Transformation Stories: Amazing Whole-House Renovation ResultsWhy Light Design Should Be a Priority in Any Home Upgrade 20
This one stupid tap wasn't even completely busted. Just slow. You had to turn it a bit sideways and then back a hair to the right to get usable water. If you messed up the angle, it'd shriek. Not aggressive, but oddly high-pitched — like a kettle screaming. I let it go for too long. Blamed the plumbing. Blamed the apartment. Blamed everything except myself.
One rainy evening, I was home early, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I am tired of this space.
It wasn't a breakdown. More like a slow itch that had finally spread to my ribs. The drawers were loose, the bench was barely usable, and the cupboard door was my arch nemesis every time I bent down. I'd started to flinch early.
I pulled out a receipt back and wrote “new tap” at the top. Beneath that: “actual counter space,” then “move light switch?” The question mark wasn't accidental. The switch really was behind the fridge.
I told myself I'd keep it simple. Just swap out the tap. Easy. But standing in the plumbing section three days later, holding a tap, I somehow ended up with a brochure for splashbacks under my arm. And then came the demolition.
I didn't call a tradesperson. I probably should've. Instead, I watched a video at 1am from my friend Rory, who told me to "be careful-ish" Not exactly the OSHA standard, but I ran with it.
Taking down that upper cabinet felt like a rebellion. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that made excuses.
The project spiraled. Not in a disaster way, just... inevitably. I spent three hours debating grout colors. Got into a minor argument with a guy on a Reddit thread about silicone gaps. I still don't really trust epoxy, but I'm convinced he was wrong.
And the new tap? Still makes a sound. Different sound now. Softer. Almost charming. I think I read more like it. Or maybe I've given up.
It's not magazine-worthy. The tile near the bin's not square, and the outlet by the toaster feels off-balance. But when I walk in, I don't duck. That alone is something.
And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, says a lot.