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.
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.