Remodeling and Reality: When Dreams Become Chaos
What started out as a hopeful project quickly spiraled into one of the most emotionally difficult times of my life. The remodel was supposed to be about making things better—for me, for Jerry, and for my stepfather Larry, who had moved in. Jerry thought adding a craft room would be a fun, exciting gift. But it wasn’t just a creative space—it was a necessity. And it turned into chaos.
I wanted to believe Larry would appreciate us opening our home to him, but instead, he paraded around in a bathrobe and slippers, calling himself Hugh Hefner, and complained nonstop about the contractors. He tried to run the show like he owned the place, making life unbearable. He didn’t want my help—he wanted control.
The stress grew unbearable. At times I felt like running away, and truthfully, I did. I took trips to Chicago, New York City, and Michigan just to escape the madness. But the worst part wasn’t even the remodel—it was what came after. Larry’s behavior crossed lines I still can’t fully process. And when he locked Jerry and me out of our own home, I had to call hospice to remove him. That broke something in Jerry—and in me.
Death, Guilt, and the Loss of My Marriage
When Larry died, I hoped for relief. Instead, I was left with even more trauma. Finding my used underwear hidden in Larry’s coat pocket and under his mattress sent me spiraling into questions and pain I wasn’t prepared to face. I had done everything right—I had been there for him when no one else would. And yet, there was no appreciation, no redemption. Just more betrayal.
Then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing me, Jerry died one week later.
There was no closure. Our marriage had been fraying under the weight of Larry’s intrusion, and we never got to repair it. Jerry hadn’t helped me when I needed him most—he let Larry run roughshod over our lives. I felt abandoned. But even in the middle of my grief and disillusionment, I knew I had to survive. There was no time to fall apart.
The world didn’t pause for me to catch my breath. The remodel was still unfinished. The house felt empty and haunted. But I stayed. And I kept going—not because I was strong, but because I didn’t see another option.
The Greenhouse, the Garden, and Starting Over Again
The garden should have been a source of peace, but even that season it brought sorrow. I had big plans—two greenhouses, one to repair and one small pop-up as a backup. I was behind schedule, but determined. Then the aquaponics system failed due to clogged tubing. One more thing. One more setback.
It mirrored how I felt inside—clogged, blocked, overwhelmed. But like everything else, I rolled up my sleeves and fixed what I could. I replaced the hoses with PVC and got the system working again. Lettuce and spinach started to grow, and for a moment, there was hope.
And then I lost all my chickens. A fox wiped out the entire flock—likely because Jerry hadn’t closed the coop and I was gone to the Garden Writers' Symposium. Another loss. Another punch in the gut. But I didn’t let it stop me. I got two older hens and six baby chicks and started over.
Because when you’ve lost everything once, starting over stops being scary. It becomes second nature.
Living With the Past, Rooted in the Present
My stepfather moving in brought up everything I thought I’d buried. The abuse. The control. The manipulation. I wanted so badly for him to appreciate what I was doing, to see that I was trying. But it was never enough.
It never had been.
As a child, I wasn’t allowed outside at home. I’d sit in my closet just to try to feel safe. But even then, I wasn’t. I was always waiting for the next shoe to drop, for the next slap, or belt, or scream. My grandparents’ house was the only place I was allowed to breathe—and they’re part of why I homestead now.
It’s not just about growing food. It’s about building peace. A life where no one gets to lock me out, no one gets to tell me I’m not enough.
Do I wish things had gone differently? Yes. Do I wish my mother and Larry had been different people? Absolutely. But I also know now that I don’t have to carry their shame anymore.