Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy life as a boy-mom. Having three sons, my days are filled with excited talk of superheroes, villains, and video games. In summertime, epic battles play out in the backyard until dinner. On family movie nights, “Star Wars,” “The Hobbit,” and “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy run on infinite loops. Life is never boring.
Although the “Boom! Crash!” of their younger years has now shifted to more nuanced language like “Bro! That’s sus,” I still can’t help but feel, as our family of five gathers for meals, that I’m often the odd “man” out.
Their shared spoken code reminds me that I’m the only female at the table, and that I’m fundamentally different in highly important ways.
That’s when I realized I needed my own space.
I wanted my own space — away from the boys
These past few years, I’ve stepped deeper into midlife — when women, often having spent decades as caregivers, ask, “Who am I really?” and “Why don’t I feel like myself anymore?”
I longed for a quiet space to explore these questions and others — like “What does it mean to be a woman in today’s world?”
My challenge was space. In 2019, wanting a home office/creative space, I transformed an unused room on our second floor. Then the pandemic hit. My husband, who’d always commuted, ended up working remotely for several years. My home office became his workspace.
Since every bedroom was occupied, I set up a desk in the living room. But the central location invited constant interruption: my husband, the boys, the dog, and even the cat who regularly photobombed Zoom calls.
I needed space. Quiet space. Feminine space.
Having run out of options, I considered the attic. Part of it was finished, even though we’d never used it as a “living space.” We’d moved into the house when I was already seven months pregnant —dumping boxes, storage items, and inherited things in a frenzy before the baby arrived. Then, we shut the door.
I decluttered the attic to make room for me
I climbed the narrow steps to the third floor and peeked inside. In my head, a mantra from Kaizen philosophy: How do you move mountains? One stone at a time.
I took a deep breath and decided this would become my feminine sanctuary.
One stone at a time, I repeated with every box, every folder, every container, every piece of paper I pulled from the attic. I gifted usable things to Goodwill. I used a tip I’d read in a women’s magazine to part with sentimental items by snapping photos to serve as memories, while tears streamed down my face. I placed toddler-sized sneakers into a big, black Hefty bag.
It took weeks, but the mountain became a small hill. The small hill shrank to little piles. Until, at last, the attic was empty, ready, waiting.
Designing from the inside out
Most of my life, I realized, I had to share space. Growing up, I shared a room with my sister. After college, I shared houses and apartments with roommates until I moved in with my now-husband. The opportunity to have my own space — to design it in a way that reflected the woman I was becoming — felt exciting and empowering.
As I envisioned the design of my space, I reflected on all that makes me uniquely me. The idea of a cairn came to mind — a structure built one stone at a time with intention and meaning.
One stone — meditator: a space by the window for my meditation pillows, mats, incense, and singing bowls.
One stone — writer/avid reader: a corner nook in which to curl up with books and journals.
One stone — solopreneur: a white, glass, L-shaped desk with plenty of space for my laptop.
One stone — mindfulness practitioner: walls adorned with inspiring art, affirmations, and symbols reflecting my growth.
I now have my own feminine sanctuary
A sign hangs on the door to the attic that reads, “The Zen Den — Meditation in Progress, Please Do Not Disturb.”
I place it when I want quiet — while meditating, reading, writing, hosting Zoom calls, creating, practicing origami, or simply being.
For the first time in years, I have a space that reflects who I’m becoming as a woman. And I can hear my inner voice again.
No one intervenes or interrupts, except the cat. And I’ve given him a feline pass.
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