Story Teller, Finally Sharing My Own
- Sarah Smith Warren
- May 21
- 6 min read
Intro by Sarah Smith Warren
Long time listener, first time meeting. Admittedly, I only just met THE Ashley Thornberg. But I've been a longtime listener and fan of her work. I could recognize her voice anywhere, as for years I listened to her Main Street radio show on Prairie Public Radio. The show was made up of powerful stories featuring guests and always included thoughtful questions, conversations and discussion. I was sad when I heard she left the show, but I also know firsthand that just because you have a dream job, it doesn't mean that dreams and life and circumstances can't change. Even without knowing her, I knew her talents and thoughtfulness would lead her somewhere special. I'm honored that Ashley is here to be on the otherside of story telling - sharing her own.
Sarah Smith Warren is the founder of Soul Space Work, a coaching and consulting space working to support and empower humans and businesses to thrive in their life and work.
Connect with Sarah at ssw@soulspacework.com
Story Teller, Finally Sharing My Own
by Ashley Thornberg,
Founder of Studio NoMo
One of my favorite This American Life episodes explores how everyone can tell their life story in 30 seconds or less. When you boil it down to the highlights—and lowlights—it’s surprisingly simple.
I was born outside Minneapolis, moved to a small town in North Dakota, had a kid, went to college, moved to France, worked as a journalist, got married, did some yoga. That took seven seconds. A simple life, I suppose.
But suppose I elaborated. I’d add a few minor details: breaking a collarbone. Jumping out of a plane. Contemplating suicide. Interviewing the Prime Minister of Iceland. Pulling my own hair out. Meeting Joan Baez, the Avett Brothers, Tracy Morgan, and the Princess of Sweden. Winning an Edward R. Murrow Award. Breaking three teeth during a depressive episode. Falling in love and learning how to stay. Raising a daughter who plays violin, snowboards, speaks three languages—and is now earning her Master’s.
That version took about 23 seconds. I love writing prompts like the 30-second life story. They force focus and reveal the power of storytelling. Ever heard the famous six-word story? For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
I ache like the grieving parents holding their breathless babe.
My mind filled in the heartbreak. That’s the power of storytelling. Of imagination. Lately, I’ve been wrestling with stories—especially the ones we tell ourselves.
I’ve always chased stories. Stayed up reading under the covers. Built book forts. Memorized sitcom dialogue—not just because I loved it, but because I was studying connection. I was always ready with a Dorothy Parkeresque zinger. As soon as someone spoke to me, I’d dazzle them with dagger-sharp wit. But did you catch that? As soon as someone spoke to me. Conversation was something I waited to be invited into, never something I initiated.
I was painfully shy. Desperate for connection, terrified to start it. Teen-me couldn’t fit in—unless you count going to prom alone. As an emcee. Or trying to swallow a handful of aspirin to feel something. If that made me cool, then sure—I was in.
I was unpopular but still human. Still hungry for connection. So much so that, at 16, I got pregnant. Later, I was alone. Suicidal again.
But instead of dying, I stayed alive—barely. I pulled my hair. Binged on ice cream and Law & Order marathons. Anything to not feel.
Externally, I kept up appearances: straight A’s, promotions early and often. I even got a job talking on the radio. I knew if I risked being fired, I’d have to learn to talk. On the outside: achiever. On the inside: hollow. Not exactly out chatting with a big group of friends.
Then one night, deep into another binge-watch, half from boredom, half from something else... I started trying to touch my toes.
One weird little thing—and that weird little thing changed everything.
I started going to yoga classes. Then yoga teacher training. Then, shockingly, starting conversations—real ones, not just on air. Friends appeared. Friends who wanted to try strange breathing techniques or twist into odd shapes. We’d plan to go to class together. We’d meet in the sauna before, after, and at times, instead of class.
