Today we’d like to introduce you to Megan Rohall.
Hi Megan, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
My story.
Wow. How’s that for an opening question? I’ll do my best here.
My story has always been about connection and the importance I place on building it, protecting it, and finding my way back to it when life gets loud.
And it gets loud a lot.
I’ve always been able to best manage the volume of that noise with writing.
Writing has always been my strongest form of connection, the way I make sense of life, build bridges between myself and other people, and turn ordinary moments into meaning. It’s where I feel most at home, most honest, and most alive. No one ever has to wonder what I really mean to say when I write. What began as journaling and storytelling in small, quiet ways as a little girl with a notebook and a pencil next to her bed has grown into a deep passion for using words to help others feel seen and less alone. When those noisy thoughts keep me and my brain up at night, I can scribble them down on paper, and tuck them away into my nightstand drawer, and suddenly they’re quiet. It’s like they’re my children, and all they needed was one more hug and one more kiss before bed. Just a little more attention before they find their quiet, too.
For 17 years, I worked in early childhood and elementary education, most recently as a pre-k teacher and communications director at a small local preschool. This school was where my children grew from babies into big kindergarten ready boys. In my youngest’s last year there, I filled a pre-k teacher position after having taken a few years off to soak up the time my babies were truly babies. And I remembered how much I loved loved helping little ones grow. But, over time, I realized my deeper calling was in the stories surrounding the classroom. The stories of the mothers, teachers, and women trying to rediscover themselves, trying to avoid getting to know themselves beyond their roles as mothers or teachers, and needing to be everything to everyone while raising and leading others.
Now, as Creative Director and Community Growth Lead for the Dear Mama Movement, and through my Substack, This Body of Work, I write about the messy, beautiful process of becoming. Still, my greatest joy and purpose are rooted in motherhood. I’m deeply involved in my boys’ lives, and I will be as long as they want me to be. Because I know these days are long but the years are short. And that window of time where they still slip their little sticky hand into yours when they’re walking along side you or see the overwhelm on your face at the end of a long day when you’re just trying to put calories on the table, because calories is all you’ve got in you, and can somehow melt it all away by wrapping their arms around your hips, and gazing up at you, saying “you good, Mom?”…that window is small. I serve as the co-president for the PTO at their school, chair the annual schoolwide BINGO event every spring at their school, committing my vocal cords to being the loudest cheering section on the bleachers at their baseball games, and embracing their friends as kids of my own. Being their mom grounds everything I write and everything I do.
All of this isn’t just part of my story; it’s the heartbeat of it. Every day, it shapes how I love, lead, uplift and help others feel seen and supported.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
The road to where I am today has been anything but smooth. And if we’re being honest, I’m still not on the road I want to be on. I’m traveling a lot of quiet, secluded back roads, enjoying the peaceful scenery before I make it to the main highway, full of traffic and people going too fast for their own good, driving cars they can’t afford. Right now, the road is quiet so I can be loud enough to hear myself and not be drowned out by revving engines, honking horns and emergency vehicle sirens. For a long time, I equated being “strong” with staying quiet, with showing up for everyone else even when I was unraveling inside. And the reason staying quiet looked like strength to me is because by nature, inherently, “quiet” is something I could never be. I have feelings to feel, thoughts to think, and things to say, and honestly what’s the point of all of that if we don’t share it out loud with other people? Our experiences, our stories, our happinesses, and our pain are what connects us all and makes us feel less alone. I’ve walked through seasons of deep loss, disillusionment, and betrayal that forced me to confront what it really means to protect, most importantly, my boundaries, my peace, my worth, and of course, my family.
I have reached breaking points when I had to make painful choices. Choices to put me and my value first to step away from environments and relationships that no longer felt safe, supportive, or aligned with the person I was becoming. It was isolating at first. I grieved the idea of belonging in spaces that didn’t see me fully, and I carried the guilt that often comes when women choose themselves. (Why do we do that, by the way?)
But that pain also became the catalyst for my healing and my voice. I began writing again. And not to impress or perform, but to process. To take those noisy, screamy thoughts and give them that one last hug and one last kiss and tuck them away. To tell the truth, even if it was just for me on a piece of paper. To connect with others who had lost themselves trying to make everyone else comfortable. That’s where my purpose grew roots. My obstacles reintroduced to the power of my words, and my words started to give me my life back.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
At its core, my work is about storytelling. I suppose it’s always been about turning lived experience into connection, and connection into community. I’m a writer, creative director, and community builder who believes that when we share our real stories…the REAL stories. You know, the messy, the complicated, the “oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m admitting this out loud” ones…and those are the most beautiful ones…we remind others that they’re not alone in theirs.
Through my Substack, This Body of Work, and my role as Creative Director and Community Growth Lead for the Dear Mama Movement, I create spaces where women, especially mothers, can feel seen, understood, and valued. A space where they can pause, reflect and go, “oh yeah! I remember her! That’s that fun, funny, ready to share every bit of herself with everyone girl who used to come around before she started cranking out kids!” I write about boundaries motherhood, reinvention, boundaries, and the bravery it takes to start over again and again, with softness and strength. Did I mention boundaries?
I think “professionally” I’ll always be a teacher just not in the traditional sense. These days, my classroom looks more like a blank page or a conversation with women who are ready to stop pretending and start telling the truth out loud. That’s the work that moves me most: helping others find language for what they’ve lived, endured, survived, thrived and the courage to share it.
What I’m most proud of isn’t a title or a platform. How do you give a title to so much nuance? But my words have made people feel less lonely. Being alone? That’s okay. Necessary, sometimes. But lonely? Never. We can’t have that. And that, to me, is the best kind of work.
So, before we go, how can our readers or others connect or collaborate with you? How can they support you?
Oh, this one is easy.
The easiest way to support what I do is to read, share, and engage with the work itself. Tell me when the words and the stories hit you in the feels just right. Chime in on the conversations that live on my Substack, This Body of Work, and most especially within the Dear Mama Movement. That’s where the heart of it all happens. You can hear the beat of it in the quiet moments when someone reads something I’ve written and thinks, “Oh. Me too.” Oh my GOSH! That’s the best part.
I love collaborating with other women, writers, creators, and community builders who are chasing the same thing I am. They’re looking for connection, truth, and belonging. Being okay alone, but never feeling lonely. Whether it’s storytelling projects, events, or creative partnerships that lift women’s voices and make people feel seen, I’m always open to meaningful collaboration.
Support can also be simple: subscribing to This Body of Work, sharing an essay that resonates, or reaching out just to say, “I’ve been there too.” That kind of connection…that woman to woman, story to story feeling is what keeps me showing up, pen in hand, ready to keep telling the truth out loud.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/iammeganrohall/
- Facebook: https://Facebook.com/megan.rohall.2025?
- Other: https://substack.com/@thisbodyofwork
Image Credits
Michelle Bell Photography
