Serena Let’s be real for a second.
There was a time — not too long ago — when I was deep in the Pinterest rabbit hole.
I had boards labeled “Dream Kitchen,” “Minimalist Goals,” “Laundry Room Aesthetic” (yes, really).
And every time I opened the app, I saw these immaculate homes with perfectly color-coded pantries, sun-drenched reading corners, and living rooms that looked like no one had ever sat on the couch.
And every time I looked up from my phone… I felt a little defeated.
My throw pillows didn’t match.
My entryway had a pile of shoes that never seemed to go away.
My kitchen counter was home to a fruit bowl, a drying rack, and about three pieces of mail I kept forgetting to deal with.
And it made me wonder:
Was I doing this all wrong?
📌 The Pressure of “Perfect”
There’s something about the internet — especially platforms like Pinterest and Instagram — that can make you feel like your home is always a few steps behind.
Like there’s this gold standard of design where every plant is thriving, every corner has intentional lighting, and no toy or charger cord is ever out of place.
And look — I love beautiful interiors.
I still pin things.
I still scroll through dreamy home tours.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something huge:
I was chasing someone else’s version of home.
Not mine.
Not the one where I live and breathe and work and unwind and eat ice cream on the couch at 10PM.
🌀 When Chasing Aesthetic Took Over Function
There was a time I arranged my open kitchen shelves just right — matching jars, wooden lids, cute labels… the works.
I stood back and admired it, thinking, This is so Instagram-worthy.
But then I went to cook dinner and realized — I had no idea where I put the salt.
The olive oil was behind a line of matching spice jars I didn’t even use that much.
It was beautiful.
But it wasn’t working for me.
That’s when it hit me: when your home starts performing for social media instead of serving your real life, it stops being a home.
It becomes a stage.
And I don’t want to live on a stage.
I want to live in a place where I can spill a little, drop crumbs, dance barefoot, and still feel completely at ease.
🎯 The “Real Life” Filter I Use Now
Now, every time I want to buy something for the house or change something up, I run it through what I call my Real Life Filter:
- Will I still love this when it’s not staged for a photo?
- Does this make my life easier, cozier, or more “me”?
- If I saw this in someone else’s house, would I smile… or feel like I had to clean up?
If it passes, it stays. If it doesn’t — I let it go.
Because real life is the best aesthetic.
The one where the house reflects the people living in it, not an imaginary audience.
💡 The Moment It Clicked
One night, after spending way too long rearranging my shelf decor for the third time, I caught my reflection in the living room window.
I looked tired.
Frustrated.
Like I was trying to force my home to be something it wasn’t.
And I just stopped.
I looked around — really looked — and saw the life in my space:
- A coffee mug left on the end table from that morning’s slow start
- A stack of puzzles my niece had played with over the weekend
- A throw blanket tossed on the couch that still smelled like clean laundry
None of it was Pinterest-perfect.
But all of it was mine.
And it felt real.
Warm.
Lived-in.
And honestly… beautiful.
🌿 What I Do Instead (and It’s So Much Better)
Instead of trying to make my home look like a page from a magazine, I started focusing on how it feels.
Here’s how that shift shows up in my everyday life:
🛋️ I decorate for comfort, not just looks.
I used to be afraid of having too many cozy things.
Now?
I proudly have two throw blankets on my couch and a candle that burns every night whether I’m entertaining or just reading alone.
My couch isn’t sleek and modern — it’s soft and worn in all the right ways. And it welcomes me home at the end of every long day.
🎨 I mix and match what I love.
At some point I realized — I’m not one style.
I’m not all farmhouse or all modern or all boho.
So I stopped trying to fit into one box.
Now my home is a mix of thrifted finds, handmade art, and a few Target steals.
It’s imperfect… and completely personal.
🧺 I leave space for life to happen.
I don’t stress if the kitchen counter has mail on it or if the pillows aren’t fluffed.
If I’m mid-project or if someone’s coming over, I don’t scramble to hide the reality.
I welcome it.
