The Door to a Whole New Chapter

For the first time in my professional career, I have a door.

On a whim, I searched: “private offices near me.”

I've worked from home for the past eight years. When I left my nonprofit job to start my own business, I set up a home office—a corner of a room right off of the kitchen on the main floor of the house. It was such a change from what I had experienced before...

"Share this folding table with 9 people”

At my first job, I worked with a team of nine museum educators. We shared a workspace in the back corner of the open office—a folding table with six chairs. When I was promoted a year later, I upgraded to a devoted desk that sat right next to the communal office sinks. It was my own space, but it was also like working in the middle of Grand Central Station.

I left that organization for the next one, where, as the receptionist, I had a desk right by the front door—ready to welcome anyone from the public who came in. It was another open office space, the kind that everyone was crazy about in the 2010s because it was so “creative” and “collaborative.”

But there was no space to take a private phone call or to cry. Even when the doors were closed in the board room for a private meeting, I could hear everything that was said (though I acted like I couldn’t). Each time a colleague walked by my desk, they’d start a conversation that led to more to-do’s on my list.

I didn’t think much of it, because that’s the only kind of work I’d ever experienced. That’s the workspace we were given. And in nonprofit organizations, we have a culture of making do with what we have— whether that’s a broken chair or your predecessor’s bankers boxes full of files you’ll never look at, or a computer from eight years ago with an outdated version of Microsoft Word.

Then I blew up my career and came home.

It was an immense relief to be home. Instead of spending most of my waking hours in a chaotic open office plan, I could be in my own space. It was quiet. It was private. It was peaceful. It was mine. I was in control.

I painted it a cool grey color, assembled an L-shaped desk, and strategically placed my background so you couldn’t see my husband’s messy workstation, his piles of Magic the Gathering cards, or the kids’ Playdoh and craft supplies spilling out of the closet.

I often coached with little voices right outside my door, knocking on my door, busting in my door. My kids regularly stole my good, colorful pens and post its. My husband often put things he needed to grade on my desk. Rosie the pup pushed into the room and looked up at me like, “When will you be finished?!?”

As a mom, it’s convenient to work from home. I easily walk to and from the bus stop. I can throw in a load of laundry between calls. I can take 30 minutes to clean the kitchen so my head feels clear enough to work. When a kid is home sick, I can take care of them while only slightly shifting my workday. When the plumber comes, I can be there.

I led myself to working from home before the pandemic and before I knew that I am Autistic. I intuitively set up a workplace for myself that was non-traditional but worked for me—a sensory environment that I could control, that allowed me to actually do good work.

I launched my business my home office. I built this work there. I am so grateful to and for that room.

And I didn’t know it until recently, but...

Working from home is not good for me.

It was after a conversation with my therapist, where I heard myself say that I felt like the walls were closing in on me, that I googled a private office space. Doing all the things at once—business owner, home owner, and mom—was too much.

The Google results included a bunch of sad, nondescript, corporate, grey, industrial-carpeted, strip-mall offices—none of which I was interested in.

But there was one listing that caught my eye: a small room on the third floor of a historic building in Providence, right across the street from my favorite tea shop. Before I could think too hard about it, I contacted the agent and set up a showing.

The building is yellow with a purple door. It is a 15 minute drive from my home, a straight shot on the highway. It has a parking lot. It is owned by a local property management company that cares about community and historic preservation. The other tenants are mostly therapists. Everyone has one of those noise machines outside their office doors making ocean sounds. The tiny room is all the way up two flights of narrow, windy stairs.

When I thought about signing a lease, I worried that I wouldn’t actually leave my home to come in and make good use of the space. That my kids would be sick and one obligation or another would require me to stay home for the day, most days. But I wanted to try it. I wanted to see how it felt to have a room of my own, one with no Playdoh or Magic cards, where I could store my good pens and things would be right where I left them.

I told wise women in my life who know me well about the possibility of my own office. And they all responded with the same phrase: “I love that for you.” Emily said she could see how my energy shifted when I talked about it.

(NOTE: When people who know you notice that your energy changes, listen. When several people who you trust say, “I love that for you,” LISTEN.)

I signed the lease.

My incredible, generous, talented friend who loves to make spaces beautiful stepped in to help me set it up. She asked me some questions about how I wanted to feel in the space, what I needed to do in the space. And then I gave her my business credit card.

I left for a work trip and two weeks later I met her at the office for a big reveal, HGTV-style. We walked up to the door where she hung a sign with my business name on it. I turn the knob and the door slowly swung open. I stepped inside.

The words that came out of my mouth were: “Shannon, this is what the inside of my heart looks like.”

She nailed the brief. I can’t believe I get to work here. The walls are covered in textured purple wallpaper. The lighting is soft and warm. The L-shaped desk is exactly what I need to be productive. There is a whole tea station just for me, stocked with my favorite Trader Joe's snacks. There’s a corner with a cozy armchair, surrounded by piles of my favorite books. There is a quirky arched window, which is set up as a reading nook.

I didn’t know that working from home wasn’t the healthiest thing for me until I got out. Now, I can’t wait to get to my office. The act of driving to and from the office gives shape to my day—it somehow makes the days feel longer and less compressed. It gives me space to breathe.

My favorite part of having my own workspace?

The door. I have a door! For the first time in my professional life, 20 years into my career, I finally have a door! I love the feeling of shutting it tight, dead-bolting it behind me, and knowing that I’m alone for the day. I can be focused. I can be uninterrupted. I can make private phone calls and cry if I need to.

This is what I need in order to do good work.

I was going to bring my kids here to show them, but I thought better of it. I don’t meet clients here—I still coach over the phone or Zoom. Because this room is just for me. I don’t want anyone else’s energy to touch it.

In a helping profession like coaching, I am holding space for other people all the time. And then I do the same as a mom. It seems so selfish to say it, but I will: This space is just for me.

A humane and dignified workspace

I feel safe and held and inspired and creative in my space. It gives me the solitude and environment I need to actually do good work. It feels so humane and dignified to have agency over my workspace. And yet that is so elusive for so many of us. It is so hard won.

Maybe for you a space that feels humane and dignified is a room with a door. Maybe it's the flexibility to work from your own space at home. Maybe it's a highly collaborative environment or a mix of all of the above.

I hope that you have agency over your workspace. Too many of us don’t.

Where we work is dictated by company policies that don’t seem to actually make sense or account for the fact that we are human beings, not robots. We all have different responsibilities and schedules outside of work; we all have different nervous systems that require different sensory inputs in order to be at our best.

Where we work is dictated by organizational budgets that seek to make do with what we have and fail to prioritize or even consider that what we are doing is human work, that humans are the greatest resource that we have and we need to care for them.

Because I left traditional work and created my own, I can decide to do it differently, and I am.

I love my new office, I love my new door. You can see it here. But don’t come visit; it’s just for me. A room of my own.