What Opening (and Closing) a Coworking Space Taught Me About Community, Compassion, and Work Today

In January of 2023, I saw a beautiful photo of a bright, charming, wood-floored space in the heart of Georgetown, Connecticut. It was about a mile and a half from where I live, in a historic village undergoing revitalization. I immediately began dreaming of an oasis from my two small, screaming children, the mountains of laundry that haunt my nightmares, and the stained stack of dishes in the dirty sink. I could almost taste it: A space that I could make my own, find some productive hours in the day, and take one of those elusive deep, cleansing breaths.

Upon seeing it, I quickly realized it was way too big for just me, but just as quickly, an idea formed: I could turn this into a coworking and community space for all to enjoy.

800 square feet is not a lot of space, but with three rooms, a bathroom, and a little nook at the entrance for snacks and coffee, it was easy to see how to put this idea into action. I explained it all to the landlords, who were unfamiliar with the idea. It went something like this: 

I have always worked in coworking spaces since I lived in New York City, and we don’t have anything like this within 25 minutes of our little village. We have plenty of work-from-home professionals and entrepreneurs who could benefit from this. We could set up strict membership contracts so we don’t have to worry about liability from multiple people coming in and out of the space at all hours. 

We could create something special here.

Reluctantly, through eyes of confusion, perhaps trepidation, they agreed, and I signed a lease starting March 1st of that year. 

My world expanded.

It’s been a long journey of learning how to create a cozy space (Green velvet couches! Pink conference room chairs! Fake plants! Candles!), foster productivity, and encourage a sense of community. I also experienced the joys of small-town politics, figuring out who really controlled things, who would be generous in their support, and who I would have to prove myself to.

We had a lot of really good days. We started a women’s circle that garnered tons of interest and sold-out evenings. We hosted CPR trainings, commercial video shoots, family photoshoots, headshot sessions, reiki trainings, and more. 

But the space was never full during the day. The demands of my virtual assistant agency and coaching practice, along with raising two young children and keeping house, meant I had virtually no time for marketing and promoting the space. I was never able to turn a profit.

So, it made sense that when a new lease came up, I took a careful look at my time, energy, and finances. The dollars and hours required to support this lovely space no longer made sense, and it was a bittersweet decision, but I decided not to renew.

I learned a TON from this experience, and these lessons extend beyond the physical location.

1. Communities Crave a Third Space

After being isolated for so long during COVID, communities emerged into the world with a renewed sense of urgency, a fundamental need for camaraderie and connection. Cafes, parks, libraries, and other comfortable places outside of their workplaces or homes. A third space—one where they could catch up with friends, read a book, or simply be surrounded by the sights and sounds of the world once again.

COVID nearly crushed me. Sitting at home alone with a wailing newborn was not what I signed up for. I needed stimulation. I needed the hustle and bustle. I needed human connection with other adults. I felt this lack of third space acutely, especially since I didn’t have a workspace outside of my home. And when I searched for places to go, they were limited. A couple of cafes, yes, an amazing library, of course, but the closest coworking spaces were windowless, grey-scaled cubicles, and the one that seemed to be more in line with my needs was over 30 minutes away. Knowing myself, I would not be able to tolerate that commute.

It made sense for me to at least try, and the response was positive. People were excited to try something new, meet someone new, and develop a new routine for both their productivity and their mental health.

2. Changing Routines Is Difficult

Unfortunately, changing a well-established routine is extremely difficult. Yes, people had to pivot painfully in 2020, but by 2023, their new, albeit unwanted, routines were just that—routine. As much as people said they wanted to come cowork, come to an event, come support my space, they rarely did.

As I investigated this phenomenon, I learned that routines aren’t just habits, they’re nervous system shortcuts. Once a pattern is set, our brains treats any deviation as friction to be avoided, even when the deviation is something we’d genuinely enjoy. It doesn’t matter that coworking might make someone happier or more productive. The pandemic version of “home is where work happens” got reinforced day after day for years, and that repetition made these routines stick, even if they weren’t actually serving us. 

Wanting something different and being wired for something different are two separate problems, and the second one doesn’t budge just because you’ve solved the first.

That’s also why “just show up once and see” is such a hard sell. I offered a free coworking day to anyone who wanted to try it. I thought that seeing it, experiencing it, and being a part of it IRL would make all the difference. For some, it did, and they kept coming back. But the majority, while they told me genuinely that they loved it and wanted to come back regularly, never did. It’s not that they didn’t mean it. It’s that their routines were too easy, too compelling, and changing them was simply too painful.

3. Communities Want to Drive the Content

Another interesting thing I noticed was that the events I dreamed up and put on the calendar myself drew a polite trickle of interest, but the women’s circles consistently sold out.

I think the difference was ownership. The women’s circle wasn’t something I carefully mapped out and planned. Anyone could show up with whatever was on their heart. Each circle was facilitated by me or another professional, but shaped by the people who joined. 

The other events worked too in varying degrees, but were typically one-offs that I or someone else brought to the space and then expected people to show up for. There wasn’t always the same interest in these, and I think it could have been partly that the community didn’t ask for them.

I kept waiting for people to show up for coworking and events because I’d built a nice space for it. But a space isn’t a community. A community is people who feel like something is theirs. I could open the door, but I couldn’t manufacture the wanting. The minute I stopped trying to program the space and started asking people what they needed from it, things got easier, just not easy or fast enough to outrun the math on the lease.

4. The Need for Community Spaces is Still Great

We are seeing an overall increase in mental health conditions in our country, which has worsened since the pandemic. People are self-isolating (whether on purpose or not) with social media, running themselves ragged with too much work, and productivity culture means there is no time for genuine human connection, creating deep relationships, and nurturing hobbies and interests.

This is a huge problem, which I notice is underrated. We talk a lot about burnout and screen time as individual failings—something to fix with better boundaries or a digital detox week. What we don’t talk about enough is that people need somewhere to go and something to do that truly fills their cup. Willpower doesn’t build community. Proximity does. And many towns, through economic, political, and societal forces, have lost these spaces.

I didn’t solve that problem. I ran a lovely 800-square-foot experiment in it for a little over three years, and I learned exactly how hard it is to sustain from one person’s calendar and one person’s marketing hours. And that’s really the conclusion here. It’s not that the need went away, but that meeting it takes more than good intentions and a comfortable couch.

Closing the space wasn’t the end of the community, though. It was an evolution. The deep and powerful connections, the people who found each other in that little spot on Main Street continue, just in a different way. If there’s a lesson in that for anyone else thinking about building a third space: build it around what people already want to make together, keep your overhead honest, and don’t be afraid to let the container change shape once it’s done its job.