Then and Now

In the months leading up to my 8^th grade graduation, I remember looking around my room at night dreaming about what it could look like flipped and re-designed.

Although I loved my purple horse border with pink polka-dot accents, the lacey pillows, and dollhouse in the corner, I also felt the early quakes of a transition resonating deep within me; a new season approaching as I moved from middle school to high school, preempting the desire for something slightly more “grown-up.” I laid awake as sketches floated through my mind, dreams of demo-ing the peach-toned built-ins, shifting my bed to a new corner, and making space for a real dresser with an attached mirror. These are the things that kept me up at night and the only thing I could fixate on for months.

When my parents jumped on board, the Demo began – and also the tears. Seeing my bedroom ripped to shreds and sleeping on the floor of my brothers’ room was not in my vision of Room Updating. One night as my dad was sledgehammering down the shelves that previously housed the horse figurines and American Girl Dolls of my youth, I ran across the hall and cried to my mom, heaving out phrases of how this was a huge mistake – I never should’ve redone my room because now it was ruined! I would inevitably be sleeping on the floor of my brothers’ room for life because there was no way it would ever be accomplished. In this moment, she patiently sat me down and reassured me that the construction phase is the hardest part and understandably difficult, but once it gets finished, the vision comes alive. In my “this is forever” mindset, she reminded me that it might feel like that now, but it has to get worse before it gets better.

I have returned to this moment over and over and over again – through Texas moves and Chicago home redesigns – my two San Diego homes and most recently our Hubbard Home fixer phase. Learning to deconstruct in order to reconstruct has allowed me to absorb the process and even learn to enjoy it. As an organized-Type A-recovering-perfectionist, this does not come natural to me. I want the Result – I want the perfect finish – I want everyone to see the beautiful. I don’t naturally stand in peaceful rest through the in-between because I doubt my decisions and second-guess the options in hopes of uncovering The Best.

And then I remember sitting in the mess of my 8^th Grade Room as tears flowed onto a bedspread of sawdust, gazing at my room construction site through blurry eyes, with a complete lack of hope in the ability for anything to be better. This despondent moment became one of great delight a few months later, as I chose colors and furniture and a new rug for my room. It all came together and the dream came to life and the construction zone was a thing of the past. When it was all finished, it seemed silly to think it ever felt impossible.

As we enter the season of becoming a family, it only makes sense to usher it in with full force – stripping a home to studs and building it back up allows us to leave the past season behind and embrace the change of the new. The timing feels significant in preparation for the learning curve that’s about to come with a newborn and family of three. It’s all scary, but it feels so right. I am filled with doubt, but also confidence. I hold onto the moments of my past to collect myself in deep breaths and remember this is meaningful work and it is leading somewhere. A bathroom that finally has tiles helps, too.