What’s your home decoration style?
Is there even a single word to describe it?
Truthfully, I’ve never been an “aesthetic” girl. I don’t pore over curated color palettes, designer catalogs, or perfectly coordinated interior trends. That has never been who I am.
Instead, my decor philosophy is simple: if it is useful, if it works, and if it serves a purpose in my life, it belongs in my living space.
If I’m filling a room, my needs are practical. I need a place to sleep, a chair to rest in, a desk to write at, and a mirror to prepare for the day. Do they all match? Not necessarily. I don’t follow rigid design rules; I just go with what flows with me. If I see a piece and realize, “This is going to be useful. This will anchor this corner,” I bring it home.
The closest I’ve ever come to “coordinating” was purely intuitive. I had a chest of drawers with a natural wood top and a warm brown finish. When I needed a couch, I ended up with a deep brown one accented with gold studs. Later, when I made a small round table, I crafted the top surface to echo that same raw wood texture. I wanted something earthy, natural, and grounded—a space that felt organic to where I was in that moment.
The Decor of a Broken Plan
When I step back and look at my eclectic, function-first home, I realize something deeper: this is exactly how I have had to rebuild my life.
At one point, I had a picture-perfect dream in mind. But life has a way of shattering blueprint designs. When I found myself broken, I couldn’t afford to worry about strict plans or aesthetic ideals anymore. I just had to float, go with the flow, and harness whatever tools were within arm’s reach to stay afloat.
I didn’t pick up creative outlets to become a refined artist. I was never “the artistic type” growing up; all of this only started over the past two or three years out of pure necessity.
- Writing became my primary crutch. When my mind was a chaotic storm, writing gave my thoughts and heavy emotions a tangible shape. Bleeding those words onto paper gave me the leverage I needed to step forward and heal.
- Drawing and painting became my decompression chambers. When the weight of a long, high-stress week pressed down on me, picking up a pencil or a brush allowed me to quiet the noise and process things beyond words.
- Knitting gave my hands something grounded to hold onto—a quiet way to explore something new while soothing a tired mind.
None of these practices were part of some master plan. I didn’t set out to build an “artistic persona.” Just like my brown couch or my handmade wooden table, I gathered these tools because they worked. They gave me rest. They helped me process. They held me together when I needed support.
Purpose in the Everyday
We often pressure ourselves to have a polished blueprint for our lives—a perfectly styled room, a master plan, a flawless path forward. But when life breaks those plans, you don’t need a grand strategy to start rebuilding. You just need to look around you.
Whatever you have at your disposal right now—a forgotten notebook, a dull pencil, a ball of yarn, or a quiet moment—is enough. If it grounds you, if it helps you process, if it gives you a tiny piece of yourself back, use it.
Even if the pencil is broken, pick it up anyway. Sharp edges still leave a mark.
Rebuilding doesn’t happen when everything is pristine and coordinated; it happens in the raw, quiet decision to start with whatever you have in front of you. That is how I found my way back to myself—one practical piece, one honest word, and one spontaneous line at a time.
If it grounds you, if it heals you, and if it keeps you moving forward… what works, stays.
Well here is how I picked up my pencil
Happy reading
The voice in me 
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