An Ode to My First Home & Adieu to the Concrete Jungle

If the four walls of my first home could talk; they would be at a loss of what to say. Instead, the drywall would likely crack & the studs would buckle from the extreme pain I endured under their watchful eyes.  

I bought my first home in the beginning of 2015 and officially closed on its sale yesterday. The heaviest weight has been lifted from my shoulders as I say goodbye to my first home & forever city, Chicago.   

The self-imposed milestones were all happening at once during the first six months of 2015. 

I received my 2^nd promotion, to what I thought was the dream job I had been working towards for years, the same week we moved into our River North condo. I moved in with a boyfriend I adored. We had a dog we loved and purposely purchased a two-bedroom condo; dreaming of a future that may one day allow for a growing family.  

There was no way to prepare for how much would change, quickly, after moving into those shiny four walls.  

Six months after my promotion and moving in, I was fired from a job I loved and excelled at. Illinois is an at-will state and no justification is needed to terminate employment. Two weeks later I turned 30. In the year that followed, I lost myself, little by little.  

The following year, one week after my 31st birthday, my boyfriend of 5 years moved out of that shiny new condo we were so proud of. I ended a relationship with my best friend from childhood. I did not want to bring him through the ashes with me and could feel the mental turmoil intensifying in my mind.   

When I regained my footing in 2019, those four walls gave me the safe space to re-build from the ashes. And rebuild I did. In all the ways.  

Slowly, my passion for design came to life.  

I built my own personal oasis within those 1,200 square feet.

I donated furniture that was part of a communal, past identity and selected new pieces that better reflected who I was becoming. The walls beautifully portrayed art from some of my favorite travels. My home became a reflection of experiences & memories that brought me immense joy. There was meaning and purpose everywhere I looked. My home became more intentional. I minimized. I simplified. I showcased pieces in my closet to remind me of simple joys.  

I created that meaning and purpose, alone. This was the first time in my life I stood alone, so rooted and grounded, in my own being. My home was an extension of me.  

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In the fall of 2020, I was dealt two major blows, simultaneously. I slid back into survival mode.

It was also 6 months into the Covid-19 pandemic and I was managing all the chaos alone. I had never felt stronger, while recognizing how angry and broken I physically felt.

Despite this, I felt a creative energy bubbling internally for the first time in my entire life.  

I started logically | outsourcing my creative energy to a contractor.

I had a vision for my home that had to be brought to life. We knocked down a closet in my main bedroom, adding 18 square feet of space + outstanding sunset views and a much wider entry into the main suite. I removed the traditional bedroom door and replaced it with a sliding barn door. The carpeting was pulled out of the main bedroom and hardwood floors were laid. I helped saw down a textured ceiling fan that was gifted to me from my dad.

As the work continued, my internal need to more personally involve myself creatively, intensified. 

I have never been artistically inclined. I painted one wall in a rental my first year after college and that did not go smoothly. I could not deny the underlying urge bubbling up inside of me to express myself through creative exploration.

Self-expression via the arts has become instrumental in my healing journey.

In the following months, I painted all my Brazilian Cherry Shaker cabinets in my kitchen and both bathrooms a linen cream. I stained my slate fireplace and slate foyer with a charcoal gray paint. I applied a gray wood stain on the Brazilian wood flooring in my second bedroom. I pulled out my builder grade medicine cabinet and fixtures and repurposed materials the original owners left me when I bought the condo. I painted the walls, and ceiling after I accidentally painted the blue wall paint onto my ceiling because I did not have the patience for painters tape. 

I bought power supplies and paint brushes and tools via Amazon because I was too physically impaired to drive. I got hundreds of splinters. I left blood on the cabinets. I painted over the blood. I was unable to use a screwdriver to get any of the hinges or fixtures off, so I painted over them & then scraped excess paint off weeks later.

I kept on, despite messing up every step of the way.

I did not do any of it well, but I learned so much more than I can ever express.

I learned about how I learn.

I thought about who I became in the years I lived alone.

I thought about how I thought I had already been through the hardest hurdles life would offer, but new difficulties arose that broke me down in inconceivable ways. I processed the grief of my newest hurdles. I felt the pain of basic desires and abilities that I had lost as a result of my newest obstacles.

I sat in the pain.

I painted through the pain. 

The first four walls of my first condo saw me through what I hope will be my hardest days. The life I built out of hardship is more incredible than I could have dreamed of. I would fight my hardest battles all over again, to experience the joy and abundance I feel on the other side of the storm.  

This form of self-expression via an explosion of creative desire became an outlet for me to heal.  

It also came at a price.  

As I painted and repainted, already a year into my chronic pain journey, I developed carpal tunnel in both hands. I stopped being able to hold a pen. I wore wrist braces to paint with. I wore a compression sock on my right leg as I painted. I tucked ice packs into the waistband of my leggings to provide relief to my right lumbar region. I had ice packs tucked into my compression socks to minimize the constant tingling & nerve sensations in my right leg.  

Ultimately, I destroyed my home in many ways and lost a significant amount of money in the sale of my first home. At the end of all of it, I am so incredibly grateful.

I have learned how to live. How to let go. How to be in the moment. How to stop fearing change and uncertainty. I finally learned how to not just stand, but absolutely love and admire how strong I stood on my own.  

I became my own anchor.