There’s something deeply satisfying about designing a space. And I’m not even talking about the “after” photos we all love to drool over. It’s the doing. You get to make all the choices. You call the shots. Every finish, fixture, and color swatch bends to your will. It’s the dream… until it’s not.
I’m smirking while typing this because of course design isn’t all sparkles and roses. Design gives you the illusion of control. Real life gives you a late shipment, a discontinued tile, or a surprise plumbing issue that makes your whole plan fall apart.
Right now, I’m still designing and renovating our cabin (yes, nearly five years later). And I’m also dealing with the latter: a surprise plumbing situation (and maybe a foundation issue??) that is slowly breaking my brain. Despite working on other people’s homes all the time—solving problems, making calls, choosing paint colors like it’s my job (because it is)—there’s something about designing your own space that is WAY harder.
The pressure of making the “right” choice, multiplied by the fact that I have to live with it “forever”???!!
With clients, I have perspective and distance. I know how to guide them through the process without spiraling. But when it’s your home, the stakes feel really high. I have so much empathy for anyone who’s in the thick of it… because I know how overwhelming even the smallest decision can start to feel.
Which brings me back to the cabin: I had a plan for it. Some (me) would even say a vision. But things started shifting. Some small, some… not. The well pump stopped working the day after we moved in. The cabinet order was delayed. The list goes on and on.
Here’s the part I’m learning in real time: letting go of control doesn’t mean the design fails. It just means it evolves. Which, for a recovering perfectionist, is a real test. My brain short-circuits every time I have to loosen my grip and let life be what it is.
Don’t even get me started on the plumber-slash-mystery-foundation issue we’re currently blessed with. Like truly, do not lift that lid unless you want a three-hour voice note and a diagram.
But when you stop fighting and start responding, the vision gets clearer. Not because it was perfectly executed (no ma’am, absolutely not!!!), but because you stayed open.
For the fellow perfectionists out there, some parting thoughts for you:
Good design works best when you treat it like a collaboration, with your space, your budget, and whatever chaos the universe throws in.
Decision fatigue is real. Don’t confuse being tired with being indecisive.
Your home doesn’t have to be perfect or match your Pinterest board to feel like you.
Some of the best design choices come from happy accidents (or at the very least, decent compromises).
We’re all riding the wave. You’re not alone. Take a breath, trust yourself, and try again tomorrow.
Would I like everything to be done by now? Of course. But also, what’s the rush? I’ll always be tweaking and moving things around. That’s what makes a home feel alive. It’s not about being finished. It’s about being in it, experiencing all the ups and downs, and trying to laugh about it later.
Deep breaths. We’re doing great.
xo Daniela
When you're on the other side I would love a play by play of how y'all successfully resolved the mystery water issue. It's the unexpected "omfg what is THIS" moments that, I think, stymie people from trying in the first place (am I projecting?!)