Over the last three years, I’ve been quieter.

Not because I quit. Not because the vision faded. And not because there was some dramatic event.

I just needed to heal.

We already walked through the life-or-death season years ago. This wasn’t that. This was different. This was the slower kind of healing. The kind that happens under the surface. The kind that doesn’t get attention or applause.

It was the kind where God starts working on your roots.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something that humbled me:

Before I could continue facilitating healing for others, I needed to let Him do some deeper healing in me.

That wasn’t easy to admit. It takes courage to look in the mirror and decide that you need to work on the person staring back at you.

When I was called to lead Our Healing Farm, there was a quiet pressure to stay strong. To keep showing up as the steady one. The helper. The guide.

But I never want to offer something I’m unwilling to walk through myself.

So I chose to slow down. Took two years to do deep healing work on my mind and spirit.

I didn’t step away from the farm. I didn’t step away from the horses. I didn’t step away from the calling.

I let myself process. I let myself rebuild. I let my nervous system settle and heal. I let God prune what didn’t belong in the next season.

The horses were part of that work in ways I can’t fully explain.

But I know God sent me a very special one, Elwood. (The horse pictured)

For nearly two years, we healed side by side. He’s a horse many would have given up on. But what he really needed wasn’t force; it was safety. His nervous system needed time to settle.

And somewhere in helping him find calm, I realized God was doing the same thing in me.

Healing isn’t loud. It isn’t flashy. It isn’t always dramatic.

Sometimes it’s choosing peace instead of reaction. Sometimes it’s responding differently than you used to. Sometimes it’s allowing God to strengthen places you thought were already strong.

That’s where I’ve been.

Not building something new. Strengthening what already exists.

And somewhere in the middle of that quiet work, a book began to take shape. God showed me a need not only for myself but others.

I didn’t write Say Howdy to Healing & Hope from crisis.

I wrote it from process.

From the “I survived… now what?” season. From long walks and barn conversations. From Scripture speaking differently than it had before. From realizing healing isn’t about becoming tougher. It’s about becoming whole.

This book carries what God taught me in the quiet.

The book is not hype.
It’s not a quick fix.
It’s honest.

It’s practical and spiritual.
It’s steady.

And now, I feel steadier too.

Not louder.
Not more polished.
Just more rooted.

If you’ve wondered where I’ve been, I’ve been doing the work first.

And if you’re in your own quiet rebuilding season, don’t rush it.

Sometimes, the most powerful leadership begins with letting God lead you first.

Melissa 💛

Where I’ve Been (And Why I Went Quiet)

We are Starting a Horse Ministry