Maybe Your Home Still Fits. You’re Just No Longer Following the Original Floor Plan.

By Regine Rauin | When Rooms Tell Stories

 

There’s a strange moment that hardly anyone factors in when setting up a home. The moment when you suddenly realise:

I’m no longer the person I furnished this home for.

It can happen after moving house.

After a separation.

When the children have moved out.

After starting a new job.

After an illness.

After years of simply functioning.

Or completely uneventfully:

After a holiday.

You come home, put your suitcase down and suddenly everything looks slightly different.

Not because anything has changed.

But because, for a few days or weeks, you stepped outside your normal life.

And when you look at your life from the outside, it can suddenly look remarkably different.

 

We furnish our homes for the person we once were.

That’s perfectly normal.

After all, a home doesn’t come together in an afternoon.

It grows.

A sofa arrives.

Then a wardrobe.

Then a picture.

Then the things from your first shared home.

Then something from Grandma.

Then the piece of furniture that was only supposed to be here temporarily.

Then the room that suddenly became a home office.

Then the home office becomes a guest room.

Then the guest room becomes a dumping ground.

And eventually we find ourselves standing in the middle of it all, saying:

“Why is it actually like this?”

The answer is usually:

“Because that’s how it evolved.”

And that’s exactly the point.

Your home is the result of countless decisions.

Conscious ones.

Unconscious ones.

Practical ones.

Emotional ones.

Some were big.

Others tiny.

But eventually they create a remarkably accurate picture of how you have organised your life.

 

The problem: you don’t organise your life the same way forever.

You change.

Perhaps you once needed a large home because there were always people coming over.

Now you’d rather have a quiet place to read.

Perhaps your home used to be perfect for a family.

Now only part of that family lives there.

Perhaps you set up a home office because you thought:

“How practical!”

And now you find yourself thinking:

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to look at my desk over dinner as well.”

Perhaps you kept everything for years because you thought:

“I might need this one day.”

And eventually you realise:

“What I actually need is space.”

These aren’t interior design problems.

They’re questions about your life.

 

So the crucial question isn’t:

“Doesn’t my home look great?”

Yaaawn.

The much more interesting question is:

“Does my home still support the life I want to live today?”

And that’s a rather uncomfortable question.

Because it can turn up anywhere.

In the bedroom.

In the kitchen.

In the home office.

In the cellar.

In the garden.

Or in the fact that you actually only leave your home to work, go shopping or go on holiday.

Perhaps your home is beautiful. And yet your life no longer fits inside it.

 

Imagine you could view your home for the first time today.

You’re handed the keys.

You don’t know the story of the people who lived here before you.

You don’t know why the furniture is where it is.

You don’t know why this room is barely used.

You don’t know why nothing has changed there for years.

All you know is:

This is what this person’s life looks like right now.

What would you assume?

Does someone live here who likes having people around?

Or someone who withdraws a lot?

Is there space for spontaneous encounters?

Or does everything have to be planned?

Is movement possible?

Or is everything designed around stability?

Are there things that spark curiosity?

Or mainly things that preserve memories?

Is there room for the future?

Or does the home mostly tell the story of the past?

And now comes the crucial question:

Would you choose this life for yourself?

 

Perhaps the answer is a clear yes.

Then wonderful.

Your home is allowed to be exactly what it is.

But perhaps you realise:

“Actually, no.”

And that’s interesting too.

Because that doesn’t automatically mean you need to look for a new home. Perhaps something simply needs to change within the home you already have. Perhaps you need a different space for yourself. Perhaps something needs to go. Perhaps something needs to become visible. Perhaps something needs to move.

Perhaps you don’t need a new home at all.

Perhaps you simply need a different way of living in this one.

 

Or perhaps it suddenly becomes crystal clear: I don’t want to stay here anymore.

That’s allowed too.

We’ve got into the habit of treating a beautiful home as evidence that we ought to be happy.

Once everything has been renovated.

Once the garden looks lovely.

Once the kitchen was expensive enough.

Once the house is big enough.

Once the location is right.

Then surely you should feel at home.

Shouldn’t you?

No.

A beautiful home can still be the wrong home.

And a small, wonky, imperfect home can feel completely right.

Because a home doesn’t have to impress.

It has to fit your life.

 

I know this question rather well myself.

I didn’t choose my house by accident.

I wanted greenery.

I wanted animals.

I wanted peace and quiet.

I wanted that village feeling.

And I still love much of it.

But sometimes I come back from a trip and realise:

There was something I missed.

More movement.

More encounters.

More spontaneity.

People simply dropping by.

People you don’t have to invite for coffee three weeks in advance. A life in which you can be alone whenever you want without being lonely. And at the same time, a life where you can have people around whenever you want without it immediately becoming an organised event.

Then I look at my house and think:

“Okay. And which of those things do I actually want here?”

That’s a much better question than:

“What’s wrong with my house?”

 

Perhaps you shouldn’t change your home straight away.

Perhaps you should question it first.

Not:

“What should I buy?”

But:

“What do I need from my home for my life to feel like my life again?”

It could be peace and quiet.

Or movement.

Closeness.

Distance.

Creativity.

Order.

Chaos.

People.

Retreat.

Nature.

Music.

Light.

Darkness.

Or simply a corner where nobody wants anything from you.

And this is where living suddenly becomes interesting.

Because interior design often asks:

“What should this room look like?”

Living psychology asks an additional question:

“How do you want to feel in this room – and what kind of life should happen here?”

 

Perhaps you don’t need a new home at all.

Perhaps you need a home that fits you again. And sometimes that is surprisingly simple. Not necessarily prettier. Not more perfect. Not more Instagrammable.

Just more honest.

Because perhaps that is the real job of a home:

Not to show who you would like to be. But to make room for the person you have actually become.

And when you come home from your next trip, try something.

Put your suitcase down.

Don’t go straight to the fridge.

Walk through your home instead.

And ask yourself:

“If I were moving in today – would I choose this life all over again?”

 

Are you ready to answer that question honestly?

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.