There's something quite humbling about being your own client.
As a designer, I'm accustomed to having a clear vision, making decisions and guiding others through the process of creating a home. But when the home is your own, suddenly every decision feels a little more personal.
Add a husband who works in construction, a renovation full of possibilities and two people who aren't particularly short on opinions, and you have a rather interesting dynamic.
The Sunday House was a labour of love. It was also one of my greatest learning experiences.
Not because I discovered anything particularly revolutionary about interiors, but because I learnt a great deal about myself, how I work and what really matters when creating a home.
Here are five lessons that have stayed with me.
01. Compromise can lead to something better.
I generally have a very clear picture of how I want a space to look.
Unfortunately, roofs don't always share my enthusiasm.
When I envisioned three beautiful skylights bringing natural light into our home, Luke gently introduced me to the realities of roof trusses, ceiling cavities and the structural elements that don't feature quite so prominently on my mood boards.
We discussed the possibilities, worked through the limitations and eventually settled on two.
What initially felt like a compromise turned into one of my favourite decisions of the entire renovation.
We used the opportunity to introduce a skylight into the bathroom, something I hadn't originally planned, and the result was beautiful.
It's still one of my favourite features.
It reminded me that good design isn't about winning every argument or refusing to adapt. Sometimes the best ideas come from two different perspectives finding common ground.
And occasionally, your husband really does know best. Occasionally.
02. Take your own advice.
I found this one particularly confronting.
I spend so much time encouraging clients to trust the process, have confidence in their decisions and resist the temptation to seek everyone's opinion.
Then I renovated my own home and promptly forgot every word of it.
I'd choose something I loved, question myself, ask for reassurance, reconsider it and eventually arrive right back where I'd started.
It became a rather exhausting little cycle.
What I eventually realised was that I wasn't lacking knowledge or confidence in my abilities. I was simply so emotionally invested in the outcome that I wanted someone else to confirm I was getting it right.
But design doesn't work that way.
Not everyone will understand your vision, and they don't need to.
I learnt to trust my experience, my instincts and the very skills I use every day when designing for other people.
Sometimes you need to stop asking for opinions and start listening to yourself.
03. Different doesn't mean difficult.
Now, this one might ruffle a few feathers.
I have enormous respect for skilled tradespeople. The very best bring experience, technical knowledge and creative problem-solving to a project, and their contribution is invaluable.
But I also learnt that some people are so comfortable doing things a particular way that anything outside their usual approach is immediately considered too difficult.
Not impossible. Not unsafe. Just unfamiliar.
And there's a difference.
Early in the renovation, I learnt to run my ideas past Luke before approaching trades. We would work through the practicalities, identify any genuine construction issues and establish what was achievable.
That meant when I presented an idea, I wasn't simply hoping it could be done. I knew it could.
Of course, I welcomed professional advice and better solutions. What I became less willing to entertain was an opinion based purely on personal preference or an unwillingness to try something different.
When you're investing your time, money and energy into creating a home, you deserve more than that's just how we normally do it.
I don't believe good design should be limited by someone's comfort zone.
I believe in challenging the ordinary, asking better questions and working with people who are interested in finding solutions.
Because there's a big difference between a tradesperson who tells you something can't be done and one who asks, how can we make this work?
I'll choose the latter every time.
04. Speak up. Even when your voice shakes.
Here's something I didn't expect to find so difficult.
I can advocate for a client all day long. If something isn't right, I'll have the conversation, ask the questions and work towards a solution.
But doing it for myself? Entirely different story.
Our window furnishings taught me that lesson.
I had a very clear vision of how I wanted them to look. The blinds themselves were lovely, but once installed, the rods weren't what I'd imagined.
And here's where I had to take some responsibility.
Because it was my own home, I hadn't prepared the detailed design brief I would ordinarily create for a client. I'd explained what I wanted and assumed we were all picturing the same thing.
We weren't.
The installer and sales representative hadn't clarified the rod selection, and I hadn't documented it.
The result was lovely, but it wasn't my vision.
For a moment, I considered leaving it. The thought of raising the issue, having an uncomfortable conversation and potentially being seen as difficult made me incredibly nervous.
Which is ridiculous, really, considering I'd never hesitate to do exactly that for someone else.
But I knew I'd look at those rods every day and wish I'd said something.
So I did.
I approached the company, explained the situation and worked with them to have the window furnishings throughout the house upgraded.
And the finished result was exactly what I'd imagined.
That experience reinforced two things: the importance of clear documentation, even when you think everyone understands, and the importance of advocating for the outcome you want.
You can be kind, respectful and still be firm.
And sometimes the conversation you're most nervous about having is the one you'll be most grateful you had.
05. A home worth loving is worth waiting for.
I started selecting furniture six months before our renovation was complete.
Almost twelve months later, I was still finding pieces.
And I'm so glad I didn't rush.
There's an enormous temptation to finish everything at once, particularly after a renovation. The building work is done, the walls are painted and suddenly every empty corner feels like something that needs fixing.
But I've never believed a home should look as though it was purchased in a single weekend.
I love interiors that feel collected. Rooms with layers, personality and pieces that look as though they've found their way there over time.
Some things I found immediately. Others took months of searching. And a few pieces I thought I'd love simply weren't right once the home began to take shape.
Rather than settle, I waited.
Because filling a room and finishing a room are two very different things.
You don't need to buy something simply because there's an empty space.
Sometimes the most considered design decision is to do nothing at all.
Let the home evolve. Live in the rooms. Understand how you use them. Find the pieces that make you feel something.
The result will always be more personal.
Looking back
The Sunday House taught me far more than I expected.
It taught me that compromise can be creative, that confidence doesn't always come naturally and that standing behind your vision sometimes means having conversations you'd rather avoid.
It also reminded me how fortunate I am to share this process with Luke.
We approach projects from different perspectives. I see the possibilities, the atmosphere and the finished space. He sees the structure, the construction and everything required to bring those ideas to life.
Neither perspective is more important than the other.
And when we get that balance right, something rather special happens.
Perhaps the greatest lesson was experiencing what it really feels like to be the client.
The excitement, the uncertainty, the financial investment, the second-guessing and those wonderful little moments when something you've imagined finally comes to life.
It's an experience that has shaped the way I approach my work at Studio Dengate.
Because beautiful homes aren't created by following a formula, choosing what's popular or agreeing with everyone in the room.
They're created through thoughtful decisions, collaboration, patience and the confidence to make a home truly your own.
And if I've learnt anything, it's that the most beautiful result isn't always the one you originally planned.
Sometimes it's even better.
— Studio Dengate
