People always ask me how I went from nursing to design. The truth is, I never really left one for the other — I just started listening to a different part of myself.

For twelve years, I wore scrubs. I knew the weight of a 12-hour night shift, the beep of monitors at 3am, the way a patient’s hand feels when they’re scared and you’re the only one in the room. I loved being a nurse. I still do, in a way. But somewhere around year eight, I started doodling.

It began on break-room napkins. A sketch of the vending machine. A cartoon of Dr. Levi’s perpetually crooked tie. Then I started bringing a small sketchbook to work, drawing during my breaks, and something shifted. The same hands that learned to start IVs and wrap bandages were learning to hold a pencil differently — and it felt like coming home.

Yoni was the first to notice. “You light up when you talk about it,” he said one evening, watching me sketch at the kitchen table while Goni and Yarden slept. He’s always been like that — noticing the things I don’t say.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a nurse at heart. But these days, my tools are pencils and color swatches instead of stethoscopes and syringes. And honestly? Both sets of tools are about the same thing: care. Care for people, care for details, care for the small things that make life feel like life.

This blog is where I’m gathering those things — the nursing stories, the design experiments, the family chaos, the quiet moments. Thanks for being here.