“Does this spark joy?” It’s the question we’ve been trained to ask.

I believe the better question is, “Why does this spark joy?"
And if it doesn't spark joy, what feeling does it evoke?

Is joy the only valid emotion for holding onto something?

We have been told to avoid clutter and have a minimalist or perfectly styled space.

But the definition of what works for some may not be in alignment with the lifestyle of someone else.

A desk covered in books with worn pages, yellow Post-Its, and collected objects holding down piles of papers, can be visual noise for some. It may create anxiety, avoidance, or a constant low-level feeling of stress.

For another person, that same kind of surface may feel alive. It may be a working landscape. A place where ideas are visible, layered, and close at hand. The “mess” may actually support creativity, memory, and momentum.

I do not believe in “one size fits all” when it comes to our homes. Using a formula or method narrows the perception of what our spaces are capable of meaning. It assumes we all need the same thing.

One of the questions I like to ask is:

What is my relationship to this room, object, or pattern?

A chair inherited from a parent who has passed may be comforting. It may hold memory in a way that feels warm and grounding. You may see it and feel connected to the person’s humor, their strength, or it may even inspire you to honor their positive attributes and seek them in yourself. The chair belongs. It is not “emotional clutter.” It is a positive thread to the past that lives now and ignites who we want to be tomorrow.

But a similar inherited chair, in someone else’s home, may carry a very different charge

It may make someone feel frozen in grief. It may keep a room feeling like a shrine rather than a living space. It may tether them to an old version of the relationship, the loss, or the life they had before. Not because the chair is wrong, but because the emotional relationship to it has changed.

The energy of the object and our connection to it is information.

So what do we do with the information?

We ask why it makes us feel that way.

This allows us to create our home from an authentic place by knowing ourselves and using our homes to support that truth.

Not asking the deep questions can keep us on the hamster wheel of never being in alignment with our spaces and prevents us from creating an honest home.

To do this work, there is no decorating from trends. No purging just for the sake of minimalism. We also don’t keep something just because it has a history. 

There are more questions we need to ask.

Does this support who I am now?
Does this honor my past without trapping me in it?
Does this object bring warmth, wisdom, beauty, or strength?
Or does it keep me attached to a story I am ready to release?

What looks cluttered may be creative.
What looks sentimental may be sacred.
What looks beautiful may be avoidance or performative.
What looks unfinished may be a threshold to something new.

My work is not to make every home look the same.

It is to understand what home is holding, what it is reflecting, and whether it is helping you live more honestly now.

Your home is not asking to be judged.
It is asking to be understood.