We step inside Jane Linley-Thomas’ whimsical, heart-led podcast sanctuary, a place where stories breathe, emotions settle and every conversation feels like a gentle invitation into the private rooms of the human experience.
“The House of Motherly is not a place you walk into – it’s a place you feel your way toward,” Jane says of her newest creative home – a metaphorical 10-room sanctuary built from purpose, courage and an unmistakable love for humanity.
After two decades behind one of Durban’s most familiar microphones, she stepped quietly into a new season – one where storytelling became less about broadcasting and more about heart-casting. In this deeply imaginative new podcast, she invites guests into symbolic rooms representing the inner landscapes we rarely pause long enough to explore. It’s warm. It’s colourful. It’s vulnerable. And it is, in every way, unmistakably Jane.
It began as a whisper rather than a reinvention. Leaving radio after 20 years meant stepping away from a title, a rhythm and an identity that shaped her. “In the quiet,” she says, “I started asking myself: Who am I without the noise? Where do I go to make sense of the things I’m carrying?”
What surfaced in that liminal space was the image of an inner house – a place of rooms she visited often, avoided instinctively or had never dared to enter. Rooms holding joy, grief, creativity, memory, rest, nourishment and purpose.
“If I had these rooms inside me, maybe others did too,” she realised. That insight became the foundation.
And then came the twist. This metaphorical house found a physical heartbeat in a refurbished caravan that sits in her world like a tiny, technicolour temple of storytelling. Long before the concept was fully formed, she bought it on instinct. “I couldn’t explain it,” she laughs. “I just knew her reinvention would mirror my own.”
Inside, the ceiling is sky-blue canvas printed with bananas. The walls are velvet – pom-pommed, textured and cheerfully excessive. Rainbow LEDs throb like a neon pulse. Flowers spill from cupboards. Tiny birds perch between petals. Two microphones – bubblegum pink and electric blue – sit proudly on stands adorned with cockatoos. It is maximalist, whimsical and intentionally disarming.
“It’s completely bonkers, in the best way,” she grins. “If you could step inside my mind, this is what it looks like.”
Guests arrive and instantly soften. One told her, ‘Please don’t phone anyone from inside here. I don’t want anyone breaking this bubble.’ And that’s exactly what it is – a bubble, a cocoon, a place where the outside world loosens its grip.
Before each recording, Jane performs small rituals that feel like an invocation. She switches on the rainbow lights, draws open the velvet curtains, straightens the flowers and spritzes ReJoyce interior fragrance – the scent of her own creative pulse. Then she and her guest breathe together, settling into presence before she presses record. The caravan is not simply a studio … it is a doorway into deeper, more honest conversations.
Each episode unfolds in one of ten symbolic rooms, each reflecting a different facet of being human. There is the Living Room for connection and community; the Study for purpose and identity; and the Gym for daily courage and resilience. The Garden grounds conversations in wellbeing. The Kitchen nourishes intuition and creativity. The Playroom invites joy and imagination. The Bedroom explores intimacy and self-image. The Bathroom allows release and rest. The Shrine holds grief and remembrance, and the Nurture Room embodies self-mothering and care.
There is no script and no pre-selected room. “Their story chooses the room,” Jane says, allowing the narrative to find its natural home.
At present, the Living Room feels most alive – a season of gathering and returning. The Shrine remains the hardest – a space of grief, stillness and radical honesty. Yet it has soothed her deeply. “Grief isn’t only about losing someone. It’s about releasing versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown,” she explains. “It’s a room that asks for courage.”
Since launching, she has welcomed teachers, creatives, healers and everyday South Africans – not for fame, but for sincerity. People like Grammy-featured producer and songwriter Esjay Jones, who champions momentum over mastery. The country’s unofficial ‘Minister of Champions’, Rory Petzer, who chooses to be a light in dark places. Veranda Panda’s Liam Magner, who demystifies the inner critic and imposter syndrome. Former professional rugby player and current Kearsney College director of sport, Waylon Murray, who speaks with rare bravery about strength in vulnerability. And rapper, singer, director and songwriter Aewon Wolf, who offers a moving meditation on unconditional love.
‘People are hungry for real conversations,’ Jane says. ‘Belonging, purpose, grief, courage, intimacy and mental health – to name a few. They want tools for understanding themselves, and reassurance that they’re not alone.’
Listeners say it feels like a movement. A home. A permission slip to feel, remember and reconnect.
And because this is the month of love, it feels fitting to name what truly pulses at the centre of this project – love. Not romantic love, though that has its corner. Not performative love. But unconditional love – the kind that sees people before their perfection and honours their becoming.
“Kindness, compassion and care are the foundation stones,” Jane says. “They shape how I listen, how I welcome people and how I hold their stories.”
The podcast has taught her something essential, as she explains, “We often love others far more gently than we love ourselves. But the two are inseparable. When we tend to our own hearts, we show up for people from a fuller place.”
Over and above The House of Motherly, Jane is also stepping into another community space. In 2026, she will launch a non-profit company focused on the emotional wellbeing and lived experience of elders — a natural extension of the same listening, care and reverence that defines her work. “This is the year,” she says, “that the seeds I’ve planted finally get to bear fruit in my calling.”
Perhaps that is the magic here … a reminder that being human is tender work, and none of us is meant to do it alone. What’s next? Jane envisions workshops, gatherings, corporate wellbeing spaces, international pop-ups and even new symbolic rooms – a shed, a sauna, a garage or perhaps a rim-flow pool. Because why shouldn’t emotional healing come with humour and imagination?
She has ‘beautiful light-bearers’ lined up for 2026 and is always open to more stories, more teachers and more wisdom-keepers.
“The world needs conversations that bring us back to goodness, and that is what this house is built for.”
Details: Listen on Spotify, or follow Jane Linley-Thomas and The House of Motherly on Instagram, TikTok and Facebook.
