Designing a Dream
I don’t even know where to start with this one. Maybe with the fact that there were days I wanted to throw my hands up and walk away — because every project, (and life for that matter) no matter how beautiful the ending looks, has its messy middle.
This one had plenty of those moments. The waiting, the setbacks, the decisions that kept me up at night. The parts no one sees when they’re scrolling through pretty pictures — the part where I’m standing in the middle of a half-furnished room, surrounded by boxes, second-guessing every single design choice and putting biofreeze on my carpal tunnel. (Allen Wrenches are little jerks.)
But then, slowly, piece by piece, it started becoming what I had envisioned — that feeling of warmth when the light hits just right, when the tones finally balance, when the space feels like something. Every texture, every color, every angle started to line up with what I’d been carrying in my head.
It wasn’t about perfection. It was about transformation — of the space, sure, but also of me. Because every time I thought I’d reached the end of my patience, or I couldn’t carry one more piece of furniture up two flights of stairs, this project reminded me why I started doing this in the first place: to create spaces that tell a story, that feel like exhaling.
And now that it’s finished, I keep looking at the photos thinking, “I need a nap”. Just kidding, but really, I’m thinking: “I’m so glad I was able to do this.”
All the exhaustion, the anxiety, the endless checklists — somehow, they turned into something that feels like a home.
I’m proud of this project. Not because it’s flawless, but because of all the things I learned in the messy middle.
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