Hearthside Reflections from the Ingrained Living Open House
A Gentle Return to Rest
Welcome, dear one. This is a slow, soul-deep space for women who are weary of striving and ready to return to rest. Each reflection was recorded with care and is available through your private Hearthside Podcast feed. If you haven’t added that to your player yet, you’ll find simple instructions at the bottom of this page.
If you would like to listen in but haven’t received an invitation yet, please click here and I will make sure that you have everything you need
to gather with us around my audio hearth.
Begin with a Welcome Hour
If something in these reflections stirs something in you—
a memory, a longing, a quiet ache—
you’re invited to begin your own journey of restoration and renewal with a Welcome Hour.
It’s not a program. Not a pitch.
Just tea, time, and truth.
A sacred space to pause, be heard, and explore what healing might look like for your body, story, and spirit.
Episode 000 | A Hearthside Welcome
You’re Already Welcome Here
A Prelude for the Woman Longing to Exhale
Reflection Invitation: What would it feel like to begin this journey with softness instead of striving?
To Listen to the Spoken Reflection: Once you have confirmed your subscription through the link I sent in you in your ” 🫖 A Hearthside Welcome Awaits” email, simply open the “The Ingrained Living Open House: An Audio Gathering at the Hearth” private podcast feed to access this reflection.
Read the Written Reflection:
Welcome to the Ingrained Living Open House
A Gentle Note from Bethany
Hi, dear one.
Before anything else, I just want to say—
I’m so glad you’re here.
If you’ve found your way to this space,
you’re probably longing for something quieter.
More rooted. More human. More holy.
Something that doesn’t demand, but invites.
This is your invitation.
Though I wish I could welcome each of you personally—
gathering around my hearth here on our farm,
offering you a warm cup of tea and a moment to exhale—
I’m grateful we can still meet in this quiet way.
Even through headphones and screens,
may this space feel like a welcome home.
A slowing.
A seat at the fire, prepared just for you.
I’ve created this Open House as a slow, sacred unfolding—
a series of short, reflective audio pieces you can listen to in your own time, in your own way.
While you cook, while you drive, while you walk…
or while you simply pause for breath.
Each day, you’ll receive a short reflection—no long lectures, no pressure to keep up.
You’ll also hear gentle stories, soul-tending practices, simple body care invitations, and glimpses into the two healing pathways I guide women through here at Ingrained Living.”
- Ingrained Restoration, for the body
- Ingrained Renewal, for the soul
But this isn’t a sales pitch. It’s a story space. A listening space. A belonging space.
And whether you choose to walk further with me or not, I hope you leave here feeling just a little more… held.
Because I know what it feels like to run on empty.
To hold it all together while quietly falling apart.
To be the dependable one, the strong one, the helper…
and still feel like your own needs are too much.
So, I want you to know, dear one
You are not too much
Your needs matter
You don’t have to prove anything to be welcome here.
This space is for the woman in fast-forward—
The woman who’s just starting to wonder if maybe it’s time to slow down.
To listen.
To rest.
Welcome to the hearth of the Ingrained Haven.
Come, shall we begin—together?
Episode 001 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 1
You Don’t Have to Hustle to Be Held
A Story for the Woman in Fast-Forward
Reflection Invitation: Where can I receive rest even more deeply today?
To Listen to the Spoken Reflection: Once you have confirmed your subscription through the link I sent in you in your ” 🫖 A Hearthside Welcome Awaits” email, simply open the “The Ingrained Living Open House: An Audio Gathering at the Hearth” private podcast feed to access this reflection.
Read the Written Reflection:
Hearthside Reflection – Day 1
Welcome, dear one, to the hearth at the heart of Ingrained Living.
I’m so glad you’re here.
I’m your hostess, Bethany Thomson—and I’m sharing this hearthside reflection with you from our family farm nestled in the rolling hills of Middle Tennessee… a place we call The Farm at Rivendell.
This is Day One of the Ingrained Living Open House—a sacred, slow unfolding of rest, healing, and wholeness.
This week, we’ll reflect on rest…
what it means to live from a posture of rest.
When I speak of rest, I mean something deeper—something sacred.
Not just sleep, but a return. A remembering. A receiving.
I mean the kind of deep, whole-person exhale your body, spirit, and story have been longing for.
I believe true rest is a threefold provision from our Gracious God:
✧ Nourishment for your body—
the kind of steady, life-giving care that doesn’t shame your hunger or rush your healing.
✧ Repair for what’s been strained or broken—
whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually.
✧ Peace—
not just the absence of noise, but the kind that quiets the swirl of pressure
and gently brings you back to yourself… and to God.
This kind of rest isn’t something you achieve.
It’s something you receive.
A mercy. A rhythm. A refuge.
And this week, I pray you begin to receive it—gently, deeply, and with grace for your season.
Rest is relief from the pressure to prove.
It’s being safe enough to feel what you’ve been pushing down.
It’s not checking out—it’s coming home.
And it’s something we were created to receive—not something we have to earn.
Today’s reflection is for the woman who’s been running—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
The woman who’s been trying so hard to be everything, for everyone…
and feels like she might fall apart if she slows down.
I want to tell you a story of mine.
And maybe, somewhere in it… you’ll find an echo of your own.
❧
I once sprinted through an airport like my life depended on it.
It was a Monday morning.
I had just said goodbye to my first love—the only one I thought had ever really understood me.
The one I thought I’d soon marry.
And yet, deep down—after our conversations that weekend—I knew our relationship was ending.
And I was powerless to stop the collapse.
I had booked the cheapest return flight possible—one that would give me just a little more time with him,
but still get me back in time for my first job as a clinical dietitian at Vanderbilt.
