PIXOMNI

type

status

date

1. Embrace the Gospel of Minimalism: Curated Living in Compact Forms

First off: Let’s kill the myth right now. Minimalism here isn’t “throw away all your favorite things and sit on a wooden crate like you’re in a hipster Instagram post.” I’ve seen that trend go viral—people with empty living rooms, one plant, and a single chair—and it just looks sad. Like someone moved out but forgot to take their furniture. This is minimalism with heart—essentialism, if you wanna get fancy with the term. It’s just asking: “Do I actually use this? Or did I buy it because it looked cool at Target and now it’s collecting dust?”

I did this last year with my kitchen, and let me tell you—it was a game-changer. I had 12 mugs. Twelve! Most of them were from random places: a work conference where the coffee was terrible, a birthday party where I forgot to bring a gift (so I stole the mug), a gas station in Ohio (don’t judge—it had a cute cactus on it, and I was lost). But here’s the thing: I only used 3. The chipped blue one my sister gave me for my 25th birthday (she painted the handle, so it’s lopsided but perfect). A plain white one that fits my morning oat milk latte exactly (no more spills). And a mug that says “I Survived Another Meeting” (relatable, right? I use it on Mondays). The other 9? They were just stacking up in the cabinet, making it impossible to reach the ones I loved. So I bagged ’em up and donated them to a local thrift store—hoping someone else would love that Ohio cactus mug as much as I did (briefly).

Suddenly, my cabinet felt huge. I could see my plates without moving a mountain of mugs. It was like a weight lifted—both literally (that cabinet was heavy!) and mentally. No more digging around for the one I wanted. No more feeling guilty for letting perfectly good mugs go unused.

The key? Be intentional. Keep the stuff that serves a purpose or makes you smile. Ditch the rest. Your small space will breathe easier—and so will you. Trust me, you won’t miss that 10th mug.

2. Verticality as Virtuosity: Elevating Space Through Architectural Height

Here’s a secret we all forget sometimes: Walls aren’t just for hanging pictures of your dog (though, let’s be real, those are important). They’re like extra floor space—just… up. Way up.

I used to pile my cookbooks on the kitchen counter. Big ones, small ones, ones I’d never even opened (sorry, Baking for Dummies—you were good in theory, but I can’t even bake cookies without burning them). They took up half the counter space, and I could never find the one I wanted when I needed it. I’d be digging through the stack, knocking over a recipe book about kale chips (who even eats kale chips?), just to find my favorite pasta recipe—the one my grandma gave me, with her handwriting in the margins. Frustrating doesn’t even cover it.

Then my friend Lila—who lives in a 400 sq ft tiny house and somehow has more storage than I do—came over. She brought over a bag of chips (she’s a good friend) and looked at my counter, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Why not put shelves up to the ceiling? Hello?” Duh. Why didn’t I think of that? I blame the kale chip cookbook fogging my brain.

So I went to the hardware store, bought some light wood shelves (I picked the cheapest ones—no shame), and had my dad help me install them—floor to ceiling. I stacked the cookbooks there, added a few small plants on the top shelf (the ones I haven’t killed yet), and even got a cute little rolling ladder (the kind that looks like it belongs in a library, not my garage) to reach the top ones. Now, when I need that pasta recipe, I just roll the ladder over—feels fancy, even if I’m wearing sweatpants.

Now? My counter is clear. No more stacking, no more digging. The room feels taller, too—like the ceiling isn’t squishing me every time I’m making toast. And bonus: The cookbooks look like a little display, not a cluttered mess. Pro tip: If you’re renting and can’t drill holes (been there, done that—landlords are weird about holes), command strips work for lighter shelves. Just don’t put your heaviest pots up there—my friend once tried to hang a cast-iron skillet on a command strip, and it fell. Let’s just say the wall still has a mark. Learn from her mistake.