I started going to the Y just for the sauna. I'd show up stressed or sore and melt at 180 degrees. I rotated through saunas at local gyms and even at the Nordic spa in Winnipeg. I talked with people about their cultural sauna rituals—banya, hammam, onsen, sweat lodge. Someone once called me “the girl in the sauna who talks about other saunas.” I couldn’t get enough.
I started teaching yoga. And getting real. I talked about depression. About suicide. But I also got weird—acting out yogic battle scenes with students. The weirder I got, the better I felt. I even ecstatic danced during class. I’d say something spontaneous and afterward, a student would tell me it was exactly what they needed to hear. Weirdly, I never remembered what I’d said.
Still, I told myself a story: people came to my class because the class was convenient. It was downtown. Not because of me. Same with my radio show—listeners cared about the guests, not me.
Eventually, that imposter story got old. I started trusting my love of teaching and sauna. That these were the spaces where I felt most human. People began asking when I’d open my own studio. I laughed. “I sauna and yoga to de-stress—not to make them a business.”
Another story I told myself: running a studio would ruin these practices.
Then a peculiar thing happened. I started losing connection with my radio show. I still held space—when a guest cried about a decades-old stillbirth, for a woman who told of torture and sexual abuse at Indian boarding schools, for a man who grew up blind after his father beat his pregnant mother, for refugees who contact with family, when a man shared about genital mutilation.
But I stopped preparing. I told myself I didn’t need to—I was a professional. Deep down, I knew better.
I was burned out: exhausted and ineffective. I clung to the sauna. Picked up more yoga shifts. Treaded water—until I couldn’t anymore.
After a year of soul-searching, I left.
Not to teach more yoga. Not to deepen my sauna practice. I feared losing my medicine if it became my work.
Instead, I took a role with an organization I loved and respected so deeply, I ignored the gut feeling that it wasn’t right for me.
That’s when my body quit. I stopped sleeping. Stopped eating. Lost the ability to focus or learn. I tried every breathwork and yoga trick I knew. Nothing worked—until one day, I wanted to jump into cold water.
Me. A sauna-and-more-sauna girl. Suddenly: “let’s jump in a lake in March.”
I’d heard of thermal cycling (hot, cold, rest). I’d splashed my face before. But full submersion? Panic.
At first.
Working with facilitator Angie Swiec Kambeitz in Bismarck, I learned new breathing techniques. I’ve since learned: men and women need different water temps. Women should avoid cold plunges during the follicular phase. And cold plunges aren’t for everyone—especially with certain health conditions.
But for those who can, it’s powerful. The thermal cycle boosts circulation, sharpens focus, reduces stress, improves sleep. It resets the nervous system.
That’s also what yoga, dance, and play do. All those weird things I was doing—they were play.
I learned about myself through serious play. I invited myself into the most rewarding conversation yet: one with myself. One where I constantly learn, adapt, and evolve.
It’s a writing prompt for my mind. I get to rewrite my story, or tell a new one altogether.
Perhaps a six word story:
Always holding space. My studio now.
Ashley Thornberg
Studio NoMo hello@studionomo.co
*Check out upcoming events & collaborations by Studio NoMo below:
Saturday, May 24
9:00am to 12:30pm
Chef Candace Stock leads us in gathering medicinal plants that grow right here in town. We’ll use our foraged finds to infuse water and share a steam session in the sauna.
Signature Sauna Sessions:
Relax and recharge with friends and family with private access to our studio.
Workplace Wellness:
Half and full-day retreats offering thermal cycling and yoga retreats designed to optimize creativity and productivity.
Space Rentals:
Birthday parties, book clubs, workshops and more. Bring your own food or have a catered meal. We’ll provide dishware and cutlery.
Past events:
Sauna + reflexology, sauna + soundbath, sauna + creative ideation for workplace innovation.
Interested in being a Guest Contributor on The Soul Place?
The Soul Place is an online journal that celebrates the positive and passionate work by brilliant and brave individuals. If you would like to be a guest contributor on The Soul Place, or if you know someone who should be a guest, please contact Sarah at ssw@soulspacework.com
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