Creating a Personal Relaxation Space
Your Mini Retreat for Recharging After a Long Shift
After twelve hours in the emergency department—dodging bodily fluids, solving mysteries more confusing than an episode of House, and hearing “I just came in to get checked out” for the 47th time—you don’t need a spa weekend. You need a moment. A reset. A transition from your high-alert, code-ready self to the human version of a warm, folded blanket. That’s where creating a personal relaxation space comes in.
And no, we’re not talking about turning your living room into a scene from a home décor magazine. Most of us don’t have the time, budget, or emotional energy for that. What we do have is the ability to carve out a little sanctuary—a chair, a corner, a patch of floor that whispers, you’re off-duty
This Space Isn’t Fancy. It’s Functional for Your Sanity.
Think of it like a crash cart—but instead of epinephrine and saline flushes, it’s stocked with lavender oil, your favorite blanket, and exactly zero people asking for warm blankets (you just gave them one).
Your personal relaxation space doesn’t have to be big or Instagram-worthy. It just needs to be yours. A space that says: no charting, no “quick questions,” no reliving that weird moment in Room 7. Just rest.
You’ve spent your whole shift tending to others. This is the part where you tend to yourself.
Why This Matters More Than You Think
Rejuvenation isn’t optional. It’s the only way we stay grounded in this profession long-term. Creating a personal relaxation space gives your nervous system a place to land—a little off-ramp from the adrenaline superhighway that is emergency nursing.
When your space cues your body that it’s safe to rest, that shift-to-home transition becomes smoother. Over time, your space becomes a healing ritual, a visual reminder that you are more than your badge, your stethoscope, or the emotional residue of the day.
It’s not just a place. It’s a boundary. A breath. A reclaiming.
And if it includes fuzzy socks and a snack drawer? Even better.
Define Your Space with Purpose and Boundaries
Claiming Territory—Without a Sledgehammer
Let’s be honest—most of us don’t have an extra room just sitting around, waiting to be transformed into a candlelit zen garden. And even if we did, that room probably has a pile of clean scrubs on the floor and at least one basket of laundry giving us the side-eye. But creating a personal relaxation space doesn’t require square footage. It requires intention.
Start by identifying a space that could work—a reading nook, a chair by the window, a little corner of your bedroom, or even a slice of patio. Think of it as a low-drama real estate deal. You’re not bulldozing. You’re staking a claim.
It doesn’t have to be quiet all the time. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to feel like yours.
Nurse Mode: Off. Human Mode: On.
This space has one job: help you shift out of clinical mode. So it needs boundaries—actual and symbolic. No email. No social media rabbit holes. And definitely no work bag tossed in the corner reminding you about that one chart you forgot to finish.
This is your off-duty zone. If your toddler wanders in with applesauce hands, that’s real life. But if your phone starts buzzing with unit group texts? Nope. Airplane mode is your friend.
Think about what makes you feel off the clock. Is it soft lighting? A certain blanket? A view outside that reminds you the world still turns beyond fluorescent hospital lights? Add it. Build your boundaries around that.
Micro Spaces, Big Impact
You don’t need 400 square feet—you need 4. Nurses know how to make the most out of tight spaces (have you seen the average supply room?). One corner, one surface, one chair. That’s all it takes to start creating a personal relaxation space that signals “this is where I exhale.”
You’re not designing a Pinterest-perfect sanctuary. You’re creating a physical reminder that you are more than your job title. More than your shift count. More than what Room 4 yelled at you when they didn’t get discharged fast enough.
This space says: I matter. I need this. And I’m not apologizing for taking five peaceful minutes before the chaos starts again.
Engage Your Senses to Signal Rest
Your Nervous System Needs a Memo
You’ve made it home. You’ve peeled off the scrubs, kicked off the Danskos, and maybe even eaten something that wasn’t wrapped in plastic. But your brain? Still in the trauma bay.
This is where creating a personal relaxation space gets a little scientific. Your nervous system, after running a 12-hour marathon of cortisol and caffeine, needs a signal that the shift is over. Sensory input is the memo it’s waiting for.
When you walk into your space, your senses should immediately whisper, we’re safe
Smell This, Not That
We’re in the business of odors—hospital smells are… memorable. So make scent the first thing that welcomes you into your relaxation space. Essential oils like lavender, bergamot, or eucalyptus are solid go-tos. No diffuser? No problem. Even a spritz of linen spray or a candle you actually like will do.
Pro tip: Avoid anything that reminds you of antiseptic wipes or hospital-grade “linen fresh.” Your brain deserves a break.
