you know what it’s like to be shaken. there were days and days you’ve been unsure when you’ve walked through fire, danger nipping heels
yet even then, even in those moments something stood up in your heart, a line not to be crossed, a barrier you would not allow to be broken
when a force arose and said, no. not this. enough. no further.
i know for a fact, my friend that this—is courage.
but remember that the times you’ve felt the sweetest kiss of spring well up within your soul and words of beauty escaped your lips with joy unbridled, waterfalls of overflowing
you may not know it yet, but leaning into this even when you know that darkness all too well exists— this is courage too.
courage resists the dark but is equally detectable by participating in the light
heather pound 2025
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it wasn’t that you had done far, far too much for way, way too long
that burnout inched up closer…and closer… until it charged and l-e-a-p-t and hobbled you unexpected.
it wasn’t what you did at all but what you did not do.
when you didn’t acknowledge the ache lingering beside your heart and thought if you disregarded it, it would one day slip away.
when you did not notice your natural human needs growing and piling up until they were an unsteady tower, precarious.
when you didn’t listen as your mind and body grew increasingly unsettled, unfocused distracted by the chaos of ‘busy’ instead.
so, pause, turn towards your heart with courage recognise your urgent needs and listen to your helpful body’s request for calm
if not this instant, today.
—burnout is not about excessive outward production, it is dysregulation and all of those niggling internal cues you’ve ceased to see. trust me, making adjustments now is waaaaay easier than coming back from burnout.
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the morning of the launch of my book was like the day of my wedding where I’d focused on planning the celebration ahead for days and weeks before
but on the daybreak of, i realised this was a time where things near and dear to my heart, things most precious and cherished would be on display
and the vulnerability of this well, it made me shake.
quite literally on the day that i wed as i posed for photos and the muscles of my smile trembled and i had to frequently pause and breathe to get the photos we wanted and the photographer wisely said let’s just take a silly one and we pulled funny faces instead.
i love that photo still since it’s just me and my kids letting the ‘proper’ slip and our inner weirdness out and isn’t that vulnerable too?
another favorite of that day is when we were caught the six of us in our first official family hug, unplanned, unnoticed affection on display, exposed a couple across an ocean now wed four fatherless children held by strong arms.
and it was the moment when i was reading out poems from my beloved book and the faces watching began to respond and i saw the words that were mine connecting with them, that i remembered vulnerability is nearly always worth it.
heather pound 2025
Photo by Jeremy Podborny
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a morsel of wisdom is worth every wrinkle upon your face, grey hair above your head.
she is the blanket soft, yet fierce of those who have wandered long enough to realise that even when she instructs you walk a path more rugged than you’d choose, that her advice is worth it.
she is a warm and velvet comfort that rests upon your skin, yet more watchful, protective, honest than any kind of armour polished you used to strive to wear.
life with her is peaceful, pure more than you ever comprehended when your simple, constant default was to take the easy road
and all the things you gathered when you were merely young and have needed to unlearn
were worth every tear you shed as you leaned right in and learned the harmonious, crystal voice of her wise, protective words.
~heather pound
Photo by Getty Images
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you struggle to understand why thing after increasingly difficult thing occurs and it simply isn’t fair. does not feel even remotely good.
but let me remind you, while God is in the heavens and sits upon majestic throne he’s also here right now with you, not as dictator malevolent, but as a shepherd who loves, the originator of all that’s good
and maybe for now, today, this aches and with human eyes you struggle to see how anything remotely positive could ever arrive from this
but remember, dear one you are creature formed for purpose a child made with gentle love
and sometimes those reasons you can’t see now, might be greater than you ever imagined
so, in your current ongoing difficulties there is good, since you are fashioned for something greater than just today
and you can climb right up on his loving lap welcomed, lay your head upon his shoulder protected,
and remember his eyes that see from beginning to end have never actually failed you yet.
the plant at the top of my stairs could really use a new pot. it’s grown heaps and i think would like to grow some more. but i quite like the planter it’s in. the way the shiny wavy bronze reflects the morning sun, and the plant hasn’t died yet.
so now i must choose, do i keep the container, aesthetically pleasing because i pretty much purchased the plant in order to use the pot?
(this is the easy choice requiring no effort or action other than to continue the weekly water)
or do i shift my gaze to the beautiful plant within glossy and alive, deep pine-tree green, and do the work, invest a bit, provide it the space to live and flourish more beautiful still?
and metaphorically i wonder then how often we choose the container we’re living in, beautifying the exterior wearing shiny masks for others, limiting our growth and settling for a familiar, root-bound way of living instead of doing the bit of work we need to thrive?
today i choose to gather dewy-fresh, not yet dried by the sun soft green stems, unaffected by wind bits and pieces present, but often brushed aside unnoticed.
i will gather joy, not because it is scarce, but because without it how is a life to be lived? it is the food that sustains us, yet we try to survive with stolen morsels, a guilty pleasure quickly consumed lest someone else notice, then back to more important things at hand.
but what is a life without joy? grasp it by the face and kiss its mouth. it is companionship not only sweet but necessary to ease the cracks in our souls, to soften calloused flesh within.
i will gather joy now while it may be found like jewels layered beneath thick autumn leaves, not really hidden, yet inconspicuous, unseen until you pay attention and catch the glimmer where the sun breaks through the trees and shines, and bending down you rustle and grasp that which sparkles to put it in your pocket.
— let the gathering of joy become a habit.
This is the very first poem in my book “Known.” I put it there to set the tone, to somewhat summarise the ethos of its pages. The book’s not about the concept of joy specifically, but each poem is intended to encourage intentionality in the way that we live, a slowing down to notice, to pick up savour all of the bright and beautiful in the midst of the rest, to feed our souls. Just like taking a minute to read a poem!
Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash
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my parents had a volkswagen bus baby blue on bottom, white on top and i have no idea why, but i remember exactly where the spare key hid.
that kombi van took us everywhere for a very long season, to shop and church to lessons and to my brother’s soccer
games where our dad became the coach, even though he’d never played, because no one else would.
and each year, at least once, it drove us eight hours north to the place where my parents came from.
the place where a good share of my cousins still live. yet my folks were adventurous enough to move far away.
but on the return from one family voyage in that beloved bus, we arrived at our home yawning and green
and later learned the engine exhaust had crept back up though heating vents into our waiting lungs.
and we were fortunate, really, to escape with just bodies efficiently working to evacuate the carbon monoxide
(although it didn’t feel great at the time!)
still, i invariably look with fondness upon the odd kombi van i see, reminding me of family fun and adventures
and of my parents, who although they lived fairly normal lives, didn’t always just follow the norm—
and how their example gave me the courage to do the same.
Heather Pound 