I thought that was what mattered most: don’t be late. Don’t let anyone down.
And when the first flight was delayed for maintenance, I panicked.
I begged to be rebooked. And the moment the gate opened—I ran.
Not just ran—I hurled myself down the moving sidewalks like a woman on fire.
My long blond hair was flying behind me,
my backpack thudded against my back with every stride.
I was wearing my brown clogs—not my tennis shoes—because I had dressed to impress, not to perform superhuman athletic feats.
And I was sprinting.
The one thing on my mind?
I cannot get in trouble with my manager. I can’t disappoint the doctors.
I was the rule-follower. The good girl. The one who always showed up.
I was a mess of tears and mascara.
What I haven’t told you yet is this:
The other girl—the one he married just months later—was sitting just a few rows behind me on the first flight.
I knew what it meant.
I knew what I had seen between them:
the confirmation that he had already moved on…
and that I wasn’t the one.
She was drinking ginger ale—
poured from the same can as mine.
She was that near.
And as soon as I could… I ran.
Maybe toward something—responsibility, expectations, control.
But maybe I was also running away…
Away from crushing disappointment.
Away from grief I didn’t know how to hold.
Away from my own sense of being rejected and found undesirable
once I allowed someone close enough to see me for who I really was.
I boarded my connecting flight red-faced and breathless, stumbling to the back of the plane.
I collapsed into my seat, panting.
I didn’t even care that people could hear me gasping.
I just sat there, stunned and sweaty, trying to catch my breath and slow the jackhammering of my heart.
And the flight attendant knelt down beside me and quietly handed me a bottle of water.
She didn’t ask questions.
She didn’t scold me.
She just saw a woman who had pushed past her own limits—
who maybe looked like she needed help… or even CPR.
And instead of judgment, she offered mercy.
❧
I’ve thought about that moment a lot.
And what I wonder now is this:
Why?
Why did i put myself through that?
Why did 23-year-old Bethany believe that disappointing someone—even for a reason I couldn’t control—would mean I had failed?
Back then, I thought it was necessary.
To hustle. To perform. To keep everyone happy.
To show up—even if it cost me peace, breath, or body.
And I know I’m not alone.
Some of you are still living like that.
You’re sprinting through life on the moving sidewalks of obligation—
running in fast-forward because it feels like the only way to survive.
But beloved… what if you don’t have to anymore?
What if missing the flight wouldn’t have meant the end of everything?
What if someone would have understood?
What if it would have been okay to miss a day of work…
for that?
What if it would have been okay to tend to my own heart that day—
instead of the expectations of others?
How many of us are like I was that day? Hustling at the Expense of our hearts?
❧
I still catch myself hustling.
And sometimes… so does my four-year-old.
He’ll look up at me with those wide eyes and say,
“Mama… calm down!”
And he’s right.
So I’m learning to pause.
To notice.
To choose presence over performance—
even if it’s just for a moment.
And maybe that’s where healing begins.
Here’s what I want us to hear, dear one:
Sometimes, the holiest thing you can do is sit down, breathe,
and let someone bring you a bottle of water.
And remember—you are still held.
Even if you don’t make the flight.
❧
Before we close, I want to offer you something tender.
A hymn I’ve come back to over and over.
Come, Ye Souls by Sin Afflicted was written more than 200 years ago by a pastor named Joseph Swain—someone who knew what it meant to carry sorrow and long for rest.
The tune I’ll sing is called Jefferson. It was first sung in Tennessee soil—my own soil.
And even now… it sings.
It has carried the ache of generations…
and today, it’s here to hold yours too.
After the hymn, I’ll share a verse from a new song I’ve written—The Threshold Lullaby.
There was a time when silence was my story.
When I believed my voice wasn’t welcome—especially in song.
But grace has been doing a quiet, steady work in me…
and now, I offer my voice in verse.
Not to impress. Not to perform.
But to share a story that has echoed through generations—
A story of rest.
Of mercy.
Of being carried by the Shepherd who never lets go.
❧
Come, ye souls by sin afflicted,
Bowed with fruitless sorrow down;
By the broken law convicted,
Through the cross behold the crown;
Look to Jesus,
Mercy flows through Him alone.Take His easy yoke and wear it;
Love will make your obedience sweet;
Christ will give you strength to bear it,
While His grace shall guide your feet.
Safe to glory,
Where His ransomed captives meet.Blessèd are the eyes that see Him,
Blest the ears that hear His voice;
Blessèd are the souls that trust Him,
And in Him alone rejoice;
His commandments,
Then become their happy choice.Sweet as home to pilgrims weary,
Light to newly opened eyes,
Like full springs in deserts dreary,
Is the rest the cross supplies.
All who taste it,
Shall to rest immortal rise.–original verse by Joseph Swain, public domain
Come, beloved—weary, aching,
Holding more than words can show.
You were made for more than striving.
You don’t have to walk alone.
May the Shepherd lead you gently to your home.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
❧
You’ve already begun to embrace rest—just by leaning in a little more closely today.
This isn’t a performance.
It’s a pause.
I’d like to offer you a simple question for you to ponder:. “Where can I receive rest even more deeply today?”
Let this be the day you stop waiting to be “ready”… and simply begin being held.
Episode 002 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 2
Your Body Is Not a Problem to Fix
An Invitation to Unlearn What Exhausted You
Reflection Question: What is one way I can tend to my body with kindness today?
To Listen to the Spoken Reflection: Once you have confirmed your subscription through the link I sent in you in your ” 🫖 A Hearthside Welcome Awaits” email, simply open the “The Ingrained Living Open House: An Audio Gathering at the Hearth” private podcast feed to access this reflection.
