No protocol will ever be more powerful than the terrain itself.

There’s a quiet crisis happening beneath the surface of the natural health world—and it’s time we speak plainly.

I’ve watched, again and again, as loving guardians swap pharmaceuticals for something that feels better—bottles of herbs, stacks of supplements, and endless protocols. But the underlying mindset never shifts. The rush to “fix” continues. The fear of symptoms persists. And the body, already overwhelmed, now has to process 50+ herbs instead of 6 drugs.

That’s not healing. That’s substitution.

Healing is not about what you throw at the body—it’s about what you remove, what you restore, and what you allow.
It’s not about having the most jars on the shelf—it’s about knowing when to use none at all.

I’ve seen friends’ dogs on every trending herb, yet still symptomatic, still inflamed, still stuck. Why? Because the terrain was never addressed. The toxins were never pulled. The rhythm of life was never corrected. These well-loved animals are drowning in intervention—whether synthetic or “natural.”

Let’s be clear:
🔹 Herbs are not supplements.
They are potent plant medicines. They influence organ systems, alter hormone pathways, and engage energetic meridians. They require diagnostic skill, pattern recognition, and restraint. Not guesses from Facebook threads.
🔹 Chinese formulas are ancient, not casual.
TCVM is a diagnostic system with rules. Adding more is not just unnecessary—it can be harmful. More herbs doesn’t mean more healing. It means more confusion for the body.
🔹 The liver, kidneys, and gut are not garbage disposals.
They are sacred gateways of regulation. If you flood them with every trending remedy, you clog the very system you’re trying to liberate.
🔹 Healing with herbs comes from a place of knowing—not just the plants, but your dog.
It takes time, study, and experience to understand how different herbs interact, and how your individual dog responds. Like Rita Hogan says so clearly, “dogs are individuals.” What works beautifully for one may be completely wrong for another. You have to know the soul in front of you—not just the symptom—and choose accordingly.

And I say all of this not from a pedestal—but from the trenches.

Because when I first stepped outside the box, I made the same mistakes. I chased protocols. I stacked herbs. I held onto supplements like life rafts, desperate for that one magical combination that would save my dog. I wasn’t trying to overwhelm her—I was trying to rescue her. And I thought healing meant finding the perfect mix, the miracle story, the two-week turnaround.

But miracles don’t come because we snap our fingers.
They come when we unlearn everything that made us panic in the first place.

I remember the ache. The late nights. The silent prayers. The way I stared at bottles and hoped something—anything—would fix her. And someone reached in and held my hand (you know who you are), even when I was too stubborn, too scared, too raw to see clearly. That kind of love is rare. It’s the kind that tells you hard truths with gentleness. The kind that reminds you to slow down when everything inside you is screaming to do more.

My dog was given six months.
She lived ten more years.

But not because I added the right supplements.
Because I took things away.
Because I rebuilt what was lost.
Because I finally understood that terrain isn’t something you buy—
it’s something you become.

It took me two full years to pull her off medications safely. Two years to restore her terrain, one layer at a time. And I still—yes, still—catch myself reaching for too much when fear creeps in. The instinct to fix is deep. But the call to heal asks for something else entirely: patience, rhythm, observation, faith.

So if you’re in that place—overwhelmed, unsure, searching—please know I see you.
I was you.

And there’s no shame in being in the middle.
Just don’t stop there.
Keep peeling back. Keep building up. Keep trusting the process.

Because true healing isn’t loud.
It’s quiet. It’s slow.
It happens in the soil of trust, not in the chaos of doing.

So here’s the truth no one profits from saying:
🌱 Healing requires discernment.
🌱 Less is often the real medicine.
🌱 The terrain is the protocol.

Start with the body’s rhythm. Clean up the food. Reduce EMFs. Respect the sleep cycle. Remove toxins before adding tinctures. Address the spiritual and emotional terrain—the things no herb can touch. Then—and only then—layer in botanicals with wisdom, care, and purpose.

Healing is not about how much you know—it’s about how well you observe.
It’s about creating a space so clear, the body remembers what to do.

Let us not turn healing into another hustle.
Let us honor the body, the herbs, and the sacred pause between actions.

You don’t need a protocol that sounds impressive.
You need a terrain that speaks life.

✨ And the greatest medicine? It begins with love, humility, and the courage to do less.