I think women are far too afraid of changing the room. And I don’t just mean the room itself. I mean changing the energy. Rearranging the furniture. Painting the walls. Letting things go. Beginning again. I think somewhere along the way we’ve become convinced that once a space is “done”, that’s it. Finished. Locked in. As though moving a chair somehow means we’ve failed at making the right decision the first time. But what if the whole point of a home is that it evolves alongside you?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with rearranging rooms. Even as a child, I was constantly moving things around — shifting my bed to another wall, dragging furniture into strange positions just to see how it felt. I didn’t realise it then, but what I was really doing was learning how deeply space affects us emotionally.
A room can energise you. It can calm you. It can hold tension. It can suffocate you. It can completely change your mood without you even realising why. Yet so many of us live inside spaces that no longer reflect who we are because we’re too afraid to disrupt them. We keep the couch where it’s always been. We keep the safe paint colour because it “goes with everything”. We leave rooms exactly as they are because changing them feels indulgent or expensive or risky.
But honestly? Some of the most transformative things I’ve ever done to a space have cost almost nothing. Paint, for one, is magic. I genuinely think it’s one of the most underrated creative tools we have access to. Throw it on the walls. Do the ceiling. Paint the room one colour top to bottom and watch what happens to the atmosphere. And if you hate it in six months? Paint over it. We get so attached to permanence when so much of life is actually about movement.
One of the most transformative spaces I ever lived in was a penthouse apartment in Auckland’s historic Endeans Building at the bottom of Queen Street. The building itself had this incredible layered history — rebuilt after fire, reinvented over decades, constantly evolving — and I think that’s partly why I fell so deeply in love with it. But what mattered most wasn’t creating some perfectly polished interior. It was creating a feeling. I wanted the space to feel immersive. Alive. Emotional. So I experimented constantly. Furniture moved every other week. Walls were repainted. Fabric was everywhere — draped across windows, thrown across furniture, layered over bedding. Paint ended up on furniture, vases, pots, canvas, floors. The more I gave myself permission to play with the space, the more I realised how much freedom exists in simply trying something.
“We’ve become so visually saturated by immaculate interiors online that people are scared to trust their own instincts anymore … the most interesting spaces I’ve ever walked into are the ones that feel personal. Unexpected. Slightly undone.”
That’s the thing I wish more women understood: your home does not need to be perfect to be beautiful. We’ve become so visually saturated by immaculate interiors online that people are scared to trust their own instincts anymore. But some of the most interesting spaces I’ve ever walked into are the ones that feel personal. Unexpected. Slightly undone. A stack of art books on the floor. A chair covered in paint marks. Fresh flowers shoved into an oversized vase. Silverware collected from antique stores and used every single day instead of hidden away for special occasions.
One of my favourite things to do is wander through thrift stores, salvage yards, and antique shops looking for pieces that feel interesting rather than expensive.
And I’m deeply obsessed with the Wagner drop cloths from Bunnings. They’re bloody heaven — relaxed, soft, beautifully imperfect. Curtains, tablecloths, bed valances. Wash it, live with it, wear it in. The beauty is, it only gets better with age. You do not need a renovation budget to transform the energy of a room. You need curiosity. You need courage. And you need to stop being so afraid of getting it wrong.
Move the table. Shift the lamp. Paint the pot. Buy the art that makes you feel something — not the piece someone told you you should have. Bring branches in from the garden and throw them into a giant vase. Try something unexpected. See how it feels.
Because sometimes the smallest shift in a space can create the biggest shift in you.
Changing space has always mirrored change within myself. Every major chapter of my life has come with a shift in environment — new rooms, new cities, new landscapes. And every time, creating a home became a way of grounding myself inside uncertainty. Not by controlling everything. But by participating in the process of becoming.
I’ve recently moved — a new home, a new chapter, a completely blank canvas — and honestly, I’m so excited by it. Starting over can feel uncomfortable until you stop seeing it as lack and start seeing it as possibility. Suddenly the emptiness becomes inspiring. Ideas start forming. There’s something beautiful about building slowly, collecting intentionally, letting a home unfold over time instead of demanding immediate perfection.
The most memorable spaces are rarely the most expensive ones. They’re the spaces where people felt free. Free to gather, to create, to rest, to express themselves fully.
That’s what I want you to embrace.
Not perfection.
Not rules.
Just the courage to trust yourself enough to change the room.
Words: Sarah Jayne Kavali
Photography: Luke Foley-Martin/Supplied