Read the Written Reflection:
Hearthside Reflection – Day 2
Welcome, dear one. This is Day Two of our hearthside gathering for the Ingrained Living Open House.
I’m your hostess, Bethany Thomson and I’m so glad you’re here.
If yesterday was about releasing the hustle—that internal sprinting we do to keep everyone happy—today is about something quieter. More tender.
It’s about your body.
Your real body. The one you live in. The one you may have spent years trying to fix, ignore, shrink, or silence.
I want to begin with a story.
❧
I woke up as he walked into the living room.
I was nineteen—serving as a summer missionary, staying with a host family. And somehow, I’d fallen asleep on their couch.
I startled awake, not sure what time it was, heart racing with embarrassment.
But he just smiled and said, “I’m so glad you felt comfortable enough to rest.”
And I remember thinking, “I didn’t know I was allowed to.”
I hadn’t come that summer to rest. I had come to serve. To give. To pour out everything I had.
And I did.
I didn’t think I was allowed to have needs. Rest felt like something you sneak—like a guilty indulgence.
And in my free time, I certainly wasn’t going to play or nap or wander. I thought, *”I’d better be doing something spiritual. Something useful. Something good.”
There was another girl on the team that summer. One day she pulled me aside and said, kind but frustrated:
“Whenever a need comes up, you jump in before I even have a chance to offer help.”
And honestly? I was hurt. Because I thought she was being lazy…
And I was being eager. Helpful. Selfless.
That was my identity. The one who never rests. The one who always meets the need.
Later that summer, I was riding in the car with the same host. He asked, “Are you comfortable?”
I said, “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. I was cramped, twisted, trying not to take up too much space.
He just looked over at me and said,
“Bethany, you’d be fine with a thousand pounds of mud in your lap.”
He didn’t say it to shame me. He said it to show me:
You don’t have to pretend not to need anything.
That moment stayed with me. Because what I had learned—and what I know so many women have learned—is this:
That it’s safer to meet everyone else’s needs than to speak your own. That it’s okay to be tired—but not okay to be seen in your tiredness. That rest is indulgent. That care must be earned. That disappearing is the holy thing to do.
But friend—I’ve been unlearning that ever since. And I want to invite you to begin unlearning it too.
❧
Long before I ever knew the language of nervous system regulation, or embodiment, or adrenal fatigue, I remember this:
A nap offered with no strings attached.
And how startling it felt.
That was the first time I sensed what it could be like to feel safe in my own body—not rushed, not fixed. Just tended to.
❧
Because so many of us were shaped by quiet lies that never had language—until our bodies started bearing the weight.
Maybe you were taught (or simply absorbed) that:
- Rest is selfish.
- Helping is holy—but needing is shameful.
- To be “good,” you have to disappear.
- It’s okay to be tired—as long as no one sees it.
- You can rest—as long as no one else needs you.
Over time, that kind of belief buries itself deep… Until your body can’t carry it quietly anymore.
It starts to whisper. Then nudge. Then finally—shout.
❧
So today’s invitation is not to change everything overnight. It’s simply this:
To pause. To notice. To tell your body: You don’t have to earn my kindness.
You are not a problem to fix. You are not the pain you carry.
You are a vessel of God’s image. You are worthy of being nourished, tended to, and loved.
Not later. Not when you look different. Not when you’ve achieved something more. Now.
Even here.
Even if you’re tired.
Even if you don’t believe it yet.
You were not created to disappear. You were created to dwell.
To live and move and breathe—in a body that is not broken, but beloved.
Let this be the first kind word you offer her.
So I invite you to ask yourself:
What is one way I can tend to my body with kindness today?
❧
Let this verse be sung over you, like a warm covering—one your body may not have known it needed.
Come, dear one who’s feared her body,
Called it failure, bore the weight
You are not the pain you carry—
Let that shame be rocked away.
May the Healer rock you gently into rest.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
❧
You don’t have to disappear to be good. You don’t have to fix everything to be whole.
You are allowed to be seen in your need.
May your body feel kindness today. May your breath slow.
And may you remember: You are not a problem to fix. You are someone to be loved.
You are already being held.
Episode 003 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 3
The Tending Trio
A Rhythm for Real-Life Restoration
Reflection Question: How did I tend to my body, heart, or spirit today?
Write it down—not to track your performance, but to witness your presence.
To Listen: This is Day Three of your private podcast journey. Please open your private feed to listen.
Read the Written Reflection:
Hearthside Reflection – Day 3
Welcome, dear one, to the hearth at the heart of Ingrained Living.
I’m so glad you’re here for our day 3 hearthside reflection.I know this may be meeting you in the middle of a full week… so I hope this offers you a quiet moment to slow down.… and if you are listening to this reflection on a 1.25 or higher speed as I often do, you might even want to adjust your settings and turn it down a notch… Let’s settle in…
We’ve been talking about rest—not as something you earn, but something you receive. And today, I want to offer you a rhythm for receiving.
But first… a few moments from my own life this week where I embraced rest.
And, as funny as it might sound, I have listened to my own hearthside reflections this week… more than once! Sometimes the words I speak to you are the very words I need to hear again.
Just like preaching the gospel to myself every day… I need the reminder that my body is worth tending. That rest is not a reward—it’s a rhythm. That healing doesn’t begin with performance—it begins with presence. You see, I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s question too: What would it feel like to tend to your body with kindness and curiosity—not just tolerate it or try to tame it?
So,
I scheduled a podiatrist appointment. I’ve had plantar warts for a few months now that are painful and are affecting my ability to even walk as long as I would like outside, and while I tried natural treatments for a while, I finally listened to my body. It was time to ask for help.
