If I’m being honest, I thought I’d be living in my house by now, not just working on it every weekend. I thought I’d have more time for writing, more space for balance, and maybe even the energy to date again. But lately, life has looked like plaster dust, paint-stained hands, and exhaustion that lingers. Somewhere between chasing deadlines and scrubbing paint out of my eyebrows, I realized maybe progress isn’t always about getting ahead. Sometimes it’s just about holding on. And honestly, Mondays haven’t been much easier, because the Bengals can’t seem to win.
Lately, life has been a lot. Between my full-time job and this house project that somehow turned into a full-time second job, I’ve spent nearly every weekend knee-deep in projects that never seem to end. Some days, I sit on the subfloor surrounded by half-finished walls, paint cans, and tangled cords, wondering if I’ll ever get there. Then I take a breath and remind myself that even slow progress is still progress.
Hell, I’m not even dating. Honestly, I barely have time to focus on anything other than getting this house ready and trying to be present with family on the weekends. Truthfully, most of those weekends are spent at the house, sanding, painting, hauling, and cleaning. It’s been tough. There are moments I feel frustrated and worn down, but there are also moments of pride when I look around and realize how far we’ve come. Somewhere in between those extremes, I’m learning to appreciate the process.
And yet, through it all, I’ve been reminded how lucky I am to have the family I do. My dad and uncles have worked tirelessly to make this move even possible, showing up without complaint and putting in countless hours to help me turn this house into a home. My dad and one of my uncles are retired, yet they’ve spent so much of their time here, working as if it were their own project. The other uncle still works full-time, but somehow finds the energy to redo all of the electric, making sure everything is safe and sound. Together, they’ve repaired plaster cracks, patched walls, and brought new life to this old house, each one bringing their own kind of strength and patience to the process. My mom has been right there with us too, scrubbing my basement raw and ridding the place of every last bit of trash she can find. She finds joy in making things clean again. They’ve all done this without a fridge with cold beer, since I don’t even have appliances in the house yet. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. They never expect recognition or thanks, they just keep showing up and doing the work. Their quiet commitment, laughter, and love mean more to me than they’ll ever know.
As for the house itself, let’s just say it’s been a journey. I’ll save my house-buying nightmares for another story, but here’s the short version. The purchase was made in good faith, and unfortunately, it turned out to be a very deceitful sale on the sellers’ part. I won’t go into detail right now, because that story deserves its own post and probably its own bottle of wine. What I will say is that this house has tested my patience and my faith in ways I never expected. At one point, I was so overwhelmed that I found myself sick to my stomach, literally throwing up in my own driveway over what I had just purchased. But even through that moment of disbelief, I’ve tried to focus on the good, to find the lesson buried under the mess. This house has shown me that sometimes strength looks like starting over when you don’t want to, and holding on when you can’t see the finish line.
For so long, I measured progress by what was finished, the checked boxes and the moments I could point to and say, that’s done. But lately, I’m realizing that progress can also look like catching your breath, giving yourself grace, and trusting that the work happening behind the scenes still matters.
Maybe you thought you’d be somewhere else by now too. Maybe your own version of moving in feels far away. Maybe you’re building something new, or piecing yourself back together after something hard. If so, I hope this reminds you that the middle isn’t wasted.
This blog has always been my outlet, my safe place to process, share, and connect with others who just get it. Writing here helps me remember that progress isn’t about how fast you move, it’s about who you’re becoming while you wait.
So even if your story doesn’t look the way you pictured, it’s still unfolding in ways you can’t yet see, and one day, this chapter will make perfect sense. The dust will settle, the pieces will fall into place, and you’ll look back and realize that every hard day was building something stronger in you.
I’ve learned that progress doesn’t always look like movement, sometimes it looks like staying. Staying when it would have been easier to give up, learning through the setbacks, and trusting that you are still becoming who you are meant to be. I could have turned around and resold this home when things went wrong, but I stayed. I stayed because I believe in what it is becoming, and maybe that is what real progress is all about.
With love,
Kelsey
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