The illusion of control
For the longest time, I tried to control the chaos of life by keeping my home looking like a Pinterest board. Everything had a place, and everything was in that place. I would fluff pillows, realign picture frames, and stress if a throw blanket wasn’t folded just so. It gave me a sense of peace, like maybe if I could just make everything around me perfect, I’d feel perfect too.
There was something soothing about walking into a room and seeing everything clean, tidy, and calm. It felt like my own little sanctuary, free from the unpredictability of the outside world. I liked knowing where everything was. I liked feeling like I had it all together, even when I didn’t. That sense of order felt like a warm blanket on an uncertain day.
But here’s the thing. That aesthetic perfection? It started to feel… empty. It didn’t spark anything in me except pressure to maintain it. I was curating a life that looked good in photos, but didn’t feel like me. It looked calm and collected, but underneath it all, I was craving something more real, more alive, more fun.
The turning point
It was my ex-boyfriend-turned-bestie who first called it out. He wasn’t being mean, just honest in the way only someone who really knows you can be. He said it was all very clean and nice, but that it felt a little bit bland. That word stuck in my brain. Bland. Not calm, not peaceful, not minimalist. Bland. And the more I sat with it, the more I realised he was right.
A month or so later, I was curled up on the sofa in the thick of summer, trying to stay cool and avoid the blazing heat outside. I looked around my home and suddenly saw it with fresh eyes. Where was the joy? Where was the me-ness, the Chaos Goblin? Where were my ridiculous obsessions and quirky loves? The house didn’t reflect the woman who adores Star Trek, who laughs at 80’s cartoons, who finds comfort in mismatched mugs and worn-in cushions.
So I made a choice. I decided that I no longer needed my home to look like it belonged in a magazine. I wanted it to feel like it belonged to me. I wanted it to tell my story, to feel lived in, loved, and a little bit silly. I wanted to see my favourite things when I walked in the door. I wanted my house to make me smile.
Making it mine
The first thing I did was start rebuilding my collection of Pop! figurines. When I left Scotland, my ex-husband kept my original collection – much to my protest – and for a while, I thought I had to let that part of me go. But earlier this year, I decided to begin again. I bought a few new figures that made me smile, and it felt like reclaiming a bit of myself.
These figurines are more than just toys. They’re little snapshots of my loves and interests, and each one makes me happy in a different way. They remind me that I’m allowed to love what I love, even if it’s not sleek or grown-up. Now, they live proudly on my bookshelf, nestled among my recipe books, memoirs, and cookery magazines – a perfectly imperfect mix that feels just right.
Then came the crystals. And not just one or two artfully placed for aesthetic reasons. I brought out the whole collection. I found little bowls and trays for them, scattered them around in places that felt right, not because they matched anything but because they made me feel something. They’re part of how I make a space feel like mine.
And Lulu, my black cat, has toys in every room. His scratching post is no longer hidden in a corner, and his fluffy blanket lives on the sofa now. This is his home too, and I love that you can see his presence here. The house isn’t tidy all the time anymore, but it’s full of warmth, full of life, full of us.
Letting go of the pressure
I used to scroll Instagram and Pinterest and feel like I was failing because my house didn’t look like the ones I saw online. The carefully styled vignettes, the perfect lighting, the pristine surfaces. It all felt a little out of reach, like I could never quite get there, no matter how hard I tried.
But those homes? They often don’t look like that day-to-day. Real homes have clutter, fingerprints, crumbs, laundry that needs folding. Real homes have the mark of life on them. And now, instead of striving to erase all those signs, I embrace them. I see them as proof that I’m living.
I still like a tidy space, but I’m no longer chasing perfection. I don’t rearrange the cushions every five minutes or feel the need to dust obsessively. If I have friends over, I’m not scrubbing every surface and hiding every personal item. I want them to see my home as it truly is, and I want them to feel welcome in it, not like they’re stepping into a showroom.
A home that hugs you back
Something shifted when I stopped trying to make my home look impressive and started making it feel comforting. I lit more candles, even when the house was messy. I bought bronze figurines of tiny bugs to hide amongst my shelves, I bought silly tea towels and ugly mugs, and I stopped worrying about everything being neutral or chic.
My house started to feel like a warm hug, and I started to feel more comfortable in my own skin. There’s something incredibly freeing about looking around your space and seeing you. Not the version of you that wants to be liked or approved of. The real, soft, weird, wonderful you.
Now when people visit, they smile and still say my house feels warm and comforting, but also, “This feels like you.” That’s the biggest compliment I could receive. Because it means I’ve created a space that holds me. That knows me. That reflects my humour, my stories, my memories.
Choosing comfort over perfection
Letting go of aesthetic perfection hasn’t made my life messier. It’s made it richer. There’s a deep kind of peace that comes from no longer needing to present a curated image. My home is full of colour and life and sometimes a bit of chaos, but it makes me feel safe. It makes me feel seen.
There’s still beauty in it, of course. But it’s not the kind of beauty that needs approval. It’s the kind of beauty that grows from within. It’s personal, and that makes it powerful. It doesn’t matter if someone else doesn’t get it. I get it. And that’s enough.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the pressure to have a perfect home, I want you to know you can stop. You don’t need your space to look like anyone else’s. You just need it to feel like you. However that looks.
Perfection may photograph well, but it can’t hold your memories, your laughter, or the quiet comfort of being completely yourself.
Final Thoughts
Our homes should tell our stories. They should reflect where we’ve been, what we love, who we are. They don’t need to be pristine or curated or ready for a magazine shoot. They need to be real. Honest. Full of life.
So if you’ve got a collection that makes you smile, bring it out. If you love colour but have been sticking to neutrals, paint a wall. If your favourite chair is a bit tatty but it’s where you feel most at home, keep it. Make your home your own.
Because you deserve to walk through the door and feel a sense of ease, not obligation. You deserve to live in a space that nurtures you. And if that means mismatched cushions, pop culture figurines, or a cat toy in every room, then so be it.
If you’re on your own journey of letting go of perfection, I’d love to hear about it. Share what you’ve added back into your space, what makes it feel like home, or what you’re learning to embrace. Leave a comment, send a message, or just take a moment to look around and ask yourself: does this space feel like me?
We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity
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