The House You Inherited Isn’t the One You Have to Live In

You know the house.
The one that came with “potential,” but also someone else’s bad flooring choices, energy, and decisions that make you question your own judgment.

Maybe it was passed down.
Maybe it was the best you could get at the time.
Maybe you were just too burned out to keep looking.

You tell yourself it’s fine. It works.
But every time you walk through it, something feels like it doesn’t belong. Like you’re visiting a version of your life that doesn’t exist anymore.

This is about that kind of house.
And what it means to stop pretending you have to live in it as-is.

We call this house Honey—not because it’s cute, but because that’s literally the street name.

Sweet, huh?

Home Flow Moment (Weirdly Effective)

Not much on paper, but this little in-between does more than most oversized entryways.
A buffer, a breather, a reminder that flow matters more than square footage.
Unintentional genius? Maybe. Useful? Absolutely.

So, My Parents Bought a House That Didn’t Make Sense (At First)

After 30+ years in the same home—the one that raised kids, hosted holidays, and witnessed every version of their adult life—my parents sold it and bought… this one.

It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t exactly a dream home either. It needed some TLC. Weirdly shaped rooms. Builder-grade cabinets. Mismatched floors that felt like every renovation trend from 1998 to 2012 collided in one hallway. Oh and carpet. Wannabe arches—almost rounded, almost square, entirely confused.

The Kitchen’s Got Nerve
It’s giving… 2006 builder-grade with confidence. Everything in here needs to go—cabinets, floors, countertops, that oddly proud island. We’re not knocking down walls, but we are starting over. Clean slate energy. Budget edition.

So the rest of us—my sister, our partners, and me—had to carry out the vision.
No design crew. No unlimited budget. Definitely no renovation fairies.
Just real people, limited tools, and the shared motivation to make this house make sense.

And truthfully? We were all a little side-eyed when we walked through the inside that first time.
But the yard—the yard—is what got us. A grand entrance, lush greenery, vibrant color, and a pool (a must in that kind of heat). The exterior sold us. The inside… well, it had potential. That’s right. We said it.

Because what they were really walking into wasn’t just a house.
It was a whole new season of their life.
And this space had to catch up.

Design Advice Usually Starts Too Late

You don’t need a vision board when you’re still trying to make peace with a house that feels like someone else’s decisions.

You don’t need “inspo” when the real question is,
Why do I hate being in this room?

That’s the part most design advice skips—the before-before.
The part where your space technically works, but quietly drains you.
Where you’re stuck not because you lack options, but because you’re asking the wrong questions.

Not: What’s trending right now?
But: What do I need this room to do for me that it currently doesn’t?

Not: What color should I paint the walls?
But: What am I avoiding by repainting them again?

That’s where my parents were.
And honestly? That’s where a lot of people are:
Overwhelmed, over it, and still scrolling for a magic solution that doesn’t exist.

Thankfully, we weren’t trying to chase a perfect after.
We were approaching this from what I now call a reality check mindset—not renovation fantasy. Not perfectionism. Just: let’s make this livable again.

Morning Coffee Approved: The Front Entrance Moment

It’s not grand, but it gets the job done—with extra credit. This little corner by the front door has “morning coffee in peace” written all over it. Add two chairs, don’t overthink it. Sometimes charm shows up before the reno even starts.

The “Fresh Start” Isn’t the Fantasy You Think It Is

We glamorize the blank slate.
Design shows tell you to knock down walls, demo the kitchen, make everything open-concept and modern.

I used to believe that too, early in my design career.
But what no one tells you is how disorienting it is to leave behind something deeply familiar—even if it stopped working years ago.

My parents didn’t just need a new kitchen.
They needed to learn how to want something new.
At 60+. After decades of making do.

That’s the work no one prepares you for: Learning how to want and knowing you deserve it.

If You’re in a House That Doesn’t Fit…

Here’s what I’d tell you:

1. Start with your reality—not the aesthetic.

Before you pick paint colors, ask:
What isn’t working?
What actually feels bad to use, live in, walk through?

What kind of day do I want to have in this space?

Design becomes simpler when you stop mimicking Instagram and start listening to what your life needs from your space right now.

2. Don’t edit out the weird stuff just to impress nobody.

My parents have these strange wall niches that architecturally make zero sense.
Too shallow to be functional. Too random to be aesthetic. And yet—they’re still there.

We didn’t keep them because they’re beautiful. We kept them because they reminded us of the bigger picture: they weren’t the priority.
The kitchen needed help. The flooring had to go. The wall niches? They could wait.

And honestly, they liked them. Not in a “this adds value” kind of way—but in a “this feels good right now” kind of way.
They’d rather live with the quirks than blow the budget trying to erase them.

Sometimes what makes a space feel right isn’t its polish.
It’s the part that reminds you: this isn’t a showpiece. It’s yours.
The imperfections you choose to keep are often the most honest design decisions you make.

3. Fix what you touch first.

We didn’t gut the house. We focused on what would make daily life easier and less annoying:

• New flooring

• Paint

• A completely updated kitchen (because the old one made you want to eat lunch somewhere else)

None of these were aesthetic-first. They were usability upgrades—and that’s what changed the experience.
We weren’t redesigning. We were making it stop fighting us.

The Part That Sold Us
This backyard is what convinced all of us. Towering pines, actual greenery (not the sad kind), and a pool with a built-in waterfall situation? Say less. The inside needed vision. The outside just needed chairs. This space didn’t have to prove itself.

You Can Grow Into a Home That Didn’t Start With You

There’s something brave about staying.
Not because it’s easy—but because it asks you to keep showing up for a place that doesn’t fully fit yet, and believe that maybe, eventually, it will.

Reimagining takes more patience than replacing.
It asks you to live with the in-between—the mismatched tiles, the outdated choices, the weird corners you haven’t figured out yet.
And still choose to invest. Still choose to care.

Honey Home isn’t a dream home for a gazillionaire.
It’s a work in progress. A slow one.
We’re not rushing toward an “after”—we’re just trying to make each piece make more sense than it did before.

Right now, it holds my parents’ mornings—the same ones they’ve always had, just in a kitchen that doesn’t quite feel like theirs yet.
It holds family dinners surrounded by half-done walls, furniture that’s waiting for its moment, and plans we keep pushing to next month’s budget.

No Pinterest board could’ve predicted this version of home.
And that’s the point.

It’s not done. But it’s working.
Because it’s not trying to be perfect. It’s trying to become.

Why This Home Matters (And Why I’m Telling You About It)

The Honey Home isn’t some glossy renovation reveal.
It’s personal. It’s ongoing.
It’s proof that even imperfect spaces can become something meaningful when you stop trying to force them into a fantasy.

And whether you inherited your home, settled for it, or outgrew it without realizing—that doesn’t mean you’re stuck.

It means you have a blank page.
And you get to decide what gets rewritten.

Let’s Get Honest:

Are you still designing for a life you thought you'd have by now?
Or are you ready to start designing for the one you're actually living?

Tell me:
What part of your home feels like a mismatch?
What’s the one thing you’ve been tolerating but secretly hate?

Drop it in the comments. Or DM me if it’s personal.

And you don’t have to keep living in someone else’s idea of “home.”

Follow me on IG. I don’t post often, but when I do—it’s real, and probably a little too honest