A creative coping mechanism I learned from my mom

How to redecorate without spending a dime

Back in the 1990s, my family and I were living in a bungalow that at the time, was considered a small home. Probably something like 1,500 square feet—even though as a kid, I thought it was huge. We had a sizable living room, a family and dining room, an office nook and two bedrooms.

Any time my dad left town for work or for a football weekend in Tallahassee, which he did at least once a quarter, my mom would use the opportunity to rearrange the furniture. Sometimes it was just one room—swapping out a couch or a chair or moving pieces of art from our storage unit—while other times it involved completely repainting a room or multiple rooms. Sometimes she’d sew a new slipcover for the couch or repaint a piece of wood furniture out in the front yard on top of a newspaper. She always had a project going, always had ideas percolating, and always roped me into helping her. 

She had the vision and I was the muscle.

New layout, new me

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When our Abyssinian cat Harry grew old and blind, these total room reorientations created havoc for him, though he was quick to mentally re-map the spaces. Growing up, I was the only kid whose rooms changed colors, whose TV switched positions, and whose mom kept extra pieces of furniture off-site.

I don’t know if her creative design urges for change came from a place of coping, or if they were simply a satisfying hobby that helped her keep our space and her sense of aesthetics pleasing. That she only undertook them while my dad was away indicated that she needed total control and the ability to briefly make a big mess before returning everything to order by the time he returned.

Fast forward to today, some 30 years later, and I find myself doing the exact same thing, only I employ the routine when I’m feeling stagnant, when the urge to destroy and create anew manifests. For me, it’s a great way to unwind, solve a spatial puzzle, and feel accomplished at the end. Whatever I’m feeling or facing or thinking about, I always feel better after.

Tonight, necessity spurred the drive to rearrange. Recent heavy rains in LA forced a small leakage of water into my apartment via the front door and window assembly, soaking my rug in the process. I took it as a sign that the living room needed a fresh layout, and here I am, writing from a different position in the room, quietly enjoying what feels like a whole new space. I will probably pitch the rug, more excited at the prospect of finding a different one.

It’s not much but it’s mine <3

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My mother and I shared a spatial capacity that not everyone is lucky enough to possess. I have always been good with maps, navigation, and orienting myself—she was good at these too—but her keen desire to mix and match, and buy decor pieces that could move around and fit in different spots in our home was unrivaled. While many people pick the layout of their homes once, when they move in, and never fiddle with it again, we were cut from different stock—people who see their spaces as temporary expressions, as living art, as blank canvases, over and over.

Even though I miss her terribly, I feel so blessed and proud that she taught me, simply by doing, the art of rearranging and redecorating. It’s been nine years since she died, and I feel closer to her every time I find myself creating temporary spatial disorder followed by fresh reorder.