Because it means my home is full of life.
💛 I embrace the “flaws.”
The little scuff on the floor from when I moved my desk?
A memory.
The mismatched chairs around my dining table?
Stories from different seasons.
The imperfect pieces remind me this home is lived in, not styled to perfection.
✨ What I Gained When I Let Go of Perfection
The biggest change wasn’t in how my home looked — it was in how I felt in it.
I stopped walking around with a mental checklist of what was “wrong.”
I stopped apologizing for the mess.
I stopped feeling like I had to keep up with someone else’s highlight reel.
And instead, I started feeling proud of the space I’ve created — one that fits my lifestyle, my quirks, and my real, everyday joy.
Letting go of perfection made room for presence.
And honestly? I wouldn’t trade that feeling for all the matching containers in the world.
👵🏽 Things in My Home That Don’t Match — and Why I Love Them
There’s this old metal side table I thrifted for $12 during my broke college days.
It’s teal — like, bright teal — and nothing in my current living room goes with it.
But you know what?
It’s the perfect spot for my coffee in the morning and my book at night.
It wobbles a little when you touch it, and I love it for that.
My dining chairs? Mismatched.
Two from my grandma’s old set, one that squeaks when you shift your weight, and another I found by the curb and cleaned up.
Somehow, they work together. Kind of like life — messy, imperfect, but holding you up.
These pieces tell my story.
And I wouldn’t trade them for a color-coordinated catalog set.
🎨 If My Home Had a Personality, She’d Be…
She’s not the type who wears a little black dress.
She’s the one in an oversized sweater, laughing loudly in the kitchen while the pasta water boils over.
She’s the friend who never judges, always has extra blankets, and insists you stay for one more episode — or one more story.
She’s not sleek or curated.
She’s soft.
Slightly chaotic.
But full of heart.
My home isn’t minimalist
Or boho Or coastal chic.
She’s… human. And I love her for it.
🪞 The One Corner I Used to Hate (Now It’s My Favorite)
There’s a weird little corner in my bedroom, right between the window and the wall.
For years, it was just… dead space.
I kept shoving baskets there, trying to make it useful.
Nothing stuck.
Then one day, I dragged in a floor cushion, lit a candle, and sat there with a cup of tea and my journal.
The light hit just right.
The silence felt good. And it became my corner.
Funny how the spots we avoid become the ones we treasure most — once we let them be what they’re meant to be.
🫶 A Note to My Younger Self (And Maybe to You Too)
Hey you — the girl who thought she needed to repaint her walls, replace her furniture, and match her hand towels to her soap dispensers before inviting anyone over.
You don’t.
You need laughter in the kitchen, the scent of something baking, and a seat for someone you love (even if it squeaks a little).
You don’t need a Pinterest-perfect home. You just need a space where you can be your fullest self — messy, honest, barefoot, and free.
So light the candle. Play your favorite music. Use the chipped mug.
This is your home. And it’s already enough.
💬 What Makes Your Home Feel Like Home?
Is it the scent of cinnamon after you’ve baked something sweet?
The stack of books on your nightstand you’re half-reading?
That oversized hoodie draped over your favorite chair?
Whatever it is — that’s the magic. That’s the soul of a space. Not the staging. Not the polish. But the pieces of you that live there.
So here’s my invitation:
Don’t aim for perfect. Aim for peace.
Don’t follow trends — follow comfort.
Don’t chase likes — chase laughter.
One Last Thing, From Me to You
Last night, I lit my favorite candle, curled up under a chunky blanket, and rewatched a show I’ve seen a hundred times.
My kitchen wasn’t spotless.
My floors needed sweeping.
But everything felt right.
And I thought of you — the reader, the real human on the other side of this screen — and I hoped you were doing the same.
I hoped you were giving yourself grace.
Choosing comfort. And reminding yourself: this is your space.
No one else’s.
And it doesn’t need to be perfect to be deeply, beautifully yours.
From my not-so-polished, love-filled little corner of the world —
you’re doing just fine.
