GETTING MY HOUSES IN ORDER: My Office

Some lessons take root quietly. They live in your bones long before you realize they're shaping how you move through the world.

For me, one of those lessons sounded like this: Be accommodating. Others' needs matter more. Don't make waves. Fit in where you can. Don't ask for too much.

It wasn't taught with words. It was modeled…subtly, consistently…until I'd become a master at it. Shifting myself around other people's comfort. Scanning for signs I was too much, too loud, too different. I'd learned to make space for everyone else… except me.

This showed up everywhere. Including my workspaces.

When I rented offices in the past, I carried that pattern in with me. Even though I was paying for a professional space, I still had this deep, irrational fear that I didn't deserve to fully own it. I didn't want to upset anyone. I hoped, silently, that my presence wouldn't ruffle feathers. I tiptoed around, and acquiesced when I got in the way.

Sometimes I lucked out and found spaces where I could breathe. But in others, I felt like a square peg in a round hole. I made it work. But at a cost.

And then one day I stopped and asked myself: What am I doing? Why am I still prioritizing how others might feel over what I know I need?

So I got honest. I envisioned the kind of office that would feel like a full-body yes. What would make me feel nourished, grounded, alive? What energy did I want around me? I let myself dream about a space where I didn't have to tone myself down, not even a little.

The universe, naturally, sent me a "close but not quite" first. A space that looked nearly perfect, with someone who started asking for subtle, and then not-so-subtle compromises. And while I absolutely could have stayed and made it work (like I always did)... I didn't.

This time, I chose me. I gave notice. I walked away.

I'm done dulling my shine to keep the peace. I'm done overriding my own needs so others stay comfortable. That version of me was doing her best to stay safe, but she doesn't get to run the show anymore.

In November, I moved into a space that didn't ask me to shrink.

It's spacious, warm, and mine. I filled it with furniture I love. Every single element was chosen with intention to support me and my clients fully. There's room for all my tools, all my specialties, all of me. You can feel it the moment you walk in. The integrity. The wholeness. The welcome.

This isn't just an office. It's a reclamation.

I've stopped trying to fit in. I've stopped filtering myself. This space reflects who I actually am, how I want to serve, and what I refuse to abandon in the process.

This is one "house" that is deeply, gratefully in order.