I turned my dream office into a playroom
and found joy in letting go and embracing new dreams
My husband and I bought a little yellow fixer upper in Franklin, TN. Or “a project” as our realtor called it. The first time we stepped inside of it after already having our offer (well above asking price) accepted on it, I panicked at little. The pictures made it look less chaotic. In reality it needed a lot of work. What did we just do? I thought to myself wondering if this would be a choice we forever regretted.
After a few months in the house, I’d scraped almost every inch of popcorn ceiling off myself, my husband had added electricity to bring light throughout the house, we’d taken trees out of the yard, painted almost every wall, and with every paint choice and tile choice the house started to feel like a really good idea. One of our best, actually.
We spent our weekends and nights feeling like we were channeling our inner Chip and Johanna Gaines. I woke up every morning and we would stand around with steaming coffee cups in hand looking at things that were falling apart feeling like they were full of promise.
My husband: “Hear me out. What if we took this wall out?”
Me: “That’s crazy. We can’t knock down a WALL.”
We did, in fact, knock down that wall.
There was an old formal dining room in the house that we didn’t feel like we needed because the kitchen had a perfect space for our table. We decided it could be my office space instead.
When we got married my freelance writing work always happened in coffee shops or at our coffee table in our tiny Colorado apartment. (I sat on the floor.) In our Tennessee rental, I claimed a little spot in our guest bedroom for my desk. It didn’t feel like it was really my space but it was more than I’d ever had before.
At this house, our house, we agreed that I would have my own office. I was transitioning to freelancing full-time and I felt like that justified my need for a creative space where I could leave out my sticky notes and not worry about the mess of my bookshelf.
I loved the way the light poured in through the window in the morning and how I could see the blooming rose bushes I’d planted just outside from my desk. One morning, I told my husband “I’m going to paint that wall.”
Most of our house was white at that point. We wanted to just get to a good baseline before going too crazy. But that white wall behind me in every Zoom meeting was driving me crazy. We went to home depot and I got a bunch of yellow paint samples (my favorite color.) Which one did I pick? All of them. It was a very fun Saturday.
That office became a cherished place for me. It held many quiet mornings with coffee cups, a keyboard, and daydreams. It held client meetings where writers said “I’m a writer!” for the first time. I signed a copy of my first book there. I finished my first (and second, and third…) ghostwriting project in that office. I stacked up all the books I had contributed to as a writer, contributing writer, or ghostwriter on a shelf that I could look at during the day. I posted a vision board right above it.
On the corner of the vision board there was a couple with a little boy on a picnic blanket. Soon, that little corner of the vision board became very real to me in the form of a positive pregnancy test and later, a blood test confirming “it’s a boy!”
I loved where I was in my career. But I also really wanted to be a mom. I didn’t know then what motherhood would take from me. But I also didn’t know what it would give to me.
It started with a play mat on the floor right in front of my desk. Then, a little white basket full of rattles, books, and teething toys. Then a baby bouncer. Slowly, there were more and more baby things in every corner of my office. Eventually, I decided I wasn’t going to go back to work. At least, not full-time. Or not for a while.
Our little fixer upper didn’t have a clear “baby proof” space and we wanted that. For our son but also for me. The best space for it was clearly my office. A part of me was hesitant. It was my first office. Was it giving up another part of my identity if I lost this, too? I’d already let go of so much over the last year as I transitioned into motherhood.
But another part of me felt excited and hopeful. It just felt right.
We moved my desk upstairs along with my bookshelf. We moved in a play house, more baskets of toys, a ball pit, and a balance bar. It was all set up and I came downstairs early one morning. I made a coffee and watched my son explore his new playroom from the comfy set of chairs we’d tucked in there.
I love the way the light comes in and hits hot coffee from that window. I love that I can see the rose bushes I planted blooming right outside. I love the way my son pulls himself to stand at that window mesmerized by the bumble bees buzzing right outside. The yellow wall is the perfect backdrop to a day of chasing giggles and tripping over stray ball pit balls.
The shift in my surroundings felt metaphorical for the shift in me. So much was different but so much was the same.
I remembered the feeling of regret when we bought the house. I was so afraid it wouldn’t turn into what I’d imagined. Now, I sit on the back deck and think, what if this was a screened in porch? Give us some time and it might be. When I put a baby on my vision board I was almost afraid to be hopeful. Where would this dream take me? I wasn’t sure. But I wanted to take the risk and find out.
I think imagination just keeps taking us farther. If we listen to the nudge to paint the wall one color, it takes the hint to push us even further. Why not use a few more colors? Watching my son play has led me to the firm belief that creativity is play and play is worship.
Sometimes, I wonder if that creative nudge to paint the wall, to participate in playful worship on that random Saturday, was it’s own little piece of foreshadowing of what that room wanted to become all along.
It turns out, I was the one limiting that space and myself to wanting to be one thing. Dreams evolve and that’s okay. The room changed, my role shifted, but the beauty of the process and life with God stayed the same.
Our chaotic fixer-upper is a canvas for transformation—just like us.
When I imagine what this space might look like in five years I don’t feel afraid anymore. I feel a quiet trust and confidence that each step, whether it’s repurposing an office space to a playroom, scraping ceilings or painting walls, is leading me to something good.
Now to Him Who, by (in consequence of) the [action of His] power that is at work within us, is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly, far over and above all that we [dare] ask or think [infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, hopes, or dreams] Ephesians 3:20 AMPC
Such an encouragement to me who put creative dreams on hold for ministry and motherhood. I can play and be creative right where I’m at, and see it for what it is: an act of worship.
We're on such similar trajectories, as I have been considering turning my office/library into a playroom as well! It's kind of amazing how things shift when little ones are in the picture. There's a mourning, and an embracing.