I didn’t go in planning to take the CPR class. I showed up with my notebook, ready to quietly observe from the back of the room, maybe jot down a few quotes, and then sneak out before anyone noticed I hadn’t touched a mannequin. That plan fell apart roughly six minutes in.
“Go ahead and grab one of the dummies,” Meaghen said with a smile that suggested this wasn’t a suggestion. “You’ll get more out of it if you actually do it.”
Before I could protest, someone slid a practice mannequin in front of me. His name tag read “Brad,” and he was already staring at me like he knew I hadn’t done a push-up since 2014.
The room was bright and calm, and Meaghen, our instructor, somehow managed to radiate both warmth and total command of the situation. She had that rare ability to make safety procedures sound not only doable, but kind of empowering. One minute she was making the group laugh, the next she was explaining how to perform chest compressions in a life-or-death moment.
“This isn’t gentle,” she said. “This is you becoming someone’s heartbeat.”
That landed. Even Brad seemed to respect it.
As we started practicing, I realized something quickly: CPR is a full-body workout. You don’t just push gently on the chest. You plant your hands in the center, lock your elbows, and press down with the force of someone trying to restart an engine. It’s physical, and it’s fast. Meaghen walked between rows, correcting posture, giving pointers, and offering steady encouragement. She made it look effortless.
“Don’t worry about breaking ribs,” she told us. “If you’re doing it right, you probably will. Broken ribs heal. Dead doesn’t.”
A few people blinked. I appreciated the honesty.
We moved through adult CPR first, then child, then infant. The differences matter, and Meaghen made sure we understood the reasons behind each adjustment. She also made it clear that panic is normal, but hesitation is dangerous.
“Your job isn’t to be perfect,” she said. “It’s to try. That alone can save someone’s life.”
That was the moment it stopped being theoretical for me. I started imagining a real person on the floor, not a lifeless plastic dummy. Someone’s dad. Someone’s kid. Someone who might be counting on a total stranger to step in and do something.
By the time we got to the AED (Automated External Defibrillator), I was sweaty, focused, and officially too emotionally invested in Brad the mannequin. The AED unit spoke clear instructions, and Meaghen walked us through every step, showing how simple and safe it actually is to use. It wasn’t some intimidating machine from a medical drama. It was approachable, and it worked with you, not against you.
Of course, I still pressed a button I probably shouldn’t have—just once. Meaghen gave me the kind of look you usually reserve for people who pull push doors.
We wrapped up with choking scenarios, recovery positions, and a few minutes of Q&A. Someone asked about what to do if you freeze in the moment. Meaghen didn’t skip a beat.
“You take a breath. One step at a time. You don’t have to be calm.”
After class, I sat for a minute, stretching out my arms, which were absolutely not prepared for that many compressions. Across the room, people were laughing, collecting certificates, and sharing stories about why they came—new parents, teachers, adult children caring for elderly parents, high school students hoping to work in healthcare someday.
There was something very human about it. We weren’t just learning a skill. We were stepping into a role we hope we’ll never have to play—but would rather be ready for if it comes.
If you’ve been putting off taking a CPR class, I get it. It feels like something for other people. People with jobs in hospitals. People in uniforms. But here’s the truth: CPR is for anyone with hands and a heart.
You don’t have to be a hero. You just have to be willing.
Sign up. Go to the class. Meet Meaghen. She’s the kind of person who makes you believe you’re capable of more than you thought. And when you’re handed a mannequin with a slightly judgmental expression and a plastic chest that refuses to give, just know this—by the end of the class, you’ll feel ready. You’ll know what to do.
And you might even start talking to your mannequin. No shame. We’ve all been there.
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