Sarah Elworthy

Sarah Elworthy 🇹🇩/đŸ‡«đŸ‡·

I help service leaders create True Health - physical, emotional & financial 💩 with a simple 3-step plan.

J’aide les leaders du service Ă  crĂ©er la Vraie SantĂ© - physique, Ă©motionnelle & financiĂšre 💩 avec un plan simple. After more than $30M in high‑ticket sales and years working in finance and hospitality, I saw firsthand how much the industry depends on service pros giving endlessly — their time, their energy, their nights — often with little left for themselves. I’ve lived that grind: the long shifts, the stacked plates, the feeling that if you stopped hustling, everything would fall apart. That’s why I created a simple 3‑step plan to help service industry leaders trade those late nights for legacy income. Today, I mentor driven women and men who are ready to take the skills they’ve spent years perfecting — the grace under pressure, the ability to read a room, the leadership — and channel them into seasonal, high‑ticket businesses that build freedom, flow, and generational wealth. Because your future shouldn’t depend on how many tables you turn, how many hours you log, or how much of yourself you sacrifice. There’s another way — and it starts the moment you decide you’re ready for more.

06/11/2026

Ever wonder what’s actually left on your fruits and vegetables by the time they make it to your kitchen?

One of my favourite uses for 11.5 pH water is soaking produce before we eat it. Because of its ability to break down oils, it helps lift away waxes, dirt, and residues that regular water may leave behind.

The first time I saw what was left in the bowl after soaking our produce, I couldn’t unsee it.
If you’re curious about how 11.5 pH water works, or you’d like to see some simple demonstrations, send me a DM with the word CLEAN and I’ll share more.

There is a difference between being capable and being able to sustain what your life is asking of you.That difference is...
05/10/2026

There is a difference between being capable and being able to sustain what your life is asking of you.

That difference is what I call the capacity gap.

It shows up quietly at first.

In the plans you know would work, but cannot seem to repeat.
In the standards you still carry, even when your energy does not meet them.
In the way you can rise for a deadline, a client, a child, or a crisis — but struggle to access that same steadiness for yourself.

For a long time, we have been taught to interpret this as a discipline problem.

I do not believe that is the whole story.

Your body has to be able to hold the life you are building.

Your energy, stress response, recovery, hydration, and cellular environment are not separate from your clarity, your decisions, your income, or your follow-through.

They are part of the same system.

That is the conversation I am opening inside my upcoming webinar.

Not motivation.
Not another productivity lecture.
Not a push-harder framework.

A deeper look at why capable people become inconsistent — and what starts to change when capacity becomes more stable.

If this is landing, stay close.

The training opens soon.

04/25/2026

Japanese researchers spent decades studying some of the world’s most reputed healing waters — not as folklore, but as measurable systems.

Across different locations, one pattern kept appearing.

It was not only mineral content.
It was not simply purity.

In certain waters, they observed the presence of Molecular Hydrogen — a dissolved, highly diffusible gas that behaves differently from anything we typically associate with hydration.

Because of its size and neutrality, it moves easily through tissues. It does not stay confined to digestion or circulation in the usual way. It interacts at a level most people never consider when they think about water.

This is where the conversation shifts.

For a long time, we have treated water as passive — something we consume and move on from.
But in these cases, water appears to function more like a carrier of usable energy, influencing how the body manages strain and recovery.

You do not feel this as a dramatic effect.
You notice it in steadiness.

Clearer thinking.
More reliable follow-through.
Less internal friction across the day.

Not because you are doing more.
Because the system underneath you is holding differently.

If this catches your attention, there is more to unpack here.

04/10/2026

My car sounds like it’s fighting for its life this morning 😂

But also
 fair.

It has been a long cold winter & neither of us have emerged smooth and silent.

Things shake & rattle. They get loud before they settle.

I think we expect ourselves to “bounce back” quietly.
Gracefully. Invisibly.

But real recovery & revelation:
it makes noise.

02/27/2026

We share a common ancestor with both the chimpanzee and the bonobo — two closely related species that evolved radically different ways of responding to stress.

Chimpanzees regulate uncertainty through dominance. Hierarchy, territoriality, and displays of strength reduce unpredictability by establishing control. Bonobos evolved another strategy. They lower aggression through connection. Social bonding, touch, play, and sexuality function not primarily for reproduction, but for nervous system regulation. Conflict is diffused before it escalates.

Humans carry the biology for both.

When we experience chronic stress — loss of control, instability, constant threat — our cognition narrows. We become more reactive, more tribal, more defensive. In those conditions, “chimp-style” politics and behaviour make evolutionary sense. But when safety, predictability, and belonging are present, something else emerges: cooperation, empathy, creativity, long-term thinking. A more bonobo-like response becomes possible.

So perhaps the question is not whether humanity is inherently aggressive or peaceful. The question is which conditions we are creating, internally and collectively.

Reducing stress is not avoidance. It is preparation. A regulated nervous system makes clearer choices possible. From that place, we are better able to protect the vulnerable, recognize danger without becoming consumed by it, and move forward with intention rather than reaction.

