Some houses don’t particularly like letting their people go. Mine, for example...

By Regine Rauin | When Rooms Tell Stories

 

I know the feeling of coming home and being pleased about it.

Your own key.

Your own bed.

The coffee machine that at least knows how you like your coffee.

The shower where you don’t first have to work out whether the tap on the left or right is set to “Sh💩t, that’s hot”.

Home is lovely.

Really.

But there is another version too:

You come back from holiday, put your suitcase down, take a deep breath and think:

“It was rather nice there.”

Not because everything at home is terrible. But because, while you were away, you suddenly became someone you had somehow lost a little bit of at home.

You had longer breakfasts.

You simply went out in the mornings.

You looked at things you never have time for in everyday life.

Perhaps you laughed more.

Talked more.

Got less done.

At some point, you caught yourself thinking:

“Actually, my life could look different too.”

And then you come home.

The suitcase gets unpacked.

The washing machine goes on.

The emails are waiting.

The desk looks at you accusingly.

On the table is exactly the thing you didn’t want to open before you went away...

And within a remarkably short space of time, you’re back in your old film.

 

Maybe the holiday wasn’t the exception.

Maybe it was the clue.

I find that much more interesting.

Because after a holiday, we often talk about falling back into our old patterns as though that were some sort of personal weakness. As though we had finally managed to discover our “true self” while we were away, only for reality to come along once we got home and take it away from us again.

I don’t think it’s quite that simple.

Our surroundings have a rather significant influence on which version of ourselves turns up.

Not in the sense of:

“This blue sofa is causing your attachment issues.”

Don’t worry.

I have no intention of putting my sofa on trial.

But rooms are habit machines.

You sit where you always sit.

You work where you always work.

You put things down where you always put them.

You walk past the corner that has been annoying you for three years.

You don’t open the cupboard because you already know that, somewhere in there, you would actually have to make a decision.

And eventually, all those tiny decisions become a remarkably stable system.

Your home holds your life together.

But sometimes it also holds on to things that no longer belong in your life.

 

My house had to learn this too, by the way.

My house is exceptionally good at holding on to me.

Not metaphorically.

Well... metaphorically too.

But in a very practical sense.

There is always something to do.

There is always something interesting going on.

Something always wants repairing, changing, painting, looking at, rescuing, moving around or, at the very least, staring at for a very long time.

My house can produce an astonishingly convincing reason why I absolutely, categorically should not go away right now.

We had to practise.

I had to learn to leave.

And my house had to learn to let me go.

These days, we’re getting rather better at it.

And that is exactly what I find so fascinating:

A home is not static.

It changes with us.

When we start living differently, our home changes.

And sometimes it works the other way round:

When we start looking at our home differently, we suddenly notice where we ourselves are practically trapped.

 

What do you have on holiday that you’re missing at home?

That might be a more interesting question than:

“Why am I stressed again already?”

Was it the peace and quiet?

The movement?

The fact that nobody wanted anything from you?

The long breakfasts?

The sea?

The light?

The fact that you suddenly weren’t constantly available?

Or was it something much more mundane?

Perhaps you ate outside every evening while you were away.

Perhaps you read a lot.

Perhaps you went for an hour-long walk every morning.

Perhaps you barely used your phone.

Perhaps you finally had time for proper conversations again.

Perhaps, for once, you simply didn’t optimise anything.

And now comes the interesting bit:

What can you bring home with you?

Not the beach.

Not necessarily the Italian restaurant around the corner.

Not the view.

But what you did differently while you were there.

 

Your home can help you with that.

Because most of the time, you don’t need to turn your entire life upside down.

Perhaps you simply need to walk through your home once and ask yourself:

Where has the thing that felt so good on holiday actually gone?

Where is the place for reading?

Where is the place for doing absolutely nothing?

Where is the table where nobody works?

Where is the corner you actually enjoy sitting in?

Where is the thing that makes you curious in the morning?

And where, instead, is everything that reminds you of obligations?

Laptop.

Laundry.

Paperwork.

Shopping.

Things to do.

Unfinished business.

The past.

Perhaps your home is full of things telling you:

“You still have to.”

And remarkably empty of things telling you:

“You’re allowed to.”

That isn’t a question of decoration.

It’s a question of life.

 

And that is exactly where WOHNUNGS-READING begins for me.

I don’t look at a home and say:

“This piece of furniture means X.”

That’s not how it works.

I’m interested in the story behind it.

Why is it there?

Why is it still there?

Why do you use this room like this and not differently?

What do you notice immediately – and what would you rather not see?

And sometimes the most interesting answer isn’t in what someone has decorated particularly beautifully.

It’s in what hasn’t changed for years.

In the room nobody uses.

In the box that is still sitting on top of the wardrobe.

In the armchair that has been uncomfortable for years and is nevertheless occupied every evening.

Or in the fact that someone comes home from a wonderful holiday and is already dreaming of getting away again on the second day.

The home isn’t the culprit.

It’s the clue.

 

You don’t have to take my word for it.

That’s the beauty of it.

You can try it yourself.

If you’ve just come back from holiday, don’t simply walk around your home thinking about everything you ought to change.

Try going the other way.

Ask yourself:

“What was so good about the holiday that I miss it?”

And then walk through your home.

Not with the eyes of an interior designer.

Not with the eyes of a professional declutterer.

But with the eyes of someone who wants to discover something about themselves.

Perhaps you’ll find an answer.

Perhaps you’ll find a rather big question.

Perhaps you’ll simply find the box you’ve been carrying around with you since 2022.

That would be a start too.

 

And if you want to know what I actually mean when I say “reading a home”...

Then I have two possibilities for you.

WHISPERING WALLS is my starting point for anyone who wants to explore for themselves what happens when you begin looking at your own home through different eyes.

27 euros.

You listen whenever you want.

And afterwards, you might actually walk through your own rooms and listen a little more closely.

You don’t have to take my word for it. Try it yourself.

And if you already have a very specific question, there is 27SECONDS.

You show me a small glimpse of your home and ask me your question.

Why don’t I feel comfortable here?

Why can’t I let this go?

Why do I constantly want to get away?

Why doesn’t this home feel like me anymore?

Why is this particular corner so difficult?

Then I look.

Personally.

At your question.

At your space.

At what may have been visible there all along.

 

Perhaps the best thing about coming home isn’t going back to doing everything the way you did before.

Perhaps it is the opportunity to discover:

What do I actually want to bring home from my holiday?

Not in my suitcase.

But into my life.

Because perhaps you weren’t suddenly a different person while you were away.

Perhaps you simply had more room there to live the parts of yourself that don’t get enough space at home...

What would your home tell you if you finally listened?

 

Who am I, anyway - and if so, how many?

About the Author

I'm Regine Rauin, also known as Mystic Maveress.

I read rooms the way other people read tarot cards.

And every now and then...

...I write a book.

→ Discover the WOHNUNGsREADING

🗝️ Because many of the answers are already living with you.