For a few months, I thought I was just tired.

Not sick. Not burned out. Just — tired in a way that accumulated. By midday I was fighting to think clearly. By the end of a patient day, I was done in a way that didn’t quite make sense for the hours I’d put in.

I was a chiropractor. I knew what fatigue looked like. I assumed I’d figure it out.

I’d been running my practice software on an iPad between patients, connected to WiFi — nothing unusual about that, just how the office worked. What I eventually figured out was that the WiFi was likely the thing quietly draining me. I was on my feet all day doing patient care. The mental fatigue didn’t match the work.

I stopped using the iPad first. Then the WiFi. The improvement was almost immediate.

When I moved my practice — this was during COVID, the neighborhood had changed — I made a decision about the new space before I moved a single piece of equipment into it. No WiFi. Cat5 cables throughout. I went back to paper notes for my patients.

I didn’t feel as depleted at the end of the day.

That was enough for me.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while, because what I experienced in that office is almost certainly happening in homes — quietly, continuously, and mostly unnoticed. WiFi’s everywhere now, built into a space before anyone gets a say in it, and almost nobody stops to ask what it’s actually doing to the person sitting in it for eight or nine hours a day.

Most people don’t work out of a converted chiropractic office. But a lot of you are running your entire workday from something with the same shape — a laptop, a WiFi connection, hours a day, all in one room. If it was costing me something while I was on my feet, moving between patients for maybe half my day, it’s worth asking what a setup like that might be costing you sitting still at a desk for eight or nine hours straight.

Start with what’s easy to see. A desktop or laptop, plus its charger. A monitor, maybe two. A wireless keyboard and mouse, quietly transmitting even when you’re not touching them. The WiFi router, if it happens to live in this room. A printer. A desk lamp. An air purifier humming in the corner. And underneath most of it, the power strip everything else is plugged into — usually on the floor, within a foot of your feet. None of that’s unusual. It’s just what a modern home office runs on. But notice something about that list: nothing in it turns off on its own. The router runs at 2am the same as it does at 2pm. Not one thing in that room has an off switch it actually uses — which is a strange thing to have in common with the person sitting at the desk.

Here’s the layer underneath, the part that isn’t visible at all: your home already carried its own electromagnetic and geopathic load before any of this — the wiring, the water lines, whatever the property itself sits on. Setting up an office in one room didn’t replace that. It stacked a whole new layer directly on top of it, right at the one spot in the house where you sit the longest and move the least. Your body doesn’t sort any of that into “technical” and “real.” It just reads it as one more signal asking something of it, on top of everything else already asking something of you in that room.

This is, in a roundabout way, part of why I do the work I do now. What happened in my old office wasn’t an isolated fluke. It’s the same layering happening in homes everywhere, all day, mostly unnoticed — because nothing in it is loud enough on its own to stand out.

So I put together a short assessment: twenty gentle questions, a few minutes, no diagnosis — just a personalized read on how your home, not only the office, is supporting your sleep, your stress, and your day-to-day vitality, plus a few honest next steps. Free, and your results show up right away.

Take the Home Assessment →