A Letter From the Quiet Years: A Reshaping of Self & Space.
Hey there!
It's been a while since I’ve shared here, or any “Hometree” space, in a way that felt substantial.
I had heard before pregnancy that motherhood has a way of shaking you to your core and molding you into something completely new. What I didn't realize is how messy the work could get when you're raising a child and trying to heal, unlearn, and re-pattern at the same time.
Before our son joined us, I was already feeling the pressure of who I thought I needed to be to "please" the algorithm. Trying to build a small business during and out of COVID felt like running a race in the mud. I kept trying to push through, to do it “right.” But the more I tried to keep up with trends, the more I felt disconnected from myself and the joy of being with my art.
Pregnancy and early motherhood were my breaking open. I hit burnout. And even though I was still hooping, journaling, and dreaming about this space, I didn’t feel like I had anything I wanted to share. My nervous system was in constant survival mode, and I hadn’t yet learned how to listen to it—how to offer it softness instead of shame.
Since then, I’ve been slowly rebuilding. Learning what it means to live as an adult with ADHD, to move at a pace that honors my wiring, not fights it. I’ve been learning the language of the nervous system, and realizing how much of my life has been shaped by urgency and overfunctioning. Now, I’m learning to regulate. To rest. To notice joy in stillness.
After that journey into the underground, I’ve come out the other side with a new kind of knowing: Hometree was always meant to be more than I was allowing it to be—more than I was allowing myself to be.
A space of magic and healing. A reclamation of creativity. An invitation to play and dance and daydream again.
In this great journey of motherhood, I have found myself becoming:
more awkward,
more magic,
more raw,
more goofy,
more playful,
more present in my knowing.
And in that knowing, I’ve started to see burnout not as a failure, but as an invitation to root deeper. To align with a rhythm that honors seasons, not algorithms. I used to think I had to be constantly creating, constantly showing up, or I’d never get anywhere. But what I’m learning is that true sustainability—in life and in work—asks for nervous system safety. It asks for slowness, for cycles, for compassion.
Hometree, too, is shifting. Expanding. It’s no longer a brand I push outward—it’s a living ecosystem I tend. It grows with me: with compost and storms and bursts of bloom. I’m building something that lasts, not because I hustle harder, but because I listen deeper—to the land, to my body, to my child, to my partner, and to Spirit.
Where am I going? Only God knows.
It can only get more interesting from here.
Happy Earth Day<3
Sending all my love,
Kyr
