When You're Standing in All the Rooms at Once

"It was like all the rooms that carried the disappointment I felt from her, I was in all of those rooms all at once." — The Room to Be Brave

Sometimes I am thrown back into rooms I thought I healed from. These are rooms that held significant trauma. Where I woke up from my coma on a ventilator, having no idea that I was fighting for my life from meningitis. The delivery room where I had my daughter and was bleeding out while they worked to save both of our lives. The room where my foot was gray and a limb preservation specialist told me she would do whatever she could to save my foot.

Hospital rooms are rooms of trauma for a lot of people, so I am no different in that way. I wonder how many people feel the weight of those rooms when they are facing a new medical diagnosis, a new, unexplained symptom, a feeling like something is wrong.

I know the weight of that feeling. I've sat in that room many times.

This is a room I am healing in layers. I have worked through what I think is the worst of it and in the day to day I'm good. Until I'm not.

As soon as there is a lab value that's red, or an impression on imaging that recommends further imaging… I am standing in all of the rooms I have been in. I'm 19 again, laying on my stomach on a table while the doctor takes samples from my kidney to run a biopsy and confirm my chronic kidney disease. I'm 22 again, looking at my hand for the first time after my fingers were amputated. I am in every room where uncertainty, my mortality, and almost always pain are overwhelming.

So, what do I do when that overwhelm hits? How do I handle the weight of all of those rooms?

I come back to the room I'm in.

I journal my thoughts to get the fears out of my system, reminding myself on the page that I am not in any of those rooms because I already survived those moments.

I meditate to clear the rapid onslaught of thoughts, the what ifs, the oh my gods.

I call a friend. I am between therapists at the moment so I let someone in and let the words fall on understanding ears.

I find my joy. Rather than look into my own thoughts, I look outward and find somewhere to put my hands. I write, I hug my daughter, husband or cats, I go outside and feel the air on my skin and take joy in each breath.

I do for someone else. I send a text to a friend telling them I love them, I buy my daughter a treat. Doing for someone else takes me out of the panic and stress of my own thoughts.

I don't do all of these every time. I'm not insane, I couldn't keep up with all of them. But I use the most accessible at the time. And they work. These tools pull me out of the layers of rooms that I have already survived and put me into my body, and into the current moment.

Heavy moments carry enough weight without piling the ones you've already survived on top of them.

Whatever rooms you're carrying right now, I hope something here helps you find your way back to where you are.

The Room to Be Brave: Sometimes the Way Forward Begins with Going Back is available now. Order your copy here

What rooms do you keep returning to? I'd love to hear from you in the comments below.

How a Little Hobby Changed My Perspective

Finding My Room

The years following the pandemic left me feeling like everything was out of control. And for me, what kept me sane was finding one small place where I was in control.

In my workshop, I personally wash, press, measure, cut, and pin every piece of fabric I use. My hands and my heart are all over my work. And while the world can be loud, chaotic, and unpredictable, in that space I get to decide everything.

The project.
The fabric.
Each stitch.
Even when to tear it apart and start over.

I get to create something that never existed before. And that brings me so much joy.

That workshop became my room—not just a physical space, but a room in my life where I decide what comes in and what stays out.

The Room the Pandemic Couldn’t Touch

When the world shut down in March of 2020, there seemed to be nowhere to breathe. The internet was overwhelming. The television was somber. We watched numbers and maps like the danger was inching closer to our doors.

But I had something that surprised me.

I had a room.

A room filled with creativity and calm at a time when fear and grief felt unavoidable everywhere else. That feeling wasn’t allowed in my room. The outside world stayed outside.

I had bought my sewing machine just three months before the pandemic thinking it would be fun to learn. Maybe even a small side business. I had no idea it would save my sanity.

With a few weeks of learning—and some bleeding fingertips—I figured out how to thread the machine, read a pattern, cut fabric, and sew a mostly straight line. I didn’t realize I was building myself a room to survive in.

Building Rooms for Joy

I believe everyone has this kind of fire inside them—a spark waiting to be lit if we’re willing to try something new.

Why are we so afraid to fail at things we’ve never done before?

Kids aren’t. They try everything. They’re terrible at most of it. And we cheer anyway. We hang scribbled art on refrigerators. We clap at talent shows where “talent” is more tradition than truth. They fall off bikes a hundred times before riding away grinning.

Somewhere along the way, we lost the joy in learning.

When did we decide that if we aren’t immediately good at something, it isn’t worth doing?

