I have so much going on inside my head in terms of writing

Hear the voice of Shonda Rhimes, teller of vast tales, builder of worlds upon the page and the screen. She speaks with honesty both fierce and tender: “I have so much going on inside my head in terms of writing, there's such a large space in my life taken up by that. I can't imagine it being taken up by a husband and children and writing, and everything getting its due. I don't believe there is room for all of it. I really don't.” At first, her words may sound like a lament, but they are, in truth, a declaration of wisdom: that each life has only so much space, and each soul must choose how to fill it.

In every age, women have been told that their highest purpose is to balance family and duty, to pour themselves into the roles of wife and mother even while carrying other dreams in silence. But Shonda Rhimes speaks as one who has chosen her path openly. Her mind is a forge of stories, her imagination a kingdom too vast to be confined. She confesses that she cannot give all things their due, for to honor her writing, she must guard the space it demands. This is not failure but clarity—the courage to name her limits, and to live by her truth.

Such clarity has been rare in history. Think of Emily Dickinson, who turned away from society’s expectations, choosing instead the solitude of her room, where her poetry could take root and bloom. Though she lived without husband or children, she filled her days with words that would outlast centuries. She, too, must have known that there was not room for all roles at once—that to give her genius its full measure, she had to guard her inner space.

Yet this is not only the story of women. Leonardo da Vinci, consumed by visions of flight, machines, and art, often left personal attachments aside, because his mind was a storm of creation. Nikola Tesla, too, gave his life to invention, never marrying, for he believed his work demanded the whole of him. In each of these, as in Rhimes, there is the recognition that to attempt all things is to risk doing none well. To accept limits is not weakness but devotion: devotion to one’s calling.

Her words also challenge the myth of endless capacity. Society whispers that we can “have it all,” but Rhimes declares, with unflinching honesty, that there may not be room for all of it. Time, energy, and love are not infinite, and to pretend otherwise is to court exhaustion. True wisdom is to discern what matters most, and to pour oneself into it with undivided strength. In her case, it is the craft of storytelling, the weaving of lives and dramas that have touched millions. By giving it her all, she honors both herself and the audience who receives her gift.

The lesson, then, is this: each of us must choose how to fill the space of our lives. Do not allow others to dictate it, nor be deceived by the illusion of infinite capacity. Ask yourself what deserves your devotion, and let that guide you. If it is family, give yourself fully. If it is work, art, or invention, honor it with your energy. If it is some balance between them, hold it carefully, knowing that each choice requires sacrifice. But never believe you must do all, for to divide yourself too thin is to betray the greatness within.

Therefore, O seekers of wisdom, let Rhimes’s words be your guide: protect the space of your calling. Do not apologize for the limits of your humanity, for they are not chains but boundaries that give shape to your life. Choose with courage, and live with intention. For greatness is not in doing all things poorly, but in doing the chosen thing with depth, with power, with truth. In that way, your life will not be scattered like dust in the wind, but will shine as a flame, steady and enduring, upon the altar of time.