I also spent over an hour on the phone with the sleep center, advocating for myself, getting my CPAP data and an appointment set up. That may not sound spiritual… but it is. Because sleep is sacred. And how I rest affects how I serve.
And then—I took a nap. Just seven minutes. But instead of pushing through, I laid down. I gave myself permission to pause.
And one more thing: Earlier this week, I made another kind of decision—one that, just a few years ago, I might’ve brushed off or pushed through. After realizing during my weekly preview how full my Thursday would be, I rescheduled my daughter’s orthodontist appointment. It was going to be a long drive on a day that was already full. I realized it would leave me too depleted to be present at a women’s gathering at church that really mattered to me. So, I made the call and moved the appointment. Not out of avoidance—but out of alignment. That, too, is tending.
None of these were dramatic. But they were decisions. They were acts of presence.
❧
And that’s what I want to offer you today: a rhythm of presence. I call it:
You might remember on Day 1, I shared how I believe rest is a threefold provision from our gracious God—nourishment, repair, and peace. Today I offer you a simple way to live that out—gently, daily, in real life.
I call it:
The Tending Trio
This isn’t a checklist. It’s a return. A mercy. A rhythm. A refuge.
When life feels like too much, we begin with three simple kinds of tending—one for your body, one for your heart, and one for your spirit.
Not because it’s insignificant. But because it’s foundational.
Because how you tend matters.
These aren’t “fixes.”
They’re invitations.
1. Tend the Body: One Nourishing Gift
This might be:
- A warm meal
- A nourishing snack
- A hot drink
- A walk in the sun
- Taking a moment to breathe before your next thing
It’s your way of saying, “I’m allowed to be cared for.”
2. Tend the Heart: One Reaching Out
This might look like:
- A text to a friend that is honest (like when I had to text my Life Group ladies and tell them how anxious I was about my upcoming cardiology appointment because I was afraid my blood pressure would be sky-high and I would get put back on the medication I had been taking during my extended postpartum preeclampsia journey.
- A moment of honesty in your journal
- Canceling something that’s costing too much
- Letting yourself feel what you’ve been stuffing down
It’s not fixing. It’s repair.
3. Tend the Spirit: One Returning Breath
This might be:
- A breath prayer: “You are near. I am held.”
- Listening to Scripture on your drive
- Sitting in stillness for five minutes
- Whispering truth over yourself
It’s not performance. It’s peace.
❧
Sometimes I jot these things down—on a sticky note, in my Wellness Planner, or as part of my weekly preview. Not to track my performance—but to witness my presence. To remember what mattered.
Because what gets written down is more likely to happen. And what’s named is more likely to be nurtured.
If you’re looking for a gentle trellis for tracking your own tending, here’s the planner I use with my clients—you can start it anytime.
Sometimes what I write on my tending list?
- Cut fingernails.
- Order my own supplements—not just my clients’.
- Take a shower.
- Get a haircut.
- Text a friend back because I want to nourish connection.
This week, I wrote down: “Listen to the book of Colossians while driving.” Because I didn’t have time to sit down with my Bible in quiet—but I still needed the Word to wash over me.
This is the reality of our lives. And these small things? They matter.
So if you’re in a storm right now—if taking a shower is all you can do today—write it down. That’s not failure. That’s faithfulness.
Because what gets written down is more likely to be remembered. More likely to be honored. And more likely to happen.
Tending isn’t just about what we say “yes” to—it’s about what we say no to, with discernment, love, and stewardship. It’s you modeling the fruit of wisdom—looking ahead, checking in with your body, and choosing presence over pressure.
And when you look back, speak a Mercy Message over yourself:
- “That felt good to take care of your body.”
- “I know that took time, but it was worth it.”
- “You didn’t get to it today—but the thought was good. You can try again tomorrow.”
This is re-storying. This is repair. This is how we begin to rewrite the old narratives—the ones that said we had to earn rest, silence our needs, or do more to be enough.
❧
Now—I’m a woman who loves china and table linens.
But I’m also fond of denim and cast iron.
I love drinking from a beautiful glass and eating off of heirloom china.
But I also serve my kids dinner every night on our blue enamelware plates. They’re sturdy. Familiar. and virtually unbreakable.
And often, I’ll say, “Here’s the blue plate special!”
This—this is what rest is like.
It’s not reserved for holidays.
It’s not precious and out of reach.
Rest healing belongs in the everyday rhythm of your real life.
The rooted places. The dusty corners. The blue plate days.
That’s what rest is meant to be. Not just china for special occasions.
But enamelware for everyday.
That’s what the Tending Trio offers: something strong, simple, sacred.
❧
Before I close, here’s your invitation:
How did I tend to my body, my heart, or my spirit today?
Write it down, if you can. Let it be enough. And speak a kind word back to yourself.
I’ll sing a new verse over you today—
But I also want you to know,
the way you tended to yourself today?
That is a kind of song.
And here is a mercy message in melody…
Come, you soul weighed down by striving,
Longing just to breathe and be.
You were made to rest in mercy,
In a love that sets you free.
Let His mercy tend you gently as you rest.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
❧
I’m so glad you could join us for our hearthside gathering today. Tomorrow, we’ll begin to get more practical—because rest isn’t just about lullabies and liturgies. It’s about lab values and leaky gut, liver support and leafy greens… and listening to your body well.But for now, rest well. Tend gently.
You’re not behind. You’re becoming.
Episode 004 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 4
Your Body Isn’t Betraying You
A Reflection on Listening When Rest Has Been Ruptured
Reflection Question: What has my body been trying to say… that I haven’t yet named?