The last few years shook everything loose. Priorities shifted. People stopped chasing only money and started chasing joy. I’ve watched people leave careers to open cupcake shops, create art spaces, practice energy healing, or simply do something that makes them feel alive—with no intention of monetizing it.

People are claiming rooms for themselves in the houses they built for everyone else.

What My Room Taught Me

When I started sewing, I didn’t realize I was waking up a part of myself that had been quiet for decades. I was ridiculously proud of my crooked zippers, tiny pillows, and lopsided blankets. I would have hung them on the refrigerator if I could have.

Sewing taught me things that spilled into the rest of my life:

• Problems are solvable—sometimes you just need to rethread the bobbin

• Mistakes aren’t failures; they show you how to slow down and try again

• Even the “ugliest” fabric belongs somewhere

• When your hands, heart, and mind are fully engaged, there’s no room left for fear

When I sew, my focus narrows to the fabric moving under the presser foot. Not what came before. Not what comes next. Just the present moment.

I believe every one of us has something that can do that for us if we’re willing to look for it.

Find Your Room

Your room doesn’t have to be a sewing workshop.

It might be a garage where you restore old cars.
A kitchen where you bake sourdough.
A corner of your living room where you practice guitar.
A trail where you run.
A notebook where you write.

It’s not about the physical space. It’s about creating a room in your life where joy lives. Where mistakes are expected. Where perfection isn’t required. Where the chaos of the world has to wait outside.

What room are you going to build for yourself?

Want more stories about finding joy, breaking cycles, and choosing courage? Sign up here to get updates about the book launch, and you’ll receive a downloadable guide to finding your own rooms that may be holding you in place.

Are You on the List?

Do you spend most of your day—your week, your month, maybe your whole life—making sure everyone else is taken care of and worrying about yourself last?

When did we stop including ourselves in our own lives?

The Rooms We Clean (And the One We Ignore)

I love a to-do list. I have lists for chores, errands, projects for when I magically have “free time,” and—of course—a list just for me.

That list is always the one I look at last.

Like Cinderella, I can’t get to the things for me until everything else is done.

Think about it this way: I clean every room in my house. I organize everyone else’s spaces. My daughter’s room is functional. My husband’s office is tidy. The living room is guest-ready. The kitchen is spotless.

But my room—the space that’s supposed to be mine—it’s on the list I never quite get to.

Do you have the same kind of list? Even if it’s not written down, it’s probably running on a loop in your head.

Where are you on that list?
Are you even on it?

Making Room for Everyone Else

Most of the people I know who seem like they “have it together” are really just taking care of everyone else. They’re working full-time jobs (sometimes two), managing households, raising kids, scheduling appointments, handling paperwork, remembering birthdays, and making sure there’s always toilet paper.

They’re available all the time. For all the people. For all the things.

We spend our lives making sure everyone else has a room to thrive in—while quietly giving up our own.

But do we really need to disappear completely for other people to be okay?

Can’t we make room for both?

Finding Your Room in the House You Built

Take a look at your to-do list—real or imagined. How many items are actually for you?

And if the answer is “none,” ask yourself this:
Is there anything you could leave for later? Or let someone else handle?

I know—it won’t be done the way you would do it. And that’s okay.

Here are a few shifts that helped me:

Delegate

The people around you are capable—even if they do things differently. Everyone deserves responsibility for their own room.

Lower your standards (just a little)

The world will not end if the bed isn’t made perfectly or the lawn isn’t mowed in straight lines. Perfection steals time from joy.

Stop being a martyr

Doing everything, asking for nothing, and then resenting everyone is not a sustainable plan. Ask for help. Let people show up.

Make a list just for you

Not chores. Not projects. A joy list. Things that light you up. Keep it handy so when you have time, you don’t default to more work or mindless scrolling.

Claim Your Room

Here’s what I’ve learned: if you don’t claim a room for yourself in the house of your life, no one else will.

Not because they’re selfish—but because you’ve taught them that your room doesn’t exist.

It does exist. You just have to stop letting everyone else use it for storage.

Lock the door for an hour. Or an afternoon. Do something that pulls you out of obligation and back into yourself.

Let’s make a commitment to put joy on the list—our list.

And in case you haven’t heard it lately:

You are important.
You are valuable.
You deserve joy.

You deserve a room of your own.

Want more stories about finding joy, breaking cycles, and choosing courage? Sign up here to get updates about the book launch, and you’ll receive a downloadable guide to finding your own rooms that may be holding you in place.

Who Do You Want to Be?

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Nurse. Teacher. Doctor. Firefighter. Superhero.

I wanted to be famous.

