How I Started Making My Home Feel Calm Again

At one point, my home didn’t feel peaceful at all. It felt loud.Cluttered.Overwhelming. And not just physically—mentally too.

There was always something out of place, something to clean, something I hadn’t gotten to yet. And it started to feel like my environment was adding to my stress instead of helping it. I didn’t do anything drastic to change it. I just started small. One space at a time. A drawer. A corner. One surface that I cleared off and kept clear. That alone made a difference. I realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t about having a perfectly styled home—it was about reducing the visual noise. Too much stuff everywhere made it hard to relax, even when I had the chance to.

So I started letting go of things I didn’t actually use. Keeping only what made sense for our everyday life. I also stopped trying to make everything look “perfect.” Presently I focus more on how a space feels. Is it functional? Is it easy to reset? Does it feel calm when I walk into it? That matters more than how it looks in a photo.

I’ve leaned into simple, neutral pieces that are easy to move around and actually get used. Things that make the space feel softer without adding more chaos. And the biggest shift? Letting go of the idea that my home has to look a certain way all the time.

It doesn’t.

It just has to work for us. Now, when things get messy (because they inevitably do), it doesn’t feel as overwhelming to reset. The foundation feels lighter.

A calm home isn’t about perfection. It’s about creating a space that supports you instead of stressing you out.

And that can start really small.

-Ashley

Morning moments of clarity

The last ten years have been the best and worst years of my life—and I’ve stopped trying to separate the two.

I used to think life came in chapters: the good ones where everything shines, and the bad ones you just survive. But when I look back now, it’s all tangled together. Triumph and grief. Love and loss. Growth and breaking. It’s less like a timeline and more like a collage—messy, layered, and somehow still beautiful.

A decade ago, I walked across a stage and graduated college with honors. What most people didn’t see was that I did it while fighting a brain infection that should have taken me out. That moment wasn’t just about achievement—it was about defiance. About choosing to keep going when my body was ready to give up.

Around that same time, I met the love of my life. Life moved quickly after that—joyfully, unexpectedly. I became pregnant with my first child just as I lost my father. It was my first real understanding that life doesn’t wait for you to process one moment before handing you another. Grief and new beginnings can exist in the same breath.

I kept building. I launched my dream—my own handbag and accessory line—and saw it grow beyond anything I imagined. International magazines featured my work. I found my voice hosting live radio. On the outside, it looked like everything was coming together.

But life doesn’t follow a straight path.

I became pregnant with my second child and, during that time, lost my best friend to the same disease my daughter was born with—sickle cell. That kind of loss changes you. It reshapes how you see time, love, and fear. It forces you to live with both gratitude and anxiety in ways you never asked for.

Still, I kept going.

I married the man I loved soon after giving birth to our second child. And then, life struck again—I lost my older brother. One loss after another has a way of unraveling you. I lost more than people during that time. I lost my job. I lost trust in others. For a while, I even lost my sense of self—my stability, my clarity… my sanity.

There was a moment when everything felt like it had collapsed. And yet, somehow, I was still standing.

When I was finally ready to rebuild, life shifted again. I made the painful decision to divorce the person I once thought I would spend forever with. It wasn’t the ending I imagined, but it was part of my truth. And even then—I kept going.

That’s been the theme of my life: not perfection, not control, but persistence.

Today, I’m in a new chapter. I’ve found a field that excites me in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve grown into someone stronger, softer, and more honest about what life really is. And in a turn that only life could write, the love I once let go of and I have found our way back to each other. We’re remarrying—not as the same people we were before, but as people who have lived, lost, and learned.

What I understand now is this: life isn’t meant to be perfected.

It’s not stained glass—flawless, polished, and carefully placed to look untouched. It’s a collage. Pieces torn, layered, mismatched, and real. Some parts are dark, some are vibrant, some don’t seem to belong at all. But together, they tell a story that perfection never could.

I don’t want a perfect life anymore.

I want a real one.

And if the last ten years have taught me anything, it’s this: sometimes the best thing you can do is make something beautiful out of what tried to break you.

Pastor Warren Muir, Jr.

“Answering the Call”, Mark 1:16-20 (NKJV), Luke 9:23 (NIV), Ephesians 4:12 (NKJV), Ephesians 2:10 (NKJV), Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV), Hebrews 11:6 (NKJV), 

1. The Call is personal. God has designed and gifted each of us uniquely for a specific purpose.

2. The Call is pricey. 

3. The Call is powerful.

The Creativity Continues—Just in a Different Way

Good morning!

Lately, life has felt like a mix of starting over and slowing down at the same time.

I’m finally settled into my new home, and little by little, I’ve started making it feel like mine. Not perfect—just more me.

Right now, my bedroom has been my focus.

I added an accent wall with molding and wallpaper, painted the wall behind the bed black, and brought in a few mirrors and sconces to give it a more moody, calm feel. It’s still coming together (and yes… those drapes are temporary), but it already feels different.

More intentional. More peaceful.

And I think that’s what I’ve been craving lately—not just in my home, but in my life too.

Because if I’m being honest, behind all of this, I’ve been in a bit of a pause.

Not the kind where everything stops—but the kind where you start questioning what you’re doing and why.

This brand started as something I needed at the time.A distraction. A creative outlet. A way to feel like myself again after going through a season of grief and transition.

And for a while, it served that purpose.

But lately, I’ve felt a shift.

It’s not enough for me to just create anymore—I want it to mean something.

I don’t want to just post or sell or stay “relevant.”I want to build something that feels aligned with who I’m becoming.

And the truth is… I don’t fully have the answer yet.

So instead of forcing it, I’m choosing to sit in that space for a minute.

To focus on my home.

To focus on growing into the version of myself I feel called to become.

To let things unfold instead of trying to control every step.

The shop is still here. The products are still available.

But they’re no longer the center of everything.

This space is shifting into something more personal—more real.

A place where I can share life as it is now: motherhood, mental health, creating a home that feels good to live in, and figuring things out as I go.

And if you’re in a season where things feel uncertain too—where you’re rethinking things, slowing down, or trying to realign—you’re not alone in that.

I’m right there with you.

For now, I’ll keep working on my space, swapping out that terrible builder-grade light (seriously… it has to go), and trying to survive these unexpected hot flashes that I definitely owe some past apologies for.

Life looks a little different these days.

But I think that’s the point.

It’s still unfolding.

—Ashley