To Listen to the Spoken Reflection: Once you have confirmed your subscription through the link I sent in you in your ” 🫖 A Hearthside Welcome Awaits” email, simply open the “The Ingrained Living Open House: An Audio Gathering at the Hearth” private podcast feed to access this reflection.
Read the Written Reflection:
Hearthside Reflection – Day 4
Welcome, dear one, to day 4 of our Ingrained Living Open House.
I am so glad you are here with us at the hearthside.
Today’s reflection is for the woman whose rest—particularly in her body—feels unreachable.
Not just distant—but ruptured.
Like something sacred has broken, and you haven’t known how to recover it.
I want you to know—if your rest has felt foreign, frightening, or out of reach…
you are not alone.
You are not imagining it.
You are not failing.
Many women can’t remember the last time they felt rested in their body or relaxed in their spirit.
And when you’ve lived in a state of chronic vigilance, inflammation, and depletion—rest doesn’t feel natural. It feels foreign. Even frightening.
But the truth is:
Your body is not the problem.
It’s the place where healing begins.
❧
I wonder…
Have you ever felt like your body was speaking a language you didn’t quite understand?
Maybe it was symptoms that seemed random.
Fatigue that didn’t make sense.
Or a kind of weariness that even rest couldn’t touch.
And maybe part of you thought…
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“Why can’t I just push through this?”
You’re not lazy.
You’re not imagining it.
And you’re not alone in this.
Your body is wise.
It’s always communicating.
But maybe no one ever taught you how to listen—without fear, without shame, without assuming you were broken.
❧
I was reflecting back this week to where I was nine years ago…
I listened in to a YouTube video I recorded on New Year’s Day, 2018.
That seems so long ago.
My healing journey had really just begun.
If you’d like to listen to that original reflection from 2018, I’ve tucked it into your podcast feed as a bonus episode. It’s unpolished—but it’s honest. And sometimes it helps to hear where the journey began.
For years, I was doing everything “right.”
Milling grains. Fermenting kefir. Cooking from scratch.
I was helping my husband, my sister, and my first clients find answers for their chronic digestive and autoimmune conditions…
ignoring what my body was trying to tell me—because I thought I had to hold it all together for everyone else.
My labs looked “fine.”
But I knew I wasn’t.
I was anxious.
Depleted.
Barely able to drag myself out of bed.
And when I finally slowed down—long enough to truly listen—I started to hear it:
Not just symptoms… but story.
A story of striving. Of self-neglect. Of holding it all together while quietly falling apart.
This wasn’t just biology.
It was biography.
My body wasn’t betraying me.
She was bearing witness.
To overgiving.
To grief.
To years of living on edge, never asking what I needed.
That year—2017—wasn’t the end of my story. It was the beginning of my restoration.
And I began… not by fixing. Not by hustling.
But by listening.
That’s something I gave myself because what I kept hearing… was dismissal.
Dismissal of my symptoms as just stress.
But stress isn’t “just” anything.
And the body never lies.
❧
As a functional dietitian, I use lab values—basic and specialty—as a tool to help us listen more deeply.
When we know how to examine the patterns, lab work becomes a kind of journal.
A sacred one.
I’ve looked at inflammation and heard the echoes of shame.
I’ve seen a pattern of nutrient deficiencies and remembered the years she fed everyone else first… and forgot she had permission to nourish herself.
I’ve heard struggles with weight and the heartbreak of shame rooted far deeper than food choices.
Sometimes I say,
“The body writes what we don’t yet know how to say.”
So many women come to me not even knowing what they’re carrying—
until it shows up in their labs…
Their symptoms.
Their inflammation.
Their fatigue.
Their food sensitivities.
Their stuckness.
You might not remember the last time your body felt truly rested.
Maybe even the idea of “resting in your body” feels… foreign. Unreachable.
You’ve spent years holding things—children, tasks, responsibilities, grief, secrets.
And somehow, your body has held them too.
When I read labs, I see more than biochemistry.
I see stories waiting to be witnessed.
Unmet needs.
Unspoken grief.
Unhealed shame.
Your labs might not tell the whole story.
But they hold clues.
Your fatigue might not be just a hormone imbalance—it might be a deeper depletion.
Your inflammation might not just be dietary—it might be long-held stress your body has been carrying.
You can care for your body without condemning it.
You can pursue healing without shame.
You can name your need without making yourself the problem.
What if your body isn’t something to fight…
But something to tend?
Scripture says,
“No one ever hated his own body, but nourishes and cherishes it…” (Ephesians 5:29)
So maybe that’s where we begin.
Not with fixing—but with cherishing.
Not with hustle—but with a holy hush.
❧
Today, I invite you to pause.
Ask yourself—gently:
What has my body been trying to say… that I haven’t yet named?
Let that be your beginning.
Tend your body with kindness and curiosity.
(We talked about kindness on Day 3.
Now, we begin to explore with curiosity.
Your body isn’t broken—it’s speaking.
You just need the tools, time, and support to listen well.
That’s what I offer inside the Ingrained Restoration Pathway.
Most women come to me with very real health concerns—
Blood pressure or blood sugar out of control.
Fatty liver. Stubborn weight.
Debilitating pain or fatigue that keeps them from being present with their families or serving where they feel called.
Digestive issues that cost them days of work, or the freedom to go out and enjoy life.
It’s not going to be a magic pill, a meditation, or a healthy menu that restores them.
They need more.
They need restoration.
Together, we begin to listen—not just to what’s wrong, but to what’s been carried.
Not as a project. Not as a problem.
But as a part of them that is worthy of nourishment and cherishing.