We can notice many things at once, but our attention rests on only one. Where we place that attention shapes our experience — and, quietly, the world we help build.

I’m curious: which do you recognize more in yourself right now — the impulse toward control, or the impulse toward connection?

11/18/2025

The benefits of drinking Hydrogen water are numerous. It’s like the sleeping giant in the health and wellness space.

EN/FRIn Ghana, 🇬🇭 rhythm isn’t a metaphor ☀ it’s medicineOne of the first things I noticed in Ghana was the people. Lan...
10/18/2025

EN/FR

In Ghana, 🇬🇭 rhythm isn’t a metaphor ☀ it’s medicine

One of the first things I noticed in Ghana was the people. Landing in Accra, the heat rises from the pavement before your feet even touch the ground. The air hums with life 😃 markets woven into the streets, music playing through open windows, and laughter that reverberates through the crowd.

Rhythm is everywhere - in the trotro (those buzzing, brightly painted tricycle taxis), in the cadence of conversation, in the way time itself seems to move to the beat of a different drum.

I remember one night at a small beach bar decorated with driftwood and palm thatch. The music was never less than the backbone, then slowly became the heartbeat of the evening. When the dj cued the right song and the rhythm deepened, the men gathered to dance - hips loose, chests open, completely unhinged and self aware. The women watched, smiling, cheering, owning their stillness like a form of strength.

On some evenings, the drum circle would draw the crowd đŸȘ˜ djembe and talking drums echoing along the shoreline, accompanied by beach fires that could outshine the bioluminescent sand. It wasn’t performance. It was communion.

In Ghana, drumming isn’t entertainment - it’s communication. Dance isn’t spectacle - it’s synchronization. Each beat is a reminder that resilience is a shared state.

In the West, we often regulate individually đŸ§˜đŸ»â€â™€ïž we meditate, journal, or breathe alone. But in many traditional societies, regulation happens communally. The group holds the rhythm. The rhythm holds the group.

I believe that’s what leadership feels like when it’s done right - not one person setting the pace, but many staying attuned, each contributing their energy, their role, their purpose. Because no one can sustain a beat forever on their own.

But in community? The rhythm never stops.
If this resonates, follow for more stories of rhythm, resilience, and regeneration - where anthropology meets entrepreneurship, and coherence becomes a way of life. đŸŒđŸ’«

FR

🇬🇭 Au Ghana, le rythme n’est pas une mĂ©taphore ☀ c’est un remĂšde.

Une des premiĂšres choses que j’ai remarquĂ©es au Ghana, c’est les gens.
En arrivant Ă  Accra, la chaleur monte de l’asphalte avant mĂȘme que tes pieds touchent le sol.
L’air vibre de vie 😃 les marchĂ©s dĂ©bordent jusque dans les rues, la musique s’échappe des fenĂȘtres ouvertes, et les rires rĂ©sonnent Ă  travers la foule.

Le rythme est partout - dans les trotros (ces petits taxis-tricycles colorĂ©s qui zigzaguent partout), dans la cadence des conversations, dans la façon dont le temps lui-mĂȘme semble suivre le battement d’un autre tambour.

Je me souviens d’une soirĂ©e dans un petit bar de plage fait de bois flottĂ© et de palmes tressĂ©es.
La musique, au dĂ©but discrĂšte, est vite devenue le cƓur battant de la nuit.
Quand le DJ a lancĂ© la bonne chanson, le rythme s’est intensifiĂ© et les hommes se sont mis Ă  danser - les hanches souples, la poitrine ouverte, complĂštement libres et prĂ©sents.
Les femmes regardaient, souriaient, encourageaient, habitant leur immobilité comme une force tranquille.

Certains soirs, les cercles de tambours attiraient la foule đŸȘ˜
Les djembés et les tambours parlants faisaient écho le long du rivage, accompagnés de feux de plage qui rivalisaient avec le sable bioluminescent.
Ce n’était pas un spectacle. C’était une communion.

Au Ghana, le tambour n’est pas un divertissement - c’est une forme de communication.
La danse n’est pas une performance - c’est une synchronisation.
Chaque battement rappelle que la rĂ©silience, c’est quelque chose qu’on partage.

En Occident, on se rĂ©gule souvent seul đŸ§˜đŸ»â€â™€ïž
On médite, on écrit, on respire chacun de notre cÎté.
Mais dans plusieurs sociétés traditionnelles, la régulation se vit en communauté.
Le groupe porte le rythme. Et le rythme porte le groupe.

Je crois que c’est ça, le vrai leadership - pas une seule personne qui impose le tempo, mais plusieurs qui restent Ă  l’écoute, chacune apportant son Ă©nergie, son rĂŽle, son intention.
Parce que personne ne peut tenir le rythme indéfiniment, seul.

Mais en communautĂ©? Le rythme ne s’arrĂȘte jamais.

Si ça te parle, suis-moi pour d’autres rĂ©cits oĂč le rythme, la rĂ©silience et la rĂ©gĂ©nĂ©ration se rencontrent — lĂ  oĂč l’anthropologie croise l’entrepreneuriat, et oĂč la cohĂ©rence devient un mode de vie. đŸŒđŸ’«

EN/FRFlying above the Nazca Lines in Peru felt like looking straight into the imagination of an ancient world.When I tra...
10/12/2025

EN/FR

Flying above the Nazca Lines in Peru felt like looking straight into the imagination of an ancient world.

