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.
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.