We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Carolyn Lane a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Carolyn, thanks for joining us today. What’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you?

When I was about 22, I was living in New York City—young, broke, and doing everything I could to survive. I had just come back from visiting family in Dallas, soaking up time with my much younger brother and sister. Being with them was everything to me, but when I returned to New York, I came back to a situation that had shifted while I was gone. The plans I had made with my friends to move in together had taken a different direction, and suddenly, I was standing at a crossroads I hadn’t expected.

Two friends and I had talked about moving in together. We were all starting fresh—two of us nursing heartbreaks—and living together felt like the perfect reset. But when I returned, they had already found a place. And to say it was the opposite of what I had envisioned would be an understatement.

I was crystal clear about what I could afford, where I didn’t want to live, and that I absolutely could not swing a 17% broker’s fee (which, by the way, is 17% of the first year’s rent—NYC is wild). But the apartment they found was in the neighborhood I hated, the room was nearly $200 over my budget, and to top it off—there was no air conditioning. And because it had those charming little French window panes, a window unit wasn’t even an option. If you’ve ever lived through a New York summer, you know that’s its own special kind of misery.

I was desperate, so I signed up with a temp agency and landed a gig at Bride’s Magazine in the shiny new Conde Nast building in Times Square. I was wildly out of place—surrounded by polished, fashionable people while I was stretching a non-existent budget and living off of a banana a day (35 cents from the corner deli) and a pack of cigarettes a week to suppress my appetite. If I weighed 100 pounds at 5′ 6″, I’d be surprised.

And then Chris showed up.

Chris was one of only two men who worked at Bride’s Magazine, and one day he asked me to grab dinner with him. I was immediately on guard. I’d been in enough unpleasant situations with men to know how this usually went. But Chris was different. He assured me that he wanted nothing from me. He said he could see that I was struggling, and he just wanted to buy me a meal.

I was suspicious, but something in his eyes (or maybe I was just insanely hungry!) made me believe him. So I said yes.

He took me to McSorley’s Old Ale House, the oldest operating saloon in NYC—a place steeped in history and stories. And that night, I ate the best cheeseburger and fries of my life. I washed it down with a pint of beer, and I swear I could feel nourishment and relief washing over me. It wasn’t just the food—it was the kindness, the safety, and the overwhelming sense of gratitude that washed over me. After so much struggle, that simple act of generosity felt like a lifeline.

True to his word, Chris had no ulterior motives. When I asked him why he was doing this for me, his answer was so simple, he said “Someone did the same for me once, and now I’m paying it forward to you. One day, you’ll have the opportunity to do the same.”

That moment changed me. His kindness, his sincerity—it cracked something open inside me. Chris wasn’t just buying me dinner. He was restoring my faith in humanity, reminding me that there are people in this world who do good simply because they can, because they want to do what’s right, and because they have good humans.

I don’t remember much else about him—just his name and his kind heart—but that was enough.

Here are some takeaways from that event:
Don’t smoke, kids. It’s gross, expensive, and terrible for you. Seriously.
There are truly beautiful humans out there. People who want nothing more than to extend kindness and do better. They’re not always easy to spot in a world that often feels clouded by mistrust and darkness, but they’re out there. And when you find them, they leave an imprint that never fades.
Chris taught me that sometimes, all it takes is one act of kindness to change someone’s trajectory. And I carry that lesson with me, in my work and in my heart, hoping that I can pay it forward just like he did for me.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

I started Cosmic Egg Wellness, a cozy sanctuary in downtown Round Rock, with one purpose in mind: to hold space for women at every stage of their journey—especially pregnancy, postpartum, and all the messy, beautiful in-betweens.

My path to this work has been anything but linear. I started in the restaurant industry at 15 and thrived in that fast-paced, high-energy world. I loved it—the late nights, the camaraderie, the creative rush of pulling off unforgettable events. I still love event planning and jump at the chance to do it, though now with a healthier, more intentional twist (no 5 AM nights anymore!).

But when my first daughter was born, that world I knew so well suddenly felt a million miles away. My friends were still in the restaurant industry—working until 5 AM while I was up at 5 AM with a newborn. Our lives were no longer aligned, and I found myself standing in a space that felt isolated and unfamiliar. I was surrounded by love, but I had nowhere to turn where I felt truly understood. I was adrift in a season of life where I didn’t recognize myself, and I had no idea where to begin finding my footing again.

That loneliness hit hard. I wasn’t just adjusting to motherhood—I was grieving the loss of a life that no longer fit and longing for a new community that could hold space for the version of me I was becoming. I felt disconnected, unseen, and unsure of where I belonged.

Like many of us in the birth and wellness world, my journey was born from that deep ache. It was shaped by a longing to offer the kind of care and connection I once needed—to be the person I was searching for during that season of loneliness. I have the training and certifications, but what truly sets me apart is my heart for building a village. For creating a space where women who feel unseen can be held, honored, and genuinely seen for who they are, exactly where they are.

I know what it’s like to feel invisible in a season that’s supposed to be filled with joy. And I also know how life-changing it is to find a space where you don’t have to explain yourself—where you’re met with understanding, empathy, and real connection. That’s why I do this work. Not just to teach, but to hold space in a way that feels safe, sacred, and real. Because no one should have to walk this path alone.

I’ve been doing this work in some form for over 15 years—guiding movement, teaching birth classes, and sitting with new mothers. And now, I offer sound baths too, which bring the nervous system back to baseline, as well as women’s retreats. Running on fumes isn’t sustainable, so I do my part to encourage women to push pause, reset, and re-enter their space feeling refreshed.

