EAPC's Senior Architect, Gloria Larsgaard, Writes a Note to her Future Self—and to Women in the Industry
A Letter to My Future Self—and to the Women Who Will Follow
Dear Gloria,
I hope you’re still curious. Still pausing to admire the way light catches the curve of a ceiling. Still stepping into old buildings with reverence, listening for the stories they’re waiting to tell.
To the young women just beginning this journey in architecture and engineering—this letter is for you, too.
You didn’t enter this profession with a big, dramatic calling. It began more quietly, rooted in something tender. You just wanted to be close to Dad. He was always working—pouring over plans, fielding calls, juggling deadlines. So, you tagged along. You answered phones in his office, picked up red pencils, helped him draft in college when you could. You weren’t sure what it all meant at the time, but you knew it was important. You saw the care he took in getting it right. And somewhere in those quiet hours beside him, a seed was planted.
And let’s not forget your first client, Barbie. Her house was rarely at rest. She endured more remodels than most buildings see in a century. One week it was a rooftop terrace, the next, an open-concept kitchen. You designed elevators from ribbon and spools, staircases from cardboard, and entire wings out of shoeboxes. You weren’t just playing—you were learning the language of design. Barbie may not have paid you a dime, but she gave you a playground for your imagination. And she never questioned your vision.
You grew up in Naples, surrounded by the past. History wasn’t in textbooks—it was in the stones beneath your feet, in the facades that still stood tall, reimagined for new uses. Those buildings taught you something that never left you: that good architecture doesn’t fade. It adapts. It holds memory. Even now at EAPC, when you get the chance to work on historic buildings, you do it with reverence—because you know what it means for something to endure.
But moving to the United States shifted everything. Suddenly, you weren’t just restoring buildings—you were seeing them rise from nothing. Sketches became foundations. Meetings turned into milestones. You were there from the first idea to the last beam, and that never stopped feeling extraordinary.
And somewhere along the way, you found your place in healthcare design—long-term care, hospitals, clinics. Places where people often arrive scared, sick, or unsure. And you realized that architecture, when done with intention, could comfort. It could soften fear. It could hold people with dignity in their hardest moments. What an unexpected and beautiful gift.
Being a woman in this field hasn’t always been easy. You were underestimated. You were labeled. More than once, someone assumed you were “just there to pick the colors.” But you didn’t let that stop you. You kept showing up. You earned respect not by demanding it, but by doing the work—well, consistently, and with heart. You built relationships. You listened. You led. And in time, you saw what happens when collaboration takes root: buildings that not only stand tall, but feel human.
So, here’s what I want you to remember—what I hope every young woman reading this will carry with her: Don’t shrink to fit the mold. Don’t wait for permission. If your heart is in healthcare design, follow it. If it’s in civic spaces, schools, sacred places—go there. Your voice, your vision, your instincts—they belong here. You belong here.
This profession will stretch you. It will challenge you. But it will also shape you in the best ways. You’ll become part artist, part problem-solver, part steward of something greater than yourself. And if you lead with intention, with kindness, with grit—you’ll be proud of the mark you leave behind.
Keep going.
With love, humility, and gratitude,
Gloria Larsgaard, AIA
Senior Architect, EAPC Architects Engineers
