Usually on Wednesdays, I join in with Kat’s Unraveled group to share what I’m working on, arts-and-crafts-wise. But today (because – really – who wants to see my minimal progress on the big woolly man sweater I’m knitting for Tom), I decided to share a Not Knitting project. Yes. It’s time for me to show you my new kitchen . . . and to unpack some of my personal baggage as I do so. Because, friends, this project was not only a major home renovation project. It was also an emotionally challenging project for me, personally. (True confessions and all that.)

Let’s start . . . here. With a “before.”

What you’ll see here . . . is a perfectly fine kitchen. Spacious. Workable. Tried and true. It had served me well since we moved into our house back in August 2003. (In fact, back in 2003 I was thrilled to have a kitchen island, a built-in pantry, a wood floor, new granite countertops, and a little “butler’s pantry” hidden behind a set of doors.) Over the years since, we’ve replaced all the appliances (as one needs to). Switched out the cabinet hardware. And painted the walls . . . twice. But everything else remained just as it was.

Oh, I dreamed of an updated kitchen! Because that “before” kitchen? It was dark and dated. Some of the wood panels in the cupboard doors had cracked. The wood finish was getting noticeably worn around the drawer pulls and knobs. And there was a late-80s built-in “kitchen desk” (which you can’t see in this photo), complete with cute little mail slot cubbies and an open shelf and tiny drawers designed to fit . . . nothing. It wasn’t functional at all, in terms of being a useful desk. But . . . it was a very effective Clutter Collector! (And an eyesore to boot.)

But my kitchen renovation dreams . . . remained just dreams.

Because I’m not really a spend-your-money-on-renovations kind of gal. I was brought up in a family where there was enough, but no extra. (And so was Tom.) Being Frugal is part of our genetic makeup. I’m not saying we never renovate or upgrade our living spaces, because we do. But . . . we usually do the work ourselves, calling in professionals only when it’s something we really haven’t been able to handle ourselves — or, now that we’re older, for projects involving a lot of ladder-ing and such. But we’ve never done a “frivolous rehab” . . . when something (living room furniture, for example) (or a whole freakin’ kitchen) is still perfectly serviceable.

But it was becoming more apparent (and even to Tom) that our kitchen was looking . . . very tired. And that it needed some major repairs and updates at the very least. So we took the plunge and got a quote for a more substantial kitchen renovation. And then we started looking at options and colors and samples, and making decisions. (I should clarify here. I started looking at options and colors and samples, and Tom said, “Those are nice.”)

But it was challenging for me, emotionally. We could afford the renovation project; that was fine, and it wasn’t my issue. I just felt . . . like, well. Like I wasn’t the kind of person who renovated their kitchen just because they wanted to. It was something deep in my genetic code. My family did not spend money frivolously. We got by. We made do. We were happy with “perfectly serviceable.” And here I was . . . Not Doing That. In the middle of a bleak and dark time in American history, when thousands of people were losing their jobs and the stock market was crashing and there was so much suffering in the world . . . I was renovating my kitchen.

It just felt . . . wrong to me . . . for ME. Like . . . who did I think I was, renovating my kitchen right now? Existential crisis ensued. (In the midst of making all those design choices I was heading off for that equally existential-crisis-y trip to England.) (March was a very tough month for me, emotionally.)

Tom kept reassuring me and telling me to “have fun with it.” My friends (those who even knew I was doing this kitchen renovation; I kept it pretty close to the vest) were also encouraging and reminded me that I “might as well have a nice kitchen during these dark times.”

And so . . . the project moved forward. Despite my struggles with frugality and identity and unworthiness.

And now it’s done! And I really do love it. That eyesore of a clutter-collecting desk magically became a beautiful and functional hutch. They blew the doors off the little butler’s pantry for me — and turned it into part of the kitchen. And everything looks fresh and new.

It turned out to be worth every bit of the hassle. And it forced me to deal with my feelings of guilt and unworthiness. Now, whenever I work in – or just walk through – my new kitchen, I only feel . . . JOY. It’s light and spacious and makes me feel . . . settled. I have no regrets.

And right now?
That’s a gift.