The Story Behind From My Heart to Theirs
My grandchildren call me Grandma Kybie.
And when I hear that name, something ancient and tender opens in me — a remembering that stretches far beyond this lifetime.
Because before I ever held my babies’ babies in my arms, I was held by my grandmother.
She was a huge part of my life.
She shaped my nervous system not through loud or showy methods, but through quiet, regulating ways.
The Woman Who Taught Me the Language of Fire, Earth & Food
My grandmother always carried a box of matches in the pocket of her apron.
Always.
She had a pyromaniac love of fire — not destructive, but reverent. Fire as warmth. Fire as gathering. Fire as safety. Fire as ritual.
I would watch her strike a match and feel something settle in my body.
The flame was alive, contained, and useful.
I didn’t know then that my nervous system was learning regulation — only that I felt safe.
She gave me my love of the bush.
Of walking slowly.
Of noticing.
She felt a sense of belonging to the land, as opposed to simply moving across it.
Her favourite flower was the waratah.
As a child, I would drink nectar straight from the blooms — sweet, earthy, alive. Nature wasn’t something we visited.
It was something we participated in.
Gardening as Nervous System Medicine
Every single day, my grandmother gardened.
Hydrangeas. Soil under fingernails. Hours spent watering — slow, rhythmic, repetitive.
At the time, it just felt normal.
Now I understand: She was regulating her nervous system.
That same practice—standing outside, watering plants, and moving slowly with intention— is still part of my daily life.
It’s how my body returns to itself.
This is the kind of wisdom grandmothers pass down without words.
Cooking Was Her Love Language (And Mine Too)
Food was how my grandmother loved.
You were always fed. You were never sent away hungry. There was always room for one more plate, one more chair, one more body at the table.
If you were sad, you were fed. If you were tired, you were fed. If you were overwhelmed, you were fed.
It was love.
And as I’ve grown, healed, and listened more deeply to the body, I now understand the balance that’s needed — how easily food can become the only place we go for comfort.
That understanding lives at the heart of my work now:
Honouring love without bypassing the body.
Breath.
Presence.
Connection.
Then nourishment.
An Open Door, Always
My grandmother had an open-door policy long before it was a phrase.
Family. Friends. Neighbours. Strays.
There was always space.
There was always room for one more person at dinner.
That sense of welcome—being allowed to take up space—is something my nervous system still recognises as safe.
It’s also what I now offer through my work and through the Grandmother’s Toolkit.
Why I Created the Grandmother’s Toolkit
The Grandmother’s Toolkit wasn’t created from theory.
It was created from memory.
From the way my body learnt calm long before I had language for it.
From the way safety was transmitted through routine, rhythm, and love.
From the way my grandmother regulated herself — and in doing so, regulated everyone around her.
Now, as Grandma Kybie, I see how powerful this role still is.
Grandmothers don’t need to fix.
They don’t need to lecture.
They don’t need to know the right words.
They already carry the medicine.
What I Want My Grandchildren to Feel
When my grandchildren use the Grandmother’s Toolkit, I don’t need them to remember the pages.
I want their bodies to remember:
- How it feels to slow down
- How it feels to be held without being rushed
- How it feels to breathe and be met with love
I want them to know:
“I am safe in connection.”
“I am allowed to feel.”
“There is always room for me.”
This Is How Legacy Is Passed
Not through perfection.
Not through rules.
But through:
- Fire tended with care
- Gardens watered slowly
- Meals shared with love
- Doors left open
- Breath taken together
This is the lineage I honour.
This is the lineage I pass on.
From my grandmother —
to me —
to my grandchildren.
With love,
Grandma Kybie 🤍
Recent Comments