Over the past few weeks, I asked many of my elderly patients what they had wanted to be when they grew up. The answers were varied: nurse, teacher, police officer, Coast Guard, neurologist. But when I followed up with why they chose those paths, the answers were almost identical.

They wanted to help people.

Suddenly, my childhood dream of fame felt a little… shallow.

Rethinking the Question

I started thinking more deeply about why I wanted to be famous.

I grew up poor, moved often, and felt like I didn’t have much of a voice. Famous people seemed to have everything I didn’t—security, belonging, and a way to be heard.

Did I think all of that consciously at twelve years old? Of course not.

But now I wonder if “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is really a proxy for a deeper question:

Who do you want to become?

The Rooms That Shape Us

Let’s pause and think about how many of us landed in our careers.

Teachers often want to share what they’ve learned.
Nurses may want to comfort and heal because they’ve seen how powerful that care can be.
Police officers may want to protect because they once felt unsafe.

If you think back to what you wanted to be when you grew up, can you see why you were drawn to it?

Did a lack of financial security lead you toward stability?
Did witnessing illness pull you toward healthcare?
Did feeling unseen create a desire to advocate or lead?

Our careers don’t come out of nowhere. They’re often born in rooms we don’t realize we’re still carrying with us.

Finding My Own Room

I spent most of my twenties searching.

I moved through restaurant kitchens, sales floors, bank lobbies, office cubicles—trying to find the room that felt like home. But the room that changed everything wasn’t one I chose.

It was a hospital room in Des Moines in 2001.

I was a waitress when I contracted meningitis. I lost several fingers and spent nearly a year recovering. Those hospital and recovery rooms were some of the hardest spaces I’ve ever been in. They were rooms where I lost parts of myself—literally—but they were also where something else quietly took shape.

After I recovered, I returned to waitressing to prove I could. And I did. But it wasn’t my dream. Neither were the many other roles I tried—bartender, furniture salesperson, receptionist, corporate trainer, graphic artist, loan officer, bank teller, car salesperson, restaurant manager.

I had been in so many rooms. None of them fit.

Years later, after many conversations with my husband about finding my “career,” occupational therapy came up. From the moment he said it, I knew.

Why wouldn’t I do that?

I could help people recovering from illness, injury, amputation. I could use my own experience—not as a liability, but as a bridge. Helping others gave meaning to what I had been through. It gave me a sense of power over something that once felt completely out of my control.

I had to go back to those hospital rooms to understand that they weren’t just places where bad things happened. They were rooms that shaped who I was becoming.

Ten years later, I still love my work. Some days are emotionally exhausting. But the work itself brings me real joy.

Finding Your Room

So why am I sharing all of this?

Because purpose and joy are deeply connected—and sometimes we lose one without realizing it.

If you’re working in a field you once felt excited about, ask yourself:

• Do I still feel connected to why I chose this?

• Can I go back to the room where that spark first appeared?

Sometimes joy fades not because the work is wrong, but because we’ve forgotten what pulled us to it.

If your work allows you to serve your purpose but the environment is toxic, that’s different. Some rooms are beautifully decorated but still wrong for us.

And if you aren’t working in your field at all—but you feel a pull toward something—start small. Take a class. Talk to someone who’s doing what you want to do. Find a mentor. Step onto the path, even if you can’t see the whole road yet.

Asking Better Questions

We often ask young people, “What are you going to school for?” or “What do you want to be?”

Maybe a better question is:
What purpose do you want to serve?

Providing financial stability and finding joy in your work are not mutually exclusive goals. If you’re struggling to find both, it may be time to do some soul-searching. Look honestly at your values. Listen to your heart. Pay attention to the rooms that shaped you.

They’re trying to tell you something.

Going Back to Move Forward

In my memoir, The Room to Be Brave: Sometimes the Way Forward Begins with Going Back (January 27, 2026), I explore how the rooms from our past—the painful ones, the shameful ones, the avoided ones—often hold the keys to understanding who we’re meant to become.

Sometimes we can’t find our purpose until we go back and heal the moments that taught us we weren’t worthy of having one.

Whether you’re feeling burned out, lost, or simply restless, it might be time to pause. Step outside. Put your feet in the sand or grass. Soak in the tub. Have dinner with a friend. Let your nervous system settle.

Then take a deep breath and ask yourself again:

What room do you want to be in? Who do you want to be?

Want more stories about finding joy, breaking cycles, and choosing courage? Sign up here to get updates about the book launch, and you’ll receive a downloadable guide to finding your own rooms that may be holding you in place.