What We Bring to the Table: Seasons of Love, Food, Stories, and Sometimes, A Side of Silence.
“The colder seasons invite both stillness and reflection; the sky may gift us a sun dog. A quiet halo of possibility to remind us that even in the cold, deeper things are at work.” ~ Heidi
It’s in our nature to gather. We come together to feed one another and to remember that we belong. As the Winter season settles in, those moments seem to multiply with dinners, celebrations, quiet rituals of food, and company that remind us we’re part of something larger. Every meal shared is sacred in many ways. It is a ritual of nourishment, love, and belonging. But if we’re honest, sometimes what’s being served isn’t just food. Sometimes, it’s unspoken hurt, history, or distance. It’s silence, plated right next to the mashed potatoes.
I’ve felt that silence at tables I love. The way it hums beneath conversation, the shared knowing of something no one wants to name. Sometimes it’s peacekeeping. Sometimes it’s protection. But it always costs something.
We hurt and get hurt sometimes in small, passing ways, and sometimes in ways that leave deep marks. Over time, those unspoken wounds can pile up. Little misunderstandings, broken promises, betrayals, and silences layer upon layer until the heart grows heavy from what was never resolved. Over time, those unspoken hurts don’t just disappear; they settle in and start to shape how we show up. As humans, we are wired for connection and belonging. It’s central to our survival and our well-being, which is why the ache of disconnection runs so deep.
So, what do we do about those hurts? The ones that come from the very people and places where we long to feel safe. The first answer we’re most likely to hear is simple: forgive. And yet, for many, that word can land heavy.
We’ve made forgiveness a destination. A thing we’re told we should reach. But what if it’s not a destination at all? What if it’s simply the moment we decide to stop carrying what was never ours to hold? The truth is that life gives us plenty of chances to practice forgiveness. And there it is, forgiveness is a practice. Not a single act of grace, but a daily discipline of loosening our grip. Not a single act of will, but a choice we return to again and again until the heart finally unclenches. Forgiveness isn’t about pretending we weren’t hurt. It’s about finding the courage to name what happened, even when the other person can’t or won’t take accountability.
Some people act from wounds they can’t yet see. Their patterns protect them from pain they haven’t faced, and their lack of awareness doesn’t make your hurt any less valid. But sometimes, if we’re honest, it’s us too. We all have blind spots, places where our defenses or pride keep us from seeing how we’ve added to the distance. Healing asks us to be willing to look at both.
I’ve learned that awareness rarely arrives all at once. It shows up as the sting of knowing I’ve hurt someone, and the ache of realizing someone’s hurt me. Both moments ask for the same thing: honesty without blame, compassion without denial. They’re what keep the heart human.
But forgiveness can’t be rushed. There’s a quiet kind of pressure in our culture to “let it go,” to “move on,” to “rise above” before the wound has even been witnessed. True forgiveness doesn’t come from forcing yourself to feel something you don’t. It comes when you’ve honored the truth of what happened and reclaimed your own peace. Forgiveness that’s real doesn’t come from forcing the heart open. It begins quietly when we allow ourselves to feel what’s true, to name what hurts, and to stay there long enough to understand it. From that honesty, forgiveness becomes less of a demand and more of a natural release. Sometimes the truth we speak doesn’t bring closeness. It brings clarity. And that, too, is healing. Not every story ends in understanding, but every truth told frees the heart a little more. Speaking our truth isn’t a guarantee of repair; it’s an act of self-respect. Sometimes it’s what clears the path for peace, even if the relationship itself doesn’t mend. Because love, when freed, begins to make its way back into your spirit, your health, your relationships, and your sense of peace.
You can still move forward with love, not the kind that denies what happened, but the kind that chooses peace over bitterness. Self-care becomes your new boundary. Compassion, your new language. Forgiveness is a frequency, a vibration that clears space for healing.
It’s not a single act, but an energetic shift that says, “I’m not carrying this anymore.” When your heart is ready to rise into that frequency, love begins to flow freely again, not necessarily back to them, but back to you.
From there, life feels lighter. The air changes. You remember that Love never really left; it was waiting for space to move again.
We keep showing up,
Heidi