artificial insemination syringe
Home is where the imperfections reside.
Imagine stepping into my home office and feeling as if you were gliding into a tropical twilight. The walls are a warm peach — not the trendy Millennial pink, but a hue kissed by golden rays of sunlight. It’s playful and vibrant. There are beach paintings, a couple of plants, and a bookshelf filled with stories. It brings me peace. Or it would, if not for the two large, otter-shaped patches of exposed drywall that greet me every time I sit at my desk.
In a bout of home organization fueled by endless scrolling through DesignerGram (the design sphere of IG), I tore off a stick-on bulletin board, taking a chunk of the wall with it. After a few half-hearted repair attempts, I shrugged it off and moved on. Now, every time I see that exposed drywall, I think, “Hmm. I should get to that someday.” It would be one thing if this wall mishap were an isolated incident. In truth, my entire home is a little bit rundown.
There’s the front door handle that jiggles precariously in my hand whenever I open it. The screen has a hole in it, and the kitchen window flies open with the enthusiasm of a mansplainer at a corporate retreat. Often, while outside, I spot bunnies darting out from under our deck so effortlessly that I suspect they’ve set up residence in our backyard. So, to sum it up, there are countless minor annoyances throughout my home that appear broken — or at least partially functional. And I’m in no hurry to fix them.
After all, the spaces we see online and in glossy publications are pristine because they are meticulously designed to convey a specific image. These curated visuals are intentionally crafted. As many Instagram creators admit, life outside the frame often includes Cheerios scattered on the floor, closets overflowing with winter coats and board games, and rooms that are far from complete. Having spent time in design media, I understand the immense effort and sometimes money that goes into creating a flawless photo. I appreciate the artistry behind a social media masterpiece — but I no longer aspire to it in real life. Just like most fictions, Instagram-worthy spaces tell only part of the narrative.
Growing up, my home was far from a Home & Garden dream. It was cluttered from years of immigrant accumulation, often dusty, and filled with random items that no longer functioned (think answering machines from the 80s, old dishwashers, electric tea kettles). But I found joy there, maybe even because of it. Truth be told, we weren’t a home improvement family; if anything, we embraced home deterioration. We used our house and broke things in it, usually coping with the inconveniences for months until we saved enough for repairs or replacements. I didn’t know any better back then. To me, a home is meant to be in a constant state of change.
Recently, I read Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver, which tells the story of a house literally crumbling around its inhabitants, featuring exposed gaps in the brick where icicles form in winter. This mirrors the family’s own dysfunction and impending separation. After finishing the book, I looked at the odd, broken elements in my home with a mix of unease and a hypochondriac’s dread. Does that old watermark mean our ceiling is about to cave in? I hear scrabbling in the walls, along with a faint yet distinct squeak. Is this the night squirrels might decide to munch on my face?
In reality, I don’t often notice these minor annoyances unless guests are over (or unless I’m reading some mildly dystopian domestic drama). Over time, they blend into the background, so to speak. I know I could spend a few hours at a hardware store one weekend (a waking nightmare for someone like me who isn’t handy) and resolve most of these issues. But what I prefer to do when we have time to ourselves, free from school, work, or family commitments, is to relish the luxury of unencumbered freedom.
I could spend hours on the phone with a screen replacement service … or I could grab some ice cream sandwiches and draw chalk rainbows with my child. I could replace the cabinet handle that swings like a pendulum at the slightest touch. Or I could take a long bath while propping up my laptop to binge-watch the new season of Selling Sunset. To some, these choices may seem trivial or even irresponsible. But to me, they are the small choices that help redirect my overanxious mind from the flaws within my home to the things that are truly perfect to me — my family and our love for one another.
Many of us live in imperfect spaces. And we don’t simply endure them — we thrive. Some of us are fortunate that the broken aspects of our homes are relatively minor, albeit annoying to a perfectionist’s eye. Even though we could fix everything (there are just so many things), sometimes we choose not to. Life consists of thousands of small daily decisions. Time spent on DIY repairs could mean more time for hobbies, dinner parties, or contemplating the bunnies that are surely overtaking the backyard. And I feel confident that I’m winning in those exchanges.
Of course, for significant issues like a broken air conditioner or washing machine, we take action. (By which I mean we hire professionals, because — as I mentioned — I’m not handy.) But the little stuff? I’ll let that slide for now. Maybe someday I’ll pull out my spackle and find that old can of peachy-pink paint from the crawl space. But for today, I’ll open that kitchen window with the faulty spring and breathe in the fresh air. For all our domestic imperfections, one thing my family excels at is simply living in our home. After all, what’s the saying? Home is where the broken stuff is.
If you’re curious about home insemination, check out this post for more insights. And if you’re looking for a comprehensive resource on pregnancy, Healthline offers excellent information here.