According to a 2021 review in Frontiers in Behavioral Neuroscience, aromatherapy has been shown to reduce anxiety and improve sleep by directly influencing the limbic system—aka your emotional control center.
Let There Be (Soft) Light
Harsh overhead lighting is for trauma rooms and med rooms, not your decompression zone. In your space, opt for string lights, salt lamps, or those cozy LED candles that flicker just enough to trick your brain into thinking you’re living your best life.
Light sets the mood—warm, dim light tells your body it’s okay to slow down, to let go, to not answer a call light.
Touch, Taste, and Tune Out
Keep a soft blanket within reach. Slide on some ridiculous fuzzy socks. Sip a calming tea. And for the love of your overstimulated ears, put on a playlist that doesn’t include call bells or IV pumps.
This is multisensory decompression. Every detail—from the texture of your chair to the sound of rain on an app—helps build a barrier between work brain and you brain.
Because in the end, creating your relaxation space isn’t just about where you sit. It’s about how your space makes you feel.
Add Meaningful Rituals That Help You Reconnect
Because Sitting Still is a Skill Set Too
If you’ve ever tried to relax and immediately felt the need to reorganize your fridge, start a load of laundry, and reply to three texts—congrats, you’re a nurse. We are not wired to sit still. We do. We fix. We keep things from falling apart (often by sheer force of will and caffeine).
That’s why creating a personal space only works if you build in a few small rituals that invite your mind to slow down. Think of them like handoffs—not to the next shift, but back to you.
Five-Minute Rituals That Actually Work
You don’t need an hour. You need five focused minutes that tell your brain it’s safe to come down from DEFCON 2.
- Journaling: Not a novel. Just a few lines. Try, “What went well today?” or “What am I proud of?” You’d be surprised what shows up when you give your thoughts a place to land. (Bonus: download our 5-Minute Post-Shift Reflection worksheet to keep in your space.)
- Micro-meditation: Sit. Breathe. Set a timer for 3 minutes. It’s awkward the first few times. Then it’s magic.
- Creative brain breaks: Color a page, play a calming instrument, stitch something, or just doodle in a notebook. Give your logical brain the night off.
Rotate Your Rituals Like You Rotate Stock
Some nights, you’ll need silence. Other nights, you’ll need to cry into your tea while reading poetry. That’s not weird—it’s human. Rotate your space’s rituals and items just like we rotate crash cart supplies.
Seasonal candles, new journal prompts, or even a snack drawer upgrade can refresh your connection to the space.
This Isn’t a Hobby—It’s a Lifeline
Nurses don’t just need rest—we need restoration. The kind that reminds you why you keep showing up, even when it’s hard. The kind that says, I am still me, even after that shift.
By layering your personal space with small, intentional rituals, you’re not just relaxing. You’re reconnecting—with your breath, your thoughts, and your purpose.
And that? That’s the real medicine.
Reclaiming the Quiet—One Corner at a Time
There’s something oddly sacred about having a space that doesn’t ask anything of you. No call lights. No “quick questions.” No beeping. Just a soft place to land after another day of pouring yourself into other people’s emergencies.
Creating a relaxing space is less about decorating and more about declaring: I am allowed to rest. It’s a gentle rebellion in a world (and a profession) that glorifies running on fumes.
Your Sanctuary, Your Rules
Maybe your space is the corner of your couch with a heated blanket and a dog who always smells like corn chips. Maybe it’s a chair by a window that catches the last light of the day. Wherever it is, let it become your permission slip to slow down.
You’ve earned the right to decompress without explaining yourself.
You’ve earned the right to breathe without multitasking.
And most importantly—you’ve earned the right to reconnect with who you are outside the badge.
Don’t Wait for a Day Off
This doesn’t have to wait for vacation time or some mythical “slow season.” You can start today. Grab a candle. Move that chair. Tell your people this is your “do not disturb unless there’s fire or snacks” zone.
And if you need inspiration? Just remember, Olympic athletes rest on purpose. They literally train for recovery. You, too, are performing at elite levels every time you step onto that unit.
So don’t underestimate the power of five quiet minutes in your corner of peace. It’s not just a habit. It’s your buffer. Your recovery space. Your resilience builder.
Last Shift’s Energy Has No Place Here
When you walk into your space, you leave the shift at the door—along with the smell of hospital soap and the weight of everyone else’s needs. You light a candle, breathe in something not sterilized, and remember: you are allowed to just be.
So go ahead—create your space. Build your ritual. Sit your weary bones down.
You’ve done enough for today.
