Hello Reader,

We're deep in the liminal space now - that strange quiet time between one year and the next...

...between the solstice's return of light and the turning of the calendar.

Everything feels suspended, unfinished, not quite belonging to what was or what's coming.

I've always loved these days.

There's no pressure to be productive, no expectations. Just permission to drift and reflect…

What are you remembering about the past year?

This reflection question prompted me to go back even further.

Ten years ago, in late 2015, I came home to this land (south central Pennsylvania) after years of living in an extended liminal state - between here and many other places, jobs and adventures.

That winter, I was led by my soul into holding space for death.

My first and longest romantic relationship had been slowly ending for years, my love affair with traveling had turned into a dizzy spin around the world, and much of my identity was shedding, like the leaves in autumn.

As I mentioned in a recent email, I met someone dying that winter, and it changed my life.

...

Not only did this encounter begin to heal my relationship with darkness (winter, cold, internal reflection) and introduce me to permaculture (which has been the foundation for my work for the last decade), but it also prepared me for what was coming... more death and loss.

In 2017 my beautiful, healthy, blue-eyed, gardening grandmother (who always whispered "stay sweet") was killed by medical negligence.

Within a few years, all my grandparents were gone, and in 2020 the world struggled through a pandemic with deadly social, economic and political elements. In the following years, I lost friends, family, coworkers, my health, my voice, a significant degree of confidence in being myself, and a lot of trust in the world around me.

We all lost a lot over the last decade, huh?

...

And somehow, most of us kept going.

Without a business plan, just a deep love for Nature, some old hand tools and a few great humans, I devoted my thirties to building LadyBug EarthCare - my local ecological landscaping business. In 6 years, we installed 300+ habitats, planted 50k+ native plants/trees, and served over 500 landowners in our local bioregion.

I also hosted a 4 day virtual event called the EarthCare Summit, created the EarthCare Calendar, founded the EarthCare Library and launched the EarthCare Professionals Collective... whew!

I was proving that ecology and economy can partner for good, while innovating a new approach through my EarthCare Compass framework (click for your gift and share this link with friends).

But that success came at the cost of a sustainable rhythm for myself.

...

In late summer of 2023, as I turned 40, I saw that I had been burning the candle at both ends for years.

Looking back, I realize now that I was dealing with death, loss and grief by over-working, over-giving, and overly tending the lives around me, while my own withered (typical woman stuff, haha).

It took a few years to accept, work with my therapist to heal past traumas, learn about perimenopause (which still isn't a word autocorrect even recognizes!), C-PTSD (complex trauma), and HSP (highly sensitive people)... and then adjust my habits and decisions to accommodate my much lower capacity.

As a result, I'm finally creating space for my own life, embracing it more fully (and slowly) than ever.

...

This year taught me what that actually means in a practical sense:

→ Trusting my body when it slows or stops me - multiple times this year I got really sick right before launches and speaking events, and instead of pushing through, I listened and let myself rest.

→ Following my joy even when it seems impractical - going to Songfest in September reconnected me with my singing voice (and much more) after decades of self-suppression.

→ Taking risks when the flow is right - Jamaica with Tyler, even though Hurricane Melissa sent us home after one day, deepened friendships I didn't know I needed.

And it means letting go sooner.

...

To make space for something new, we often have to let go of something.

And it's easier to let go intentionally than to have something taken from us, or dropped. After a decade of that particularly painful experience, I'm ready to choose better, so I'm -

→ Recognizing when something isn't working and cutting losses instead of grinding through, gaslighting myself, and trying to "see the best" or make it work for everyone else.

→ Pivoting from direct mentorship into group facilitation because one depletes me, consuming my capacity, and the other energizes me, expanding my impact.

→ Stepping back from leading design and landscaping projects so I can curate and connect, which is really my best skillset and frees me to lift others up, which I love - more to come on that.

Note: LadyBug EarthCare will still offer a few signature services, and the EarthCare Professionals will too!

What my greatest mentor, Nature, taught me in 2025 - The land has been teaching me the same lessons my body has (of course) - about rest, letting things regenerate in darkness, and trusting the cycles of death and renewal. I watched spaces I've tended for years continue thriving without my constant management. Habitats we built years ago are now relatively self-sustaining (that’s kinda a myth). Native plants spread and seeded themselves into places I never planned. Wildlife claimed spaces we created and made them home in ways I couldn't have orchestrated. Our role as land stewards (even if you don't own land) practicing EarthCare is to - → develop awareness through listening first (before vision, before design), → build connection with what's there, honoring Nature’s autonomy and wisdom, → take mindful action by supporting the conditions for life to flourish, → trust the impact will ripple beyond us as the regenerative intelligence and ecological memory that's always been there takes the lead… If you want to learn more about how to practice this in your Place, check out the gift I sent last week: Intro to EarthCare 101 a Mini Audio Course. Or grab a copy of this beautiful monthly guide: ​

Nature taught me that letting go isn't always abandonment - sometimes it's deep trust.

I didn't know it then, but those dark winter months in 2015 shaped everything that followed: a decade-long apprenticeship with Nature, an ocean of grief to explore, and the overflowing wellspring of life.

Next week I'll share what we accomplished together in 2025 and honor the team who made it all possible. But right now, in this liminal space, I'm just sitting with what was learned.

Before we set our goals for 2026, let us honor what's been done, learned, let go of, and embraced.

For wildlife and a wilder life,

Kendra

Ps. Did 2025 ask you to let go, pivot, or learn something hard, too?

What did you lose or intentionally let go, in the last decade?

I’d love to hear what you’re realizing through this reflection space… just hit reply <3

Your grief is welcome and safe here... I'm saving the celebrations for next week ;)

Kendra Marie Hoffman