Because how you tend to your body matters.
Not just what you do—but how you do it.
Even when something needs to change… your posture matters more than your plan.
So let me ask:
Is your posture harsh… or holy?
Driven… or gentle?
Rooted in control… or compassion?
Maybe your symptoms aren’t proof that your body is broken.
Maybe they’re proof that your story has not yet been fully seen.
What if, just for today, you didn’t brace against your body—
but turned toward it with curiosity?
Let that question sit with you.
Let it speak slowly.
Maybe there’s something in your body that needs tending—
Inflammation. Fatigue. Insulin resistance. Extra weight.
But before we change anything, we ask:
What’s my posture toward the body I live in?
Is it curiosity… or control?
Kindness… or critique?
To accompany this message, I’ll be sharing a gentle reflection guide to begin discerning the signals your body may be sending.
It’s not about fixing—it’s about listening with grace.
And if you’d like to explore what it could look like to tend your body with kindness and curiosity—with someone who will listen—
I’d love to invite you to a Welcome Hour.
This is not a clinical session or a sales call.
It’s a sacred space of tea, time, and truth.
The Welcome Hour is a grace-filled beginning—whether you’re navigating chronic symptoms or soul-deep weariness. It’s a slow, compassionate space to explore what healing might look like in this season of your life. A sacred pause rooted in discernment and presence.
You can learn more or reserve your Welcome Hour using the link in your email or in the show notes.
But for now…
Tend gently.
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming.
❧
Come, beloved. Come and linger.
There is space to be made whole.
Let His rest be root and river—
Healing both your flesh and soul.
May the Shepherd lead you gently into rest.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
Episode 005 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 5
The Practice of Permission
A Reflection on Tending to Yourself Without Guilt
Reflection Question: What would it look like to tend to yourself—not as a project to fix, but as a daughter already loved?
Welcome, dear one to day 5 of our hearthside reflections…. I’m Bethany —and whether this is your first time to gather or you have been with us since the beginning, I am so glad you are here.
Today’s reflection is for the woman who’s found it easier to care for everyone else…
but hesitates when it’s time to care for herself.
Maybe you’ve whispered it:
“I just can’t justify the cost.”
“What if I say yes… and can’t follow through?”
“What if I sabotage it before I even get started?”
Maybe you’ve quietly wondered if it’s okay to spend time, energy, or even money on your own healing—
especially when others in your life have needs, too.
I understand that question deeply.
Because for years, I felt the same way.
Let me tell you gently:
You are not the problem.
And you are not the only one who’s felt this way.
I’ve felt it too.
❧
There have been seasons in my own story when investing in healing felt almost impossible.
The money felt tight.
The time felt costly.
The emotions felt heavy.
But deep down, I knew:
If I didn’t begin, I would stay stuck in the same cycle.
Not because I wasn’t trying hard enough…
but because I had never been given permission to tend to my own becoming.
Over the years, I’ve made choices that didn’t always make sense on paper.
Extensive trauma therapy over almost a decade. EMDR. Business coaching. Life coaching.
I’ve chosen to invest in the same healing therapies I now offer my clients—functional labs, supplements, protocols.
It hasn’t been cheap…
But it has been worth it.
And I say that not from theory—but from lived experience.
I will never ask a woman to walk a path I haven’t walked myself.
❧
That first season of healing brought incredible results.
But healing isn’t a one-time event.
Stress. Pregnancy. The cost of speaking the truth about childhood trauma and toxic family dynamics…
There were seasons of deep emotional and spiritual turmoil.
Eventually, I crashed.
I was diagnosed with reactivated Epstein-Barr.
And so I did what I invite others to do.
I paused.
I healed.
I wintered.
There were months when I wasn’t as present to my family as I wanted to be.
But I knew I couldn’t offer what I hadn’t received.
I needed time to rest.
To repair.
To let myself be tended to.
And the season didn’t last forever.
Spring came.
That’s what inspired me to create Spring Will Come: Reflections for the Soul Still Becoming.
It’s a quiet video and audio reflection I tucked into the podcast feed—created especially for women who find themselves in a winter season of the soul.
A reminder that healing is allowed to take time.
That we are allowed to change.
To long for more.
To hope.
You’ll find it waiting for you there whenever you need it.
❧
And I’m not the only one.
A woman I walked with—Lee Ann—once told me that she’d tried everything before she found her way to this work.
Three doctors. Three diagnoses. One elimination diet after another. And nothing helped.
She said, “I had to raid my savings account to pay for your program… but decided there was no better investment than my health.”
She was scared. Skeptical. But just desperate enough to hope.
Months later, she wrote this:
“I’m not sick all the time anymore. I can make plans. I have enthusiasm for life. I’m not scared every day. I have hope now.”
That’s what becomes possible—not just for her.
But for you, too.
❧
One woman I spoke with recently said something I’ve never forgotten:
“I want this so badly. But I’m afraid I’ll sabotage it before I even get started.”
Maybe you’ve felt that, too.
Afraid that if you begin, you’ll mess it up.
That if you invest, you’ll waste it.
That if you hope… it might hurt more than staying stuck.
If that’s where you find yourself—hovering at the edge of becoming—I created something just for you.
There’s a gentle bonus episode tucked quietly into the podcast feed.
It’s called: Held with Grace: A Blessing for the Woman on the Edge of Change.
It’s not a teaching. It’s not a story.
It’s a blessing.
Originally written for a woman who longed to begin a healing journey—but wasn’t sure she could—this offering is for anyone standing in that sacred in-between space.
Maybe the fear of what it will cost—emotionally, financially, spiritually—feels heavier than the hope.
