This is what I bought. This dark paneled master suite with old paneling and linoleum tiled floors. This is the part of the house that scared me. The main floor offered light and openness—breathability at it’s best. The master bedroom and bath felt like a cave and for a long time I could only look at Brad and say, “The upstairs is all you. I have no idea what to do up there.” Uhm, I could touch the ceiling when I stood on the tips of my toes. I am not a tall woman, y’all. Not good. The situation was not good.

The rest of the house, well, the vision for everything else came so easily. I thought once the walls and ceilings were out it would feel better. But even with the walls down and ceiling gone, I still quizzed Brad as to how we were going to make this space feel better.I was not going to be able to “live with” the low ceiling. I knew it. Brad knew it. It was just all wrong and there was no avoiding it. I mean, call me dramatic, but I would catch myself drawing big deep breaths when I was up there. Because I felt trapped.

So, Brad did what any good contractor would do. He told me there was nowhere to go but up. So, I did what any good client would do. I said, “Let’s go up.” And then he tore the place apart. I came home to this one afternoon. Uhm, this is not up. This is down. I confess. A wave of nausea hit me when I saw this. Because, quite frankly, well… I mean, I don’t know… how do you fix this?

Miranda Lambert would tell you that you fix this “nail by nail and board by board.” Miranda would be right. After the taking apart comes the putting back together. And immediately we concluded that taking the roof of would be the smarted decision ever.

One side of the second floor went from this:

To this:

Brad was right. We had nowhere to go but up. I’m glad we did.


Thanks for reading. More before and afters coming!