The Wildberry Letters: Letter Two

October 27, 2025

The Wildberry Letters: Letter Two

The Beauty and the Weight

There are parts of the Wildberry story that will live inside me forever. These are the parts that made it sacred.

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I remember the mornings before market days, when the sun hadn’t even reached the hill yet. I would stand at the edge of the field with a cup of coffee and listen to the quiet before the world showed up. Picnic tables waited like open arms. The shade sails rustled in the breeze. Something about those mornings felt holy, like I was building something that mattered.

What made Wildberry special was never the things we sold. It was the way neighbors became friends over pop pastries and eggs. It was the farm-to-table dinners with picnic tables and string lights, conversations that wandered past sunset, people rediscovering what togetherness felt like. It was the workshops where strangers shared stories they’d never spoken out loud before. For a moment in time, this little farm was a place where people could land. Especially when the world felt unstable.

It was beautiful. It really was.

And like most beautiful things, it came with a weight.

What most people never saw were the late nights and early mornings. The endless cycles of washing eggs, baking bread, pulling weeds, pulling myself back together every time the season demanded more than I had to give…

They didn’t see the inbox full of messages telling me what I should add, fix, host, improve, or how to make things “more profitable,” “worth the drive,” “better for vendors,” “better for guests,” “better for them.” They didn’t see the silent expectation that I would always give more. One more event, one more email, one more favor, one more exception.

I once said it felt like a thankless job, and I meant it. Not because no one ever said thank you. Some did, and I saw them, and I’ll truly never forget them. But because what I gave could never be measured by a thank you.

No one asked how I was doing. They asked when the next market was.

No one asked how much it cost to build this. They asked if I’d waive the fee.

No one asked if I needed rest. They asked for more.

And here is the truth I can finally say out loud:

I allowed it.

I allowed the overgiving.

I allowed the extraction.

I allowed people to take from me because I was afraid the magic would disappear if I stopped giving it away.

But the magic was never in the giving.

It was in the love behind it.

Wildberry didn’t break me. I broke my own heart by believing I had to earn my worth through service. I abandoned myself in the name of community, and that is a truth I carry without shame now. Because it’s also the truth that eventually set me free.

The body keeps score when the soul is not heard. And my nervous system was begging me to listen long before I actually did. The panic, the exhaustion, the tears, the dread I felt before each market… I honestly thought all of that was weakness. Now I know it was wisdom. My body was telling me the truth before my mind was ready to accept it.

That version of Wildberry was built from love, true. But it was also built from unworthiness, from overfunctioning, from fear of being misunderstood or disappointing people. And anything built from fear will eventually require you to choose: protect the illusion… or tell the truth.

The truth is, healing changed everything.

It brought me back to myself.

It let me name what wasn’t sustainable.

It taught me that boundaries are not walls, they are protection for what is sacred.

I can honor the beauty and tell the truth about the weight.

Both are real.

Both are part of the story.

Both shaped me into who I am now.

And now… I am choosing to carry only what was mine to hold.

More soon.

💛Bridget