Maybe part of you wonders if you’ll sabotage the healing before it even begins.
This blessing is for you.
There’s no pressure here.
No fixing.
Just grace for the road ahead.
Whether you take the next step, or simply let the words wash over you,
may it be a moment of gentleness.
A pause.
A promise.
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming.
You don’t have to be sure.
You don’t have to be ready.
You don’t have to know how it will all unfold.
You are simply invited to begin.
To tend to yourself—not as a project to fix,
but as a daughter who is already loved.
Already held.
Already welcome.
❧
Because when you’re the one who holds everything together,
investing in yourself can feel like a luxury you can’t afford.
Or a risk you’re afraid to take.
And sometimes, it’s not about the money at all.
It’s about the quiet belief that others deserve care—but you don’t.
That the little you have should go to your children, your work, your ministry—
and not to your own healing.
But here’s what I want you to hear today:
Tending to yourself is not selfish.
It’s stewardship.
And it’s not indulgence.
It’s obedience—especially when the Spirit is whispering that it’s time to begin again.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say yes to care you’ve been told to live without.
Yes to nourishment.
Yes to rest.
Yes to wise support.
Yes to becoming.
❧
Because sometimes, the fear isn’t just about failing.
It’s about even wanting in the first place.
Wanting to heal.
Wanting to be well.
Wanting something different than what you’ve known.
We learn to mute that desire.
To protect ourselves from disappointment.
To keep our longings manageable, quiet, small.
But what if hope is the first thing we need permission for?
What if God is not impatient with your becoming…
but present within it?
❧
Just this past week, I read a journal entry I wrote twenty years ago.
And in it, I had written:
“I just can’t seem to finish this book… or resolve the issues I keep writing about.
My best friend asked me if I thought God was moving too slowly. Do I?
Maybe I think I should’ve progressed faster. That I should be able to package my issues up and move on.
But it doesn’t work like that.
Why am I more impatient with myself—or with God—than He is with me?”
That line still meets me.
And if it meets you, too…
Let this be your permission:
You don’t have to package your story up neatly to begin again.
You don’t have to be finished to be faithful.
You don’t have to be fearless to say yes.
❧
If today’s reflection meets you in that tender place,
maybe your next small yes is this:
A Welcome Hour.
Not a program. Not a pitch.
Just a sacred pause to wonder aloud:
“What might it look like to be tended to… too?”
You don’t need to justify the care you’ve needed for years.
You only need permission to begin.
And maybe—just maybe—that permission begins with hope.
❧
And, as we close today, just in case you’re wondering—
Yes, the path has been long.
Yes, the cost was real.
But I have seen the fruit.
Not all at once.
Not in neat, tidy lines.
But in moments of peace I thought I’d never know.
In rhythms of rest I used to believe weren’t for me.
In healing that keeps unfolding—slowly, but surely—like spring after winter.
The investment was worth it.
Because this—this tending, this becoming—
has allowed me to live, to thrive, not just survive.
So if you’re standing on the edge, unsure if it’s time—
Let me be a voice that says:
There is life on the other side of beginning… whatever that beginning looks like for you.
The God who planted the seed of longing in you
is faithful to tend it.
And He is not impatient with your pace—
He delights to walk with you there.
And if you’ve clung to hope with trembling hands,
you are in good company.
I’ve held tight to these words from Psalm 27 in my own wintering seasons:
“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.”
May that promise meet you today,
as both an anchor and an invitation.
And yes,
I believe I will (continue to) see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living. (Psalm 27:13)
Hearthside Benediction
Come, beloved, faint with hoping,
Fearing you might hope in vain.
He who sees you in your longing
Holds the weight you cannot name.
May His goodness rise before you as you wait.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
Episode 006 | A Hearthside Reflection: Day 6
The First Ones
Rewriting Stories, Building Legacy—Body, Mind & Spirit
Ingrained Living Open House | Day 6
Reflection Question: add this here
Welcome to Day 6 of our Hearthside Reflections here at Ingrained Living. I am so glad you are here with us around our audio hearth. I’m Bethany Thomson, your hostess.
And today, I want to speak to the first ones.
The first to set a boundary that was never modeled.
The first to notice a pattern and say, “That’s not love.”
The first to choose a different way of living—body, mind, and spirit.
The first to say,
“This pattern stops with me. But the healing? That gets to continue.”
You’re not just breaking old patterns—
you’re beginning something beautiful.
You’re tending to your life in a way that is wholesome…
so that what you pass on is a heritage of wholeness.
❧
When I say heritage, I don’t mean a Pinterest-perfect lifestyle.
And when I say wholesome, I don’t mean just avoiding food dyes or buying organic.
I’m talking about something deeper.
A life that tends to the body as a temple…
the mind as a garden…
and the soul as a sacred dwelling place of the Spirit.
A life that doesn’t just teach your children how to eat—
but how to rest.
How to name their needs.
How to turn to Christ for their healing,
and walk in authentic community with others
instead of hiding their pain.
That’s the legacy you’re building.
That’s the inheritance you’re cultivating—
One decision, one surrender, one gentle act of tending at a time.
And if you’ve wondered whether it’s too late—
hear this in love:
It’s never too late to begin again.
You might be the first one…
but you are not alone.
❧
There was a time—about three years ago—when I looked up at a screen in my doctor’s office and saw something A diagnosis code—obesity. And just below it, hypertension.
Two words that felt like echoes of a story I didn’t want to inherit.
It felt like everything I had been trying so hard to avoid.
A pattern I had seen in the women before me—
and silently vowed not to repeat.
It stunned me.
I didn’t think that would ever be part of my story.
