed more tissue around the original site, with reconstruction from another area, and also involved removing and biopsying nearby lymph nodes. They all thought I was making a mistake by declining it.

But I didn’t go through with the surgery. I trusted something else.

And now, more than a decade later, I’m cancer-free.
No signs of recurrence. No complications. I’ve healed.

And I know that doesn’t fit the expected narrative.
But maybe the narrative is the problem.

Beyond Symptom Management

As a therapist, I was trained to think in terms of diagnoses, treatment plans, and symptom reduction. Especially within systems like insurance panels, there’s often pressure to show quick, measurable improvements. But over time, I began to see that symptoms—whether physical or emotional—often point to something deeper.

Sometimes there’s a root cause, something unbalanced or out of alignment. Other times, symptoms arise because we’ve strayed too far from our own wholeness. The invitation isn’t just to manage the symptom—it’s to understand what it’s asking of us.

And that’s why healing can’t always come from the outside.

What if, instead of always turning to professionals—who may also be missing the point—we learned to connect with the expert inside of us?

Listening Instead of Forcing

I’ve seen it in my own life—and in the lives of others who’ve been generous enough to share their stories. Healing doesn’t always begin with insight or intervention. Sometimes it begins with noticing—and then noticing again. Patterns, pain, the shape of the story. We return to it not to fix, but to stay close. To keep asking. To stay curious.

Not a click, not a surge, not even a “moment of insight” that resolves everything. What I’ve seen is a kind of ongoing recognition through devoted noticing. A soul-truth that grows clearer through repetition, not revelation. It doesn’t come from a therapist’s framework or a mental strategy. It comes from the practice of coming closer, again and again. A listening that’s so patient it eventually becomes knowing.

Like the client who kept the peace no matter what it cost her. For years, she’d explain away the discomfort—tell herself she was being too sensitive or that it was her job to absorb tension. But she kept noticing. Kept questioning why the pain lingered. And eventually, without any dramatic shift, she began to see it differently. Not because someone told her. But because the truth wouldn’t stay hidden forever.

Or the woman in the job that left her numb. She didn’t leap into a new life. She just kept paying attention—to the fatigue, the dread, the way her body felt every Sunday night. Slowly, she came to understand: the job wasn’t the only thing holding her back. Something in her had learned not to want too much. Not to imagine too freely. And realizing that wasn’t a moment—it was a slow return to something she’d once known and then forgotten.

Or the client who cycled through relationships without rest. She came to therapy thinking she was too much, too emotional, too needy. But over time, through the noticing, something else began to emerge. Not neediness—an ache. A deep, unspoken longing for the kind of love she never received early on. No one diagnosed it. It was her own quiet attention, over months and years, that allowed her to finally feel it without flinching.

Books like Radical Remission and Cured are filled with stories like these—not of sudden epiphanies, but of people who kept noticing. Who stayed with the pain, the fear, the patterns, until something truer began to rise. Healing didn’t come from forcing a breakthrough. It came from honoring what was already trying to be known and showing up in the body. Many of these people released suppressed emotion, grieved losses they’d never fully faced, or stopped living in ways that betrayed who they really were. Not because someone prescribed it. But because, little by little, they stopped turning away.

What If We Trusted the Process?

And that brings me back to my own story. I didn’t fight cancer. I didn’t even “beat” it. I just listened. I stayed close to what felt true. And I let my life reconfigure itself around that truth.

Anita Moorjani comes to mind. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, she slipped into a coma—and had a near-death experience. When she returned, the cancer disappeared. But just as striking was what she said afterward: that she finally stopped living in fear. She started trusting life. Trusting herself. And everything changed.

I’m not claiming that every illness has a mystical cause, or that intuition should override every medical recommendation. But I do think we’ve underestimated something: the intelligence of the soul. The timing of emotional lessons. The possibility that life wants to unfold in a way that brings us home to ourselves.