But over time, I realized I didn’t want to just offer services—I wanted to create a space. A place where women could walk in and immediately feel more supported, more grounded, and more connected. So, I built it in downtown Round Rock.

At Cosmic Egg Wellness, we offer:

Prenatal & Postnatal Yoga
Restorative Sound Baths (group and private—and not just for pregnant people!)
Childbirth Education
Postpartum Support
Creative Gatherings & Workshops
Women’s Retreats
And soon… a cozy video library and resource hub for when you need support from your couch.
But at the heart of it, what I offer is nourishment. Connection. The chance to feel less alone in a season that can be so deeply tender and transformative.

What sets Cosmic Egg Wellness apart is the soulful, non-judgmental approach. This isn’t a “snap back” space or a sterile studio. This is the exhale. The place where you can take off the mask and be exactly where you are and exactly who you are, without judgment or pressure to perform. Whether you feel joyful, exhausted, grieving, or just plain overwhelmed—I hold space for all of it.

There’s a lot of toxic positivity floating around, pushing us to feel grateful 24/7. But the truth? You can’t gratitude your way out of difficult emotions. If you shove them down, they’ll just pop back up louder. I honor those emotions and help women sit with them, process them, and move through them at their core.

I’m most proud of the moments when someone walks into the space and says, “I didn’t know how much I needed this.” Or when they tell me how welcomed, supported, and peaceful they feel. That’s when I know—I’m doing something right.

Come as you are.
Come early in your pregnancy or long after your baby is born.
Come when you’re craving quiet, or when you’re ready to connect.
This space is for you.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

Born in Dallas but shaped by the world, I spent my childhood weaving through cultures, languages, and landscapes. From the age of 2 until I graduated high school, I called England, Belgium, France, Italy, and Germany home—eventually circling back to Belgium for my final year. Each move added layers to my understanding of the world, fueling a deep curiosity that has never left me.

At 18, I left Europe and moved to New York—my playground throughout my 20s. I threw myself into the city’s electric energy, falling in love with its chaos, creativity, and pulse. But New York wasn’t just where I thrived—it’s also where I witnessed unimaginable tragedy. I was there on 9/11, watching people leap from the burning towers, an image that is forever seared into my mind.

As if that trauma wasn’t enough, my family narrowly escaped another tragedy years earlier. In 1988, my entire nuclear family, myself included, was originally scheduled to be on Pan Am Flight 103—the flight that exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland, killing 270 people. Though we weren’t on that plane because my dad changed our tickets last minute, the weight of what could have been settled into my bones. These experiences left lasting imprints—feeding my anxiety, sharpening my awareness of safety, and giving me a visceral understanding of the fragility of life.

But here’s the thing: I’ve never allowed those experiences to dim my spirit for exploration. I’ve fought hard to reframe my relationship with fear. Through yoga, breathwork, and a fierce commitment to healing, I learned how to quiet the panic that would rise in unfamiliar places. I refused to let those moments define the limits of my life.

My love for travel has only deepened over the years. In the last two years alone, I’ve taken two transformative trips to Bolivia, explored the ancient landscapes of Peru, ventured through the vibrant chaos of Vietnam, and sprinkled in countless domestic adventures. Each journey is a reminder that the only thing to fear is fear itself.

What those early traumas taught me wasn’t how to shrink—it was how to expand. They built a resilience in me that whispers, “Keep going. Keep seeing. Keep learning.” And I intend to keep following that call, wherever it may lead.

Training and knowledge matter of course, but beyond that what do you think matters most in terms of succeeding in your field?

Approach everything with curiosity. Your passion, your creativity, your dedication, the path you’re on. Everything. Curiosity keeps us open, keeps us moving, and sometimes leads us exactly where we need to go, even if it’s not where we thought we were headed. Be prepared to be uncomfortable. Growth doesn’t happen when we’re comfortable. It happens in that messy, awkward space where things feel “off”. Not pain but discomfort, and it’s important to know the difference between the two.

Discomfort whispers, “Lean in. Ask questions. There’s something here for you to explore.” It’s an invitation to look deeper, to challenge what we’ve always done, and to wonder if there’s another way. Pain, on the other hand, feels completely different. Pain doesn’t ask us to explore—it’s a flashing red light that signals danger, harm, or misalignment. Pain says, “This isn’t safe. Step back.” It’s not a space for growth; it’s a call to protect ourselves. Knowing the difference between discomfort and pain is key because one stretches us, while the other asks us to set boundaries.

When we approach life—and business—with curiosity, we open ourselves to knowledge that can bend or reshape our reality. Sometimes that shift feels exciting, and other times it feels like a total detour. But every shift is an opportunity to grow. And this mindset doesn’t just apply to personal growth—it’s a game-changer in business, too.

If something isn’t working, ask why. Wonder if there’s a different approach that might be slightly (or wildly) out of alignment with the way you normally do things. For me? It was social media and technology. I was stuck. I’m a paper-and-pencil kinda gal—give me a flyer on a lamppost with tear-off phone numbers any day. But I had to face the reality that if I was going to grow, I needed to honor that part of myself and then find a way to adapt. I didn’t need to become a tech wizard overnight, but I had to stretch into discomfort and meet the world where it was going.

And I’ll be honest—I still wrestle with it. I’m not standing on a soapbox here, preaching about conquering technology like some digital guru. It’s hard to question something you’ve always been comfortable doing. But every time I do, every time I lean into that discomfort, I’m reminded of how rewarding it is to stretch, adapt, and grow.

Curiosity doesn’t just keep us learning—it keeps us evolving. And if we can bring that same spirit into both life and business, who knows where it might take us?

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.cosmiceggwellness.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cosmiceggwellness/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61555796320413
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/carolynbealane/

Image Credits

The Drapes Collective