Life After the NICU: Finding Gratitude, Joy, and Purpose

When the NICU Calls You Back

Some time after Lola and I were finally discharged from the NICU, I got a call that left me in tears. Not the kind of tears that come from fear or exhaustion—but tears of gratitude.

They wanted to know: would I serve as a parent advocate on the board planning the build-out of a brand-new, state-of-the-art NICU?

Umm… yes. A thousand times yes!

For context: the old NICU was one large, dimly lit room divided by flimsy curtains. Privacy didn’t exist—you could hear the medical highs and lows of the family next to you whether you wanted to or not. So the chance to help reimagine what the NICU could be? It felt monumental.

Designing Hope

To this day, I can’t quite believe they wanted my voice in such a massive undertaking—me, a tired mom who once thought “showering this week” counted as a major accomplishment.

And yet, there I was, weighing in on everything: the need for private rooms where parents could sleep alongside their babies, the value of circadian lighting to support fragile rhythms, even the positioning of nurses’ stations. And yes, the fabric and paint colors, too.

If that sounds trivial, you’ve never spent 63 days staring at the same wall while your baby fights for every ounce of strength. Colors matter. Comfort matters. And it’s not just for families—it’s for the doctors, nurses, specialists, CNAs, even the janitors who pour themselves into this work day after day. A healing space heals everyone inside it.

Why Giving Back Matters

At first, it felt like a small way to repay a place that had given me everything—literally my daughter’s life. The NICU pulled her back from the edge again and again until she was strong enough to come home.

But I realized something bigger: giving back doesn’t just help others. It steadies you. It pulls you out of your own head and roots you in connection—with yourself, with others, with something larger than your own fear or striving.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

Giving back wasn’t just about designing a NICU. It was about transforming pain into purpose. Saying: “This place nearly broke me—but it also healed me. And now I get to make it softer for the families who come after us.”

That gave me joy—not the glittery, unicorns-and-rainbows kind, but the kind that seeps into your bones. Joy that says: I matter. What Lola and I endured can be used to make someone else’s road just a little less rocky.

The Ripple Effect of Joy

That season in life changed me at my core. I walked away with forever friendships, a NICU family that will always be mine, and a new truth: when you give, you don’t just pour out—you also receive. Presence. Purpose. Love. Giving back taught me that joy is circular, a current that carries us all forward.

Coming Home to Yourself

If you want to feel more alive, more grounded, more human—give. Your time, your voice, your listening ear, your compassion. It doesn’t have to be big or cost you a dime. It doesn’t have to be newsworthy. It just has to be authentic.