When I travelled to Peru, I thought I knew what I was going for. Machu Picchu, the sacred mountains, the alignments with solstices and stars. And yes đŸ’« those places are breathtaking. But it was Nazca and Paracas that cracked something open in me.

I rented a small plane to see the Nazca Lines from above. From the ground, you can’t make sense of them. But from the sky? They stretch farther than the eye can hold. Enormous figures carved into desert earth 🐒 hummingbirds, monkeys, spirals 🌀 drawn with such precision that you can only see their full beauty when you rise above.

Up there, I felt the pulse of ancient people who understood something we’ve forgotten: that we are part of the rhythm, not above it. Earth, sky, water 💩 they weren’t separate. They were survival. Alignment wasn’t optional. It was the way of life.

Not far from Nazca is Paracas National Park. On a west-facing slope, etched into the land and pointing straight toward the Pacific, sits the great candelabra. Its meaning is still a mystery. Some say it’s a navigational marker. Some link it to the Nazca Lines. There’s no consensus 🧐 and maybe that’s the point.

Because standing there, the wonder was undeniable. Something bigger was happening in that landscape than what academics can neatly box into theories. Add to that the elongated skulls unearthed in Paracas, and it becomes impossible not to feel awe at what human possibility once held.

For me, these sites weren’t just tourist stops. They were reminders: that imagination, rhythm, and alignment with forces larger than us have always been part of human survival ✹ and maybe they still are.

Wonder cracks us open. Sometimes it takes an ancient desert line, a mysterious geoglyph, or an unsolved riddle etched into stone to remind us: we’re not separate from the rhythm. We are it.

What’s the most awe-filled place you’ve ever stood đŸ„č the kind that made you question everything you thought you knew?

FR

Survoler les lignes de Nazca, au PĂ©rou, c’était comme plonger directement dans l’imagination d’un monde ancien.

Quand j’ai voyagĂ© au PĂ©rou, je croyais savoir pourquoi j’y allais. Machu Picchu, les montagnes sacrĂ©es, les alignements avec les solstices et les Ă©toiles. Et oui đŸ’« ces lieux sont Ă  couper le souffle. Mais c’est Nazca et Paracas qui ont ouvert quelque chose en moi.

J’ai louĂ© un petit avion pour voir les lignes de Nazca d’en haut.
Du sol, elles n’ont aucun sens.
Mais du ciel? Elles s’étirent plus loin que l’Ɠil peut percevoir.
D’énormes figures gravĂ©es dans la terre du dĂ©sert 🐒 colibris, singes, spirales 🌀 tracĂ©es avec une prĂ©cision telle qu’on ne peut en saisir toute la beautĂ© qu’en prenant de la hauteur.

LĂ -haut, j’ai senti le pouls d’un peuple ancien qui comprenait quelque chose qu’on a oubliĂ©: que nous faisons partie du rythme, nous ne sommes pas au-dessus de lui.
La terre, le ciel, l’eau 💩 n’étaient pas sĂ©parĂ©s.
Ils étaient la survie.
L’alignement n’était pas un luxe - c’était une façon de vivre.

Non loin de Nazca se trouve le Parc national de Paracas.
Sur une pente orientĂ©e vers l’ouest, gravĂ© dans la terre et pointant droit vers le Pacifique, repose le grand candĂ©labre.
Sa signification reste un mystĂšre.
Certains disent que c’était un repĂšre de navigation.
D’autres le relient aux lignes de Nazca.

Aucun consensus 🧐 et peut-ĂȘtre que c’est justement ça, le message.
Parce que, debout devant ce paysage, la sensation d’émerveillement Ă©tait indĂ©niable.
Il se passait là quelque chose de plus grand que ce que les théories académiques peuvent expliquer.

Ajoute Ă  cela les crĂąnes allongĂ©s dĂ©couverts Ă  Paracas, et il devient impossible de ne pas ressentir une profonde rĂ©vĂ©rence pour ce que l’humanitĂ© a dĂ©jĂ  Ă©tĂ© capable d’imaginer.

Pour moi, ces sites n’étaient pas de simples haltes touristiques.
C’étaient des rappels: que l’imagination, le rythme et l’alignement avec des forces plus grandes que nous ont toujours fait partie de la survie humaine ✹ et peut-ĂȘtre que c’est encore le cas aujourd’hui.
L’émerveillement nous ouvre.

Parfois, il faut une ligne tracée dans le désert, un géoglyphe mystérieux ou une énigme gravée dans la pierre pour nous rappeler: nous ne sommes pas séparés du rythme. Nous sommes le rythme.

Et toi?
Quel est l’endroit le plus empreint de mystĂšre oĂč tu aies dĂ©jĂ  posĂ© les pieds đŸ„č celui qui t’a fait remettre en question tout ce que tu croyais savoir?

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Quebec, QC

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