BONUS: Share Your "Between Chapters" Story - Totally Booked with Zibby

Summary4 min read

Podcast Summary: Totally Booked with Zibby — BONUS: Share Your "Between Chapters" Story

Host: Zibby Owens
Episode Date: June 8, 2026

Main Theme & Purpose

In this special bonus episode, Zibby Owens invites listeners to share their own “between chapters” life stories—those transitional, often challenging or exhilarating periods that change us. Zibby reflects on her own transformations and introduces a new interactive segment, “Between Chapters,” encouraging the community to contribute personal essays or anecdotes about navigating life changes. To launch the initiative, Zibby reads an evocative essay by author Karma Brown (initially misnamed as Carson Brown) about embracing life after full-time motherhood.

Key Discussion Points & Insights

Zibby’s Personal “Between Chapters” Story

Background (00:00 - 02:10):
- Zibby recounts how, a decade ago, she was a stay-at-home mom and frustrated aspiring author not yet present on social media.
- Friend Sarah Mlynowski encouraged her to start a podcast, a move that changed her trajectory: “One step at a time, I've ended up in a completely different chapter.”
- Zibby notes she’s experienced dramatic personal change over the last 11 years: divorce, remarriage, a career overhaul, and new beginnings, all sparked by a single small step.

The “Between Chapters” Concept

Community Engagement (02:11 - 03:00):
- Zibby emphasizes that everyone is “between chapters” in some way—just coming through, stuck in the middle, or eager for what’s next.
- She creates a platform for listeners to share their stories, ranging from one-line anecdotes to full essays.
- Quote: “Maybe we are loving the chapter we're in and want to celebrate it. Or we just can't wait to get to the next chapter.”

Featured Essay: “The Chapter I Never Saw Coming” by Karma Brown

Motherhood as Identity (03:01 - 04:00):
- Brown’s essay begins with the intensity of motherhood: “Motherhood was my drug of choice for more than two decades.”
- Vivid illustrations of family life, “ferry crossings…winters spent carving down snowy mountainsides and summers swollen with salt air and sunburns.”
Empty Nest Transition (04:01 - 05:30):
- As children leave for college, Brown poignantly notes: “No one talks much about what happens to the person left standing in the parking lot afterward.”
- Her grief after her last child moves out is as much of identity as of circumstance.
Navigating Grief & Rediscovering Self (05:31 - 08:10):
- Brown’s sister distracts her with a trip to Disneyland, but the emptiness returns.
- Finds unexpected joy and humility taking a dishwashing job: “After decades of washing dishes for free, I was finally going to get paid for one of the core competencies of motherhood.”
- Humorous cameo: “I stood ankle deep in soapy water, preparing to wash Glenn goddamn Close's dishes.” (06:40)
Reckoning with Loss and Reawakening Art (08:11 - 10:00):
- The future she envisioned (moving to Guatemala) vanished.
- Confronts the question: “Who was I without motherhood at the center? The question terrified me.”
- Depression follows, highlighting the deep grief for lost identity, not just the absence of children.
The Return to Creativity (10:01 - 12:00):
- Art patiently waits beneath grief; Brown slowly returns to an unfinished memoir about an Atlantic crossing.
- “Slowly, the story I had carried for nearly half my life took shape. Page by page, chapter by chapter.”
Transformation and Hope (12:01 - 14:10):
- “The chapter I feared most, the one that began when my children left home, created the space for me to finish it.”
- Brown celebrates the “reclamation chapter,” where loss becomes creative renewal:
  “Sometimes the chapter that feels like loss is actually transformation. Sometimes what looks like an ending is an invitation. And sometimes the chapter you would have fought hardest to avoid becomes the one that finally brings you home to yourself.” (13:45)

Zibby’s Reflections & Call to Action

Aftermath (14:11 - End):
- Zibby is deeply moved by Brown’s story: “Oh my God, that was so good.”
- She encourages listeners to submit their own “between chapters” anecdotes via the new online form at zibbyowens.com.

Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

Zibby Owens:
- “One step at a time, I've ended up in a completely different chapter.” (00:45)
- “We're all kind of between chapters one way or another.” (01:30)
Karma Brown:
- “Motherhood was my drug of choice for more than two decades.” (03:20)
- “No one talks much about what happens to the person left standing in the parking lot afterward.” (04:20)
- “After decades of washing dishes for free, I was finally going to get paid for one of the core competencies of motherhood.” (05:55)
- “I stood ankle deep in soapy water, preparing to wash Glenn goddamn Close's dishes.” (06:40)
- “Who was I without motherhood at the center? The question terrified me.” (07:50)
- “Sometimes what looks like an ending is an invitation.” (13:45)

Timestamps for Important Segments

00:00–02:10 — Zibby shares her background and the genesis of “between chapters”
02:11–03:00 — Introduction of the community story-sharing initiative
03:01–14:10 — Reading of Karma Brown’s essay, covering motherhood, empty nest, grief, transformation, and writing her memoir
14:11–End — Zibby’s reflection, episode wrap-up, and invitation for audience participation

Final Thoughts

This episode blends vulnerability, encouragement, and literary artistry, illustrating that life’s transitions—painful or exhilarating—often contain seeds of transformation. Through both her own reflection and Karma Brown’s essay, Zibby models what it looks like to honor the past while eagerly anticipating the next page of life’s story. Listeners are warmly invited to share their own narratives as part of the show's new “Between Chapters” community project.

