a kitchen becoming home

the other day, we moved a new piece into our kitchen—the buffet i’ve been working on and finally finished. it felt like more than just furniture sliding across the floor; it felt like the last piece of a story i’ve been quietly writing for over a year. yesterday, i started shifting our coffee mugs from the coffee bar i refinished almost a year ago into the buffet cabinets, and in that simple act, it hit me: this room is finally transforming into something that feels like mine.

our kitchen has been in the middle of a face-lift for more than a year now. crazy long, right? but that’s what happens when you’re a diy mom and partner—if i believe i can do it, i’ll damn sure try. every project has stretched me, tested me, pushed me through frustration, and yet each one has been worth it.

for anyone who really knows me, decorating isn’t my thing. not because i don’t love beauty, but because i’ve always felt like i wasn’t good at it—and because decorating carries a sense of permanence i wasn’t used to. growing up, i moved too much, never settling in one place long enough to make it mine. through marriages and upheavals, i learned again and again that staying wasn’t possible, so why decorate? why root yourself somewhere you might have to leave?

but here i am—almost twelve years in this house. and one day i realized it was time to make it home. piece by piece, slowly and deliberately, i’ve been creating a space that feels like us. the buffet is the final touch (for now—because let’s be honest, no diy’er ever truly finishes).

this buffet isn’t just a cabinet—it’s layered with meaning. on top of it rest my late father’s candlestick holders, standing tall like quiet reminders of him. beside them is a sunflower piece topped with florals i made myself, because wildflowers and sunflowers have always carried pieces of my spirit—rooted, reaching, refusing to be forgotten. the wall above is covered in finds and creations: goodwill treasures, hobby lobby signs, a flower from my best friend that i brought to life with my own brush, photographs i’ve taken on walks and in sunflower patches, and even a sign i made myself, welcoming loved ones to our kitchen. every item has a story, and together they make a patchwork of memory and love.

to someone else, it might just look like a room finally decorated. but to me, it’s a milestone. it’s proof that even when the past taught me not to stay, i can learn to grow roots. it’s proof that permanence can be chosen, that healing can live not just in my heart but in the walls around me.

my kitchen isn’t just remodeled—it’s reborn. it feels alive, filled with history, meaning, and love. and every time i open those buffet doors or set down a mug, i hear it whisper back: you made this yours. you belong here. you stayed.

with ink + bloom, 🌻