When life feels overwhelming, I have go-to behaviors. It starts with acts of avoidance and escape.
I open my laptop to realtor.com. I briefly browse homes I can afford, then spiral into the ones I can’t. The ones where I imagine I’ve "fixed" my financial messiness, I have extra square footage, and every desire I have ever imagined for a home is fulfilled.
I find a beach house where I walk straight onto the sand or a farm where I raise baby goats, chickens for fresh eggs, and cows that I brush tenderly on the weekends. In these imagined spaces, I am new. The tangled parts of my current life dissolve behind a dreamy front door.
Then, I look up from my laptop and at the room surrounding me.
My current home. My current reality.
I shift into stage two of avoidance therapy: design magazines. I start asking the questions. What if I had new storage cabinets? What if the shelves had customized sections the same size as dinnerware and wine glasses? Wouldn’t that clear my mind too?
There is some truth to it: when my home is in order, life feels a little more manageable. But there’s danger in believing the right shelf can solve everything.
Still, I begin... I declutter a section of my closet and rearrange some furniture for better function. And then I stack an armful of design books beside my freshly placed chaise. I flip through the glossy pages of beautiful homes.
Then it happens: I land on a page that looks a bit like my own home.
That’s when I have the epiphany; I’m not so far off from the life I desire.
When I look around my home, I see the quiet riches of my life reflected back to me. The bookcase stacked with design books that shaped my eye. The pieces that once lived with my mother, small reminders of her warmth and the way she created comfort without trying. The glass cabinet filled with dishes that hold the imprint of meals, and celebrations with people I love. The photographs of my children, past and present, marking the evolution of all of us. And the art, the ceramics, the objects I’ve intentionally chosen because they make me feel something significant and true.
Every piece has a purpose. Each one mirrors who I was, who I am, or who I’m becoming. My home tells my story honestly and with depth.
My mindset is the only thing holding me back. It’s not my limited space or the not-so-perfect kitchen. It’s not even the inconvenience of changing my small home office into a bedroom when guests come to stay.
This is what I believe: Our environment reflects our internal state. Our homes matter. But the shift doesn’t start with new cabinets or the perfect rug. It starts with awareness.
Gratitude for where we are. Acceptance of what is even when life feels overwhelming. Not because it’s perfect, but because it's the honest beginning of what can be.
