Rooted Reflections | Nothing Was Missing
- Jennifer Kelley
- Apr 26
- 3 min read
Updated: May 7
Nothing Was Missing: A Journey to Presence
Reflections | Rooted Field
Today, my son’s ABA was canceled.
And I was thrilled.
Not because support doesn’t matter.
But because today… it meant space.
The Gift of Space
Space to leave the house.
Space to go into the world.
Space to breathe.
It is Earth Week, and all week I have felt a deep ache to be immersed in nature —
to step away from all the noise, to just be.
So we packed up and went to a creek in the desert.
Our special place.
Just him and me.
We brought lunch, toys, my journal, and paint.
He played beside me in the way that he does — fully immersed, building worlds, speaking to himself, making patterns, exploring.
Finding Stillness
And I sat near the water.
At first, I could feel it.
The noise I carry most days.
The constant movement.
The subtle pressure to be doing something.
Even there… it was still with me.
But the longer I stayed, the more the static began to soften.
The sound of the creek moving over the stones.
The shade of the cottonwoods overhead.
The light filtering through the leaves.
My breath slowed.
My shoulders dropped.
Something in me softened.
Embracing the Moment
I found myself simply noticing what was around me —
the movement, the color, the quiet.
And beside me, my son.
Completely absorbed.
Safe enough to be still inside himself.
Fully inside his own world.
For a moment, the old thought came in:
Should I be doing more?
Should I be teaching him right now?
How indulgent to just lie here like this.
Then I listened.
He was counting.
Building sentences.
Exploring patterns.
Testing how things moved and changed.
He was already learning.
Not because I was guiding him.
Because he had space.
Because his body felt safe.
Because nature was holding us.
Because I was regulated beside him.
The Shift Within
And something in me shifted.
That pressure to be doing, moving, producing… softened too.
Because by staying still, I could feel it:
I was not doing nothing.
I was making space.
Space for him.
Space for me.
Space for something deeper to unfold.
Sometimes the most important thing we can offer our children is not constant engagement.
Sometimes it is our presence.
The Power of Presence
A body that is not rushed.
A moment where they are not being corrected, shaped, or asked to perform.
Just:
I am here.
You are safe.
Nothing is required of you right now.
There is a quiet intimacy in that.
The kind that allows something deeper to emerge.
At one point, I opened my journal, and a folded piece of paper slipped out.
I didn’t remember putting it there.
But I unfolded it anyway.
These were the first words I read:
You are exactly where you are meant to be.
In that moment,
the mountains stood around us like guardians.
The old cottonwoods rose above us like quiet friends.
Sunlight moved through the leaves.
The sound of the creek rippled through my body.
And beside me, my son was playing in his beautiful way.
I realized…
I was living the life I had once been hoping for.
Not someday.
Not when everything was easier.
Not when I finally became more.
Right there.
By the creek.
Under the cottonwoods.
Beside my son.
Cherishing the Moments
I sat there reading those words again,
listening to the water,
watching my son play,
and something in me became very clear.
These are the moments that are worth guarding.
This way of being together.
I could feel it in my body —
Everything begins here.
In safety.
In presence.
In connection.
How much learning lives in these quiet moments,
when nothing is being asked,
and nothing needs to be forced.
The creek beside us,
the world around us,
his imagination unfolding…
it was all already happening.
And being there with him —
that was enough.
Nothing was missing.
This is the heart of Rooted Field.
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