Back to Quiet Comforts: Returning to What Matters
I used to think I understood.
But the truth is, I didn’t. Not fully.
When I was younger, I always felt this pull toward nature. I couldn’t explain it then—I just knew that being outside felt like home. I would dream about living sustainably off the land, somewhat based on the books The Boxcar Children or Little House on the Prairie that I loved to read, building a simple life surrounded by trees and water. At the time, I thought it was just a kid’s imagination running wild. But looking back, it was so much deeper than that.
It was freedom. It was peace. It was belonging.
Even as a little girl, I carried battles that no one else could see. On the outside, I was surrounded by people who loved me. But on the inside, there was this emptiness—too small for others to notice, yet big enough that I felt worlds apart. I didn’t have the words back then, and I definitely didn’t have the tools. All I knew was that when I stepped outside, into the stillness of the natural world, I felt less alone; a feeling I usually only experienced on the volleyball court or in the discus ring otherwise.
And here’s the thing: nature isn’t actually still. There’s always movement—roots growing, insects buzzing, trees swaying, water shifting. Life is constantly happening beneath the surface, even if we don’t see it. Maybe that’s why it felt so safe to me. Maybe that’s why I felt more understood by nature than I ever did by people.
But don’t get me wrong—this isn’t a sad story.
This is a story of discovery. Of hope. Of coming back to myself.
Because these past few months? They’ve been overwhelming. Maybe you can relate. The harder I tried to hold everything together—work deadlines, family needs, friendships, finances, the constant heaviness of the world—the more it all seemed to slip through my fingers. Everything felt like “too much.”
And when everything feels too much, sometimes the only thing we can do is return to our roots. To strip away the noise. To find presence in the small, ordinary moments.
Today was one of those days. It’s a Monday, and I could feel myself unraveling—dysregulated from the pressures and the weight of everything on my plate. After I finished work and before starting my evening job, I slipped outside to the garden. It’s mid-September now, but the tomato plants I put in the ground back in May are still giving. I filled an entire bucket, smiling at the unexpected abundance.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Something as simple as picking tomatoes shifted everything inside me tonight. My stress softened. My breathing slowed. My heart felt grateful. I could literally feel my body moving out of survival mode. Even my Oura ring confirmed it—my stress levels dropped, my body eased back into “relaxation.”
Moments like that remind me just how far I’ve come.
A couple of years ago, you wouldn’t have found me here, with dirt under my nails and gratitude filling my heart. Well, the dirt under my nails from gardening you would, but less so with gratitude. You would have found me hustling nonstop—climbing ladders, chasing the next “win,” saying yes to everything while saying no to myself. You would have seen me polished and put together every day of the week, makeup done, hair fixed, professional mask in place. And behind it all? Exhaustion. Chronic stress. Doctor’s appointments that were becoming too frequent to help reactively address the outcomes of my high stress load, poor self-care, and personal neglect.
But today? Today I’m in joggers and an oversized tee. My hair’s in a messy bun, my face bare, my hands covered in soil from tending to the garden. And instead of exhaustion in this moment, my heart feels full. Not because life is perfect (it truly is far from right now) but because I finally paused long enough to notice what matters.
I still don’t have it all figured out. Honestly, I don’t think anyone ever fully does. But I’m learning that peace doesn’t come from chasing the next best thing. It comes from presence. From pausing long enough to breathe. From small joys—functional movement, creative outlets, meals made with your own hands, quiet moments in nature, laughter with the people you love.
That’s why Quiet Comforts exists. At first, it was just a place to share recipes without filling my personal news feed. But it’s grown into so much more - at least for me. It’s still about the food I’m cooking, the jars I’m preserving, the garden I’m tending. But it’s also about the deeper stuff—self-discovery, grounding, finding comfort in the quiet. It’s about learning how to be with myself again, without apology. It is about showing up authentically with you all and for you all.
So here we are. Starting new.
Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for walking alongside me. This life is messy, complicated, heavy, and at the same time, breathtakingly beautiful. And the truth is, we need each other in it. We are better when we remind each other to pause, when we share in the joy of small things, and when we find comfort—together—in the quiet.
With all the appreciation and gratitude,
Katherine
Listen Audibly Here!