Not as a dietitian.
Not as someone who knew how to care for her body—
someone who had helped other women experience lasting weight loss…
even reverse stubborn hypertension that had stymied the experts.
But there it was—in black and white.
And my cardiologist mentioned, gently,
that I could probably get off my blood pressure medication
if I could lose some of the weight.
It was hard to hear.
I had been trying so hard to care for my body well…
I had reversed my prediabetes.
I had seen rising thyroid antibodies disappear.
On top of that, I had been going through intensive counseling to work on my own story and address my patterns of unhealthy ways of relating and I was in a good place, a healthy place.
But then—life happened.
In the wake of a pandemic,
my family walked the final stretch of a long caregiving journey…
hospice care… and ongoing grief.
At the same time I got pregnant with my fifth child—
and it was a hard pregnancy.
Around that time, acute trauma reawakened what had long been hidden from childhood.
And my body, again, carried the cost.
Even before I got pregnant, I hadn’t reached the weight I knew was healthiest for me.
After my son was born, I developed postpartum preeclampsia—a first.
I was prescribed not one, but two blood pressure medications.
And I hated how they made me feel.
Every time I checked my blood pressure at home, it triggered panic.
The numbers rising.
The cuff tightening.
The fear pressing in.
I remember calling my cardiologist late one night in alarm.
He was patient.
But I was anxious—afraid I wouldn’t be able to care for my five children…
or live the life God had entrusted to me…
if the numbers kept climbing.
And with the pressure of it all—physical and emotional—my weight climbed…
to a number I never thought I’d see.
And it wouldn’t budge.
But this time?
I didn’t give up.
And I didn’t collapse into shame.
I chose a new path.
Not punishment, but gentleness.
Not striving, but support.
Not control, but curiosity and care.
❧
There’s no one-size-fits-all finish line when it comes to healing.
But I can tell you this:
There was a time I couldn’t join my family on a walk up the hills…
I’d watch from a distance, aching—not just in my body, but in my heart.
But now? I can walk up and down the hills on our farm now with ease– I can talk and even sing as I walk!
My fifth child—who is now four—and I love going on adventure walks together as we call them, climbing those hills side by side.
And oftentimes, we’ll stop halfway up the hill and he’ll turn to me, his little voice filled with wonder and pride:
“Mama… look how far we’ve come!”
And I’ll smile back with tears in my eyes:
“Yes, sweetie. Look how far we’ve come.”
My joints don’t ache anymore….
My blood pressure has stabilized and even optimized.
And the medication I thought I might be on for life?
I’ve gently been able to let it go.
Even my wedding rings—the ones I thought I’d never wear again—are loose on my fingers.
And the jeans I tucked away in the back of the closet?
They fit now.
Not because I forced something.
But because I’ve been tending to my body with kindness, not shame.
With rest, not rigidity.
It’s not about numbers.
It’s about freedom.
It’s about being present in the life God entrusted to me.
Fully. Joyfully. Faithfully.
❧
And maybe you need to hear this, too:
Your genes are not your destiny.
They are part of your story, but they do not write the whole of it.
The women who came before you may have handed you patterns of pain—
but that doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat them.
Yes, your family history matters.
But so do your daily choices.
Your surrender.
Your rest.
Your healing.
And even if you’ve passed down patterns you now regret—
there is still time to rebuild.
To replant.
To leave a legacy of wholeness.
Every small decision you make to tend to your health—physical, emotional, and spiritual—
is part of a new inheritance.
One rooted not in fear, but in faith.
❧
And friend—if you’re walking this road and feeling unsure,
please know: there’s space for you here.
Not a program to perform.
But a place to rest.
To be guided.
To be supported as you tend to your body and your story with kindness.
That’s what I’ve created for women like you—
Not because I have all the answers,
but because I’ve walked this road too.
And I want you to know:
You were never meant to do it alone.
❧
Hearthside Benediction:
Come and rest now, all ye first ones.
There is space to lay it down.
You are not the ache you carry—
You’re the seed that breaks new ground.
May His mercy go before you,
As you sow.–original verse by Bethany Thomson © 2025
You are not behind.
You are becoming.
And the God who planted the longing in you is faithful to tend it.
He is not impatient with your pace.
He delights to walk with you there.
And if you’ve clung to hope with trembling hands,
you are in good company.
I’ve held tightly to these words from Psalm 27:13:
“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”
May that promise meet you today—
as both anchor and invitation.
And if you’re ready to take a first gentle step toward tending to your own healing,
I invite you to schedule a Welcome Hour with me.
It’s a grace-filled space to begin your journey toward wholeness—body, mind, and spirit.
You can find the link in the notes for this episode or at ingrainedliving.com.
And tomorrow, I’ll share more about a space of ongoing support—
a place to be nourished for the long haul,
where you never have to walk this healing pathway alone.
Until then, may you rest in the Kindness of the Good Shepherd,
The One who never leaves us alone…
Your Next Gentle Step
If these Hearthside Reflections are stirring something in you—if you’re ready to take one step further into wholeness—you’re invited to continue the journey.
To take the next step, you’re warmly invited to begin with a Welcome Hour—a quiet, grace-filled conversation to explore what healing might look like in this season. You can learn more and reserve your welcome hour here.
Need help accessing your private podcast feed?
Here’s how:
- Open the welcome email you received after signing up, “🫖 A Hearthside Welcome Awaits”
- Click the private link provided to add the podcast to your favorite player. Please note, this link has been specifically created for your email address and cannot be shared with anyone else.
- Once added, each daily reflection will appear in your feed automatically.
If you’re having trouble, please feel free to reach out: Bethany@ingrainedliving.com