09/18/2026
Before Synergy: The Quiet Battle Behind the Scenes
There is something I have not talked about much in this series.
It is the quiet fear that I do not really belong here.
Some people call it imposter syndrome. For me, it has been a much more personal battle to believe that I am capable of carrying what God has placed in my hands and that I am right where I am supposed to be.
I have worked in respiratory therapy and critical care, managed home-care companies, and served in operations management. I homeschooled four children and homesteaded. I have studied herbalism through courses, mentorship, clinical work, and years of hands-on experience. I began seeing clients in 2014, became a Registered Herbalist with the American Herbalists Guild, and have now worked with more than 1,000 clients.
I can list all of that and still tell you there are days when doubt creeps in... along with thoughts of giving it all up and going home to hang out with my gardens and my goats.
Goats rarely question your qualifications as long as you show up with food and a pet to the head. They are refreshingly unimpressed by titles and credentials.
There are days when I still ask myself, “Who am I to teach other herbalists or sit across from someone who is struggling and offer help? What do I really have to offer when information is everywhere?”
I have always tried to approach this work with humility. When I first began, I knew enough to understand how much I did not know. I still feel that way and realize that I will be learning for the rest of my life. I also hope that I never lose the excitement of discovering something new around the next bend.
It is not in my nature to be the loudest or most confident voice in the room. I want to be careful and listen well because listening is where we learn.
But sometimes humility becomes tangled with doubt. Instead of accepting that I will always have more to learn, I wonder if I know enough to be here at all.
I have compared my education to others and my knowledge to the knowledge of my peers. There is always another book I have not read, another plant I have not worked with, and someone who appears far more confident than I feel.
And then we live in a world that moves faster than any of us can fully process.
AI-generated books, courses, protocols, and social media posts are becoming part of everyday life. New experts appear every day, along with another polished page, another confident voice, and another shiny object promising to have all the answers.
For a while, I have wondered how I was supposed to keep up with it all.
Lately, I have begun to wonder if I am even supposed to.
Information is valuable, and new tools are not necessarily bad. But quick information is not the same as wisdom.
A generated answer has not stood beside a hospital bed and watched someone struggle to breathe. It has not raised children, cared for a family, grown plants, made medicine, or sat across from someone struggling and afraid.
It has not spent years watching individual people respond completely differently to the same illness, the same herb, or the same plan.
Information does not know the person sitting in front of me. It can never replace lived experience, discernment, or relationship.
The world does not need me to produce the quickest answer.
It needs me because I am willing to slow down long enough to listen while asking questions instead of pretending to know all the answers.
And just maybe the world needs someone who has worked within more than one kind of medicine. Someone who understands the value of appropriate medical care but also knows there is more to a person than a diagnosis.
I have been learning that humility means understanding that I do not know everything while honoring what years of study, experience, and walking closely with people have taught me.
I can remain teachable without making myself small. I can recognize what I still need to learn without denying the wisdom I have gained.
Belonging does not mean the doubt never returns; it means I no longer allow doubt to decide whether I stay.
I will keep studying, keep serving, and keep believing that I am where God asked me to be.
And on the difficult days, I may still go spend a little time with the goats or in the garden.
The goats will be happy to see me, and the weeds are never offended by my absence.
I just won’t stay there.