The First Step Might Be HOme

So I’ll leave you with this:
What if healing doesn’t have to be engineered?
What if it’s waiting for us to stop interfering?
What if your life is already trying to bloom?

And what if your next step is simply to go HOme?

HOme is one of the core Tools in this work. It starts with checking in with a Higher Order—whatever you call that source of wisdom. Then the small me listens and takes a grounded step… or not. Sometimes the step is action. Sometimes it’s rest. But the point is: it’s not random. It’s not reactive. It’s a co-creation.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

Course Episodes Inner Terrain Markers Practices

What You Notice

Gently recognizing the terrain you’ve inherited

Before anything can grow, we have to see what’s already there. The inner garden many of us tend isn’t just ours. It’s shaped by family patterns, cultural scripts, painful experiences, and unspoken rules. Most of this terrain forms long before we know how to name it. But once we begin to notice, we gain the power to choose what to keep, what to compost, and what to plant with care.

This is about noticing the current reality—what’s truly happening now—not the world we wish existed, or the one we think others should create for us. Even when society, culture, or the people around us don’t seem to be changing, we can begin the work of tending our own ground. Instead of waiting for external systems to shift, we start with what’s already growing inside us. That’s where real change takes root.

What You Repeat

You may find yourself thinking the same thought, again and again. These are auto-thoughts—quick, sharp, and often harsh. They don’t ask permission. They sound like:

What’s wrong with me?
I’m being lied to!
Things are good now, but the other shoe will drop.
No one really wants me around.
I said too much.

They crop up without effort. You didn’t choose them—they were given to you, planted by repeated experience.

One person I’ve worked with remembered feeling unsafe when they were lighthearted. A parent would shut down or criticize their joy. As an adult, they found themselves tensing when laughing too freely, as if joy itself were risky. The moment didn’t come with clear words—more often, it arrived as a sudden jolt of anxiety or the sense of being watched or judged. The body remembered before the mind did.

Another noticed how a simple moment—a cold glance from a cashier—could reopen the old wound of helplessness. Their thought: “I’m in danger.” It wasn’t rational, but it was familiar.

What You Believe

Beneath every repeating thought is a belief: a quiet rule about how the world works. Helplessness means I’m broken. People are dishonest—I’ll always be let down. All joy comes at a cost. I’m unlovable. To stay safe, I must tone myself down.

These beliefs often go unquestioned. They’re old. And they create consequences—especially when we don’t notice or challenge them.

What You Feel

When thoughts and beliefs go unexamined, they shape the emotional climate of our lives. You might feel wary, lonely, shut down, or small. You might feel frustrated and confused—longing to connect, but unable to risk vulnerability. These emotional markers are not flaws. They’re signals. They tell you where your garden needs tending.

In one case, a person noticed that sadness and powerlessness would surge whenever they saw friends making plans without them. The feeling wasn’t just loneliness—it was shame. A sense that they were fundamentally unlikeable or unworthy of connection. As they looked closer, they began to see that this emotion was tied to an old belief: I’m not someone people want to be close to. That belief had taken root early, and silence had become a way to cope. But now, that same silence was feeding the belief and reinforcing the isolation it was meant to avoid.

What You Absorbed

Much of what we carry wasn’t said outright. It was shown. Implied. Lived. Some grew up in households where appearances mattered more than truth. Or where emotional honesty was shut down—or met with silence, sarcasm, or discomfort. Others learned that they could be accepted only if they agreed to rules they didn’t make. Still others were left to make sense of rejection, betrayal, or inconsistency, and found safety in withdrawal or perfectionism.

What we absorb isn’t our fault. But it becomes our soil—until we change it.

What You’ve Produced

These inner patterns shape your outer life. You may notice chronic loneliness, burnout, people-pleasing, emotional flatness, or a deep sense of mistrust. This is not failure. It’s simply the result of what’s been growing. The question is: Do you want to keep growing it?