Loading summary

Transcript1 lines

[00:01]
A
Hi, everyone. Little backstory. Ten years ago, I was a stay at home mom on the Upper east side. I was a frustrated aspiring author trying to sell a book and I wasn't even on social media. And then I took a chance because my friend Sarah Malinowski suggested I start a podcast. And I thought, okay, well, why not? So I did it. And the decision changed my life. I didn't see a way out of that last chapter necessarily. And yet, one step at a time, I've ended up in a completely different chapter. And in the last 11 years of my life, I have gotten divorced and remarried. I've moved, I've changed everything about myself and my professional life. And it all started very small with one small step. And so I want to know from all of you, what are the chapters that you have gotten through successfully that you're worried about that you're in now? We're all kind of between chapters one way or another, or we've gotten through painful chapters and now we're on the other side. Or maybe we're in a really painful chapter and could just use the encouragement reading other people's stories. Maybe we are loving the chapter we're in and want to celebrate it. Or we just can't wait to get to the next chapter. I'm excited to explore all of these themes with you because I have opened up a form for you to share your stories, a platform for you to explain what life has been like. Even just one sentence, even a funny sentence, even a heartbreaking sentence, all the way up to a personal essay that I can share. To kick things off, I have shared an essay that just came in from an author named Carson Brown. And I just want to read you her essay because, oh my gosh, it's so good. And I just published it on between chapters, which you can find by going to zibbyowens.com and it's right up there, up at the top and in the navigation bar. So go to zibioens.com and you will find the between chapters column or page, website, whatever you want to call it. And here is the essay I want to read you, which I just. I dare you not to be inspired by this or moved. And I'd love to hear what you think. You can DM me on Instagram. You can send an email to infoivymedia.com but anyway, here it is, the chapter I never saw coming, how an Empty Nest Led to A Memoir by Carson Brown. Motherhood was my drug of choice for more than two decades. Raising my children was the most intoxicating high I have ever known. We built a beautiful, unconventional life together. There were ferry crossings and boat rides, winters spent carving down snowy mountainsides and summers swollen with salt air and sunburns. The house brimmed with life. Dogs, parakeets, turtles, chickens. We traveled to Guatemala so often it became stitched into the fabric of our family story. Life was noisy and full and gloriously demanding. I lived for it. I mothered with my whole being. I shaped my days around my children and gave them the very best of myself. It wasn't simply what I did. It was who I was. Then one day, the chapter changed. My son left home first to go to college. Three years later, it was my daughter's turn. I remember standing in her dorm room doorway after the last box had been unpacked. I hugged her goodbye. Then I walked down the hallway, trying not to fall apart. Everyone talks about preparing children to leave home. No one talks much about what happens to the person left standing in the parking lot afterward. The truth is, I wasn't ready. I didn't want to retire from full time mothering. I had been given notice anyway. My sister, sensing the depth of my grief, whisked me off to Disneyland with my two beloved nephews. We rode roller coasters and ate churros and laughed beneath artificial castles and fireworks. Then the ride stopped, the lights dimmed, and the ache returned. From Los Angeles, I flew to Bozeman, where my son was living. A friend mentioned that a restaurant needed a dishwasher for two shifts. I was thrilled. After decades of washing dishes for free, I was finally going to get paid for one of the core competencies of motherhood. I borrowed a bicycle, pedaled to work, tied on a rubber apron, and stepped into the steamy chaos of the kitchen. Within minutes, I was drenched. I loved it. Then someone whispered that Glenn Close was dining in the restaurant. Suddenly, 16 year old me reappeared. The girl was still traumatized by fatal attraction. There she was. Cropped silver hair, unmistakable profile. I stood ankle deep in soapy water, preparing to wash Glenn goddamn Close's dishes. After years of caring for everyone else, I was beginning again from the bottom. That dish pit became an unlikely threshold. Because what I didn't understand at the time was that motherhood wasn't the only thing ending. A version of myself was ending too. The years that followed were harder than I like to admit. The dream I had carried for more than a decade, to move to Guatemala once my children were grown, suddenly became impossible. The future I had imagined dissolved without ferry schedule to keep scary without ferry schedules to keep, scarce school calendars to manage, or children returning home each afternoon, I found myself face to face with a stranger. Who was I without motherhood at the center? The question terrified me. Depression arrived quietly and then all at once. Some mornings, I could barely lift my head. I ignored phone calls, skipped invitations, numbed myself with tequila and ice cream and endless distraction. I missed the sound of my children's footsteps. I missed hearing their voices drift through the house. I missed being needed. For 22 years, I knew exactly what my purpose was. Now I didn't. Looking back, I realized I was grieving. More than my children leaving home, I was grieving an identity. And yet, beneath all that grief, something else was waiting. Art. It waited patiently while I mourned. Eventually, it became impossible to ignore. I started small. A hot bath, a bike ride, a plunge into the cold waters of Puget sand. Then one gray morning, I opened a manuscript I had been ignoring. It was a story about sailing across the Atlantic Ocean aboard a 34 foot sailboat when I was 28 years old. The crossing had begun in Portugal. 48 days later, I arrived in Barbados. For years, the manuscript sat unfinished in a folder on my computer. I opened my laptop and began writing. I wrote before dawn and after walks along the water. I wrote on days when the words came easily and on days when I doubted every sentence. Slowly, the story I had carried for nearly half my life took shape. Page by page, chapter by chapter. I finished the book this fall. At 55 years old, my memoir about that Atlantic crossing will be published. What astonishes me isn't that I wrote a book. It's that the chapter I feared most, the one that began when my children left home, created the space for me to finish it. The very loss I thought might undo me became the thing that returned me to myself. That is the chapter I am living now. The reclamation chapter. The chapter where my children are thriving exactly as they should be, building lives of their own. The chapter where I finally have the time and courage to pursue the creative work that waited so patiently for me. Ironically, the chapter I feared most became the chapter that gave me back my art. And that may be the greatest surprise of my life. I miss full time motherhood. I miss family dinners and road trips and bedtime stories. I miss the ordinary intimacy of daily life together. I miss being the first person they called. Those years were beautiful precisely because they were temporary. The chapter I am most excited about is the one unfolding before me. A first book, news stories, and a future I cannot fully see. At 28 sailing west across the Atlantic, I couldn't see Barbados from Portugal. I trusted the horizon. Anyway, that may be the greatest lesson I have learned about difficult chapters. You do not need to know what comes next. You do not need certainty. You simply need enough faith to keep moving forward. Sometimes the chapter that feels like loss is actually transformation. Sometimes what looks like an ending is an invitation. And sometimes the chapter you would have fought hardest to avoid becomes the one that friendly brings you home to yourself. Oh my God that was so good. Oh Karma Brown, Sorry. Carson Brown is the author of the upcoming memoir 48 Days to Barbados and you can follow her on substack Carson Brown and on Instagram Carson Brown thank you to all of you. I would love to hear your stories share stories like this with all of us. Go online to zibbyowens.com to the between chapters section and share. Let's do this.