These are the weeds and seeds already in your garden. You don’t need to name them all. But when you start to see them—clearly, gently, and without judgment—you create space for something new to grow.

You don’t need a fancy system. Just a few quiet minutes, now and then, to check the terrain. You might notice:

The Top Layer – What’s rising up today?
What You Repeat – What thought keeps circling?
What You Believe – What belief might be underneath?
What You Feel – What emotions are showing up?
What You Absorb (or did, previously) – Where might this have come from?
What You Produce – How is this shaping your day? Your life?

Then take a moment to name the opposites—just enough to offer yourself a different path:

A new thought you’d like to grow
A belief that supports healing or possibility
An emotion you’d love to feel instead

And finally, choose a tool. This part matters.
Pick one small way to nourish something new:

Will you Leap and try acting from the new belief?
Will you GO and generate the opposite of what keeps circling?
Will you Imagine something gentler? Bigger?
Will you return HOme (to a Higher Order of wisdom) and ask for help?

You don’t have to fix it all today. Just noticing is enough to shift the soil.

I’d love to hear what this brought up for you.
Would you be willing to name one or two auto-thoughts, beliefs, or emotions you noticed as you read? You can share them using the message button below.

Tags auto-thoughts, beliefs, emotions, family patterns, inner terrain, noticing practice, self-awareness

Course Episodes Practices

What You Can Grow

Nurturing new patterns with small, steady care

You’ve started noticing what’s already growing in your inner garden—the thoughts that keep circling, the beliefs that tighten around your choices, the emotions that come and go like weather. You’re seeing the terrain. That alone is a powerful shift.

Now it’s time to tend it.

You don’t need to overhaul everything or force a sudden transformation. In fact, the most lasting change usually starts with small, honest movements: planting a different thought. Trusting a new feeling. Letting one old belief soften around the edges. This isn’t about self-improvement. It’s about self-relationship.

Amend the soil

You begin by changing the conditions around your thoughts. You imagine the possibility that your inner world can support something gentler, more nourishing. When a belief shows up that once kept you safe but now keeps you small, you meet it with curiosity. You ask: What else might be true? What would I love to grow here instead?

These aren’t questions for your best days. They’re for the moments when it all feels a little hard. When your first instinct is to withdraw, apologize, or disappear. That’s when the soil is most ready for something new.

Choose a tool that matches the season

You don’t have to use every method, every time. This is a garden, not a lab.

Sometimes you Leap: you act as if a new belief is already true. You walk a little taller. You reach out, even when you feel unsure. You play the role of someone who trusts herself—just enough to see what happens.

Sometimes you go HOme: you pause, breathe, and ask for a little help from something bigger. You listen inwardly for direction, like a root listening for water.

Sometimes you Imagine: not as fantasy, but as rehearsal. You picture yourself responding differently. You feel the new pattern as if it’s already part of you.

Sometimes you GO (Generate the Opposite): you catch yourself in a painful loop and plant a counter-thought. Not to argue, but to balance, or even just to see how it feels. To give yourself another path forward.

Each tool is a way of softening the soil around something that wants to grow. Each one—and others—will be explored more deeply in future posts, so you can find what works for you.

Follow signs of life

You don’t need proof before you plant. You need practice.

You might notice that when you affirm your safety, your breathing slows. When you remember your strength, you feel a little taller. When you name your truth, your voice steadies. These are signs that something inside you is shifting—not because you’re forcing it, but because you’re creating the right conditions.

Tend without pressure

There will be dry days. There will be weeds again. That’s part of the rhythm.

This isn’t about perfection. It’s about contact. Each time you check in, each time you choose a gentler belief, each time you trust your own rhythm—you strengthen your root system.

You don’t have to get it right. You just have to return.

And over time, you’ll notice something beautiful: the garden starts to feel more like home.

To support this, you can return to the daily noticing practice outlined in What You Notice —a way of naming what’s present without judgment, and opening the door to something new.