3. Multi-Functional Furniture: The Architectural Swiss Army Knife

Let’s talk about the unsung hero of small spaces: furniture that does double duty. This isn’t the old fold-out couch your grandma had—you know, the one that felt like sleeping on a rock covered in springs. I’ve suffered through that. Once, I slept on my grandma’s couch for a week and woke up with a backache that lasted a month. Never again. Modern multi-functional pieces? They’re actually nice. Like, “I’d be happy to use this every day” nice.

I have a sofa bed in my living room. It looks like a normal, cozy sofa—neutral linen fabric, soft cushions, the kind of couch you wanna curl up on with a movie and a bowl of popcorn. But pull the handle, and it turns into a full-size bed. My sister stayed over last month, and she walked in, saw it, and said, “This is better than my hotel bed.” Win. No more her sleeping on the floor with a pillow that’s too flat (she’s 5’10”—that pillow was a joke). Though, she did accidentally pull the handle too hard the first time, and it popped open fast—scared Mabel so bad she hid under the bed for an hour. Oops.

Then there’s my coffee table. It’s a simple wooden one, but lift the top, and it’s a giant storage bin. I keep blankets in there (the fuzzy ones I use when it’s cold, which is always—my apartment has terrible heating), remotes (no more digging through couch cushions to find the TV clicker), and even my laptop when I’m not using it. It’s like a secret hiding spot for all the little things that used to clutter up my coffee table—like that neon plant pot I mentioned earlier (it’s in there, don’t tell anyone).

And ottomans? Game changers. I have two—they’re small, but they’re perfect for extra seats when friends come over. Lift the top, and I can hide my shoes (the ones I wear every day but don’t wanna leave by the door) or my workout gear (no more yoga mat rolled up in the corner, collecting dust). It’s like having secret storage everywhere.

Just make sure you pick pieces you actually like. You don’t have to sacrifice style for function. There’s no point in buying a sofa bed that’s ugly just because it’s multi-functional—you’ll hate looking at it every day. Find something that fits your vibe, then let it work for you.

4. The Luminosity of Light: Architectural Illumination for Spatial Expansion

Light is everything. I used to think dark walls were “sophisticated.” Like, I saw a Pinterest post of a living room with deep gray walls and a velvet couch, and I thought, “That’s the vibe. I need that.” So I went to the paint store, bought the darkest gray they had (it was called “Midnight Storm”—so dramatic), and painted my living room.

Big mistake. Even on sunny days, it felt like a cave. I’d turn on all the lights—the overhead, the table lamps, even the string lights I have above the window—and it still looked dull. I’d walk in after work, drop my bag, and think, “Why is this room so depressing?” Mabel stopped napping in the living room—she’d go hide in the bedroom instead, where the walls were still white. If your cat judges your decor choices, you know you messed up.

Then I caved and repainted it soft off-white (it’s called “Cloudy Day”—way less dramatic, way more cheerful). Oh my gosh—total transformation. Sunlight bounces around the room like it’s invited to stay. The space feels bigger, brighter, and way less gloomy. Mabel started napping on the couch again. Win-win.

If you can’t paint (renters, I see you—landlords can be tricky about paint colors, even if “Midnight Storm” was a bad idea), light-colored rugs and curtains help. I have a cream-colored rug in my living room now, and it makes the whole space feel lighter—even when my laundry is piled on the armchair (don’t judge, we all have those days). And skip the harsh overhead lights—they make everything look flat, like a grocery store aisle. Instead, use table lamps and string lights (the warm white kind, not the neon ones that make you feel like you’re in a bar) for a cozy glow. Trust me, it makes a world of difference. I even keep a small lamp on my bookshelf—turn it on in the evening, and the room feels like a hug.

5. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Architectural Illusions of Depth and Dimension

Mirrors are like magic for small spaces. I’m not talking about the tiny one you hang in the bathroom—though that’s useful too (especially when you’re trying to put on eyeliner). I’m talking about a big, thin mirror that makes your room feel twice as big.

I hung one opposite my living room window last year. It’s not anything fancy—just a plain black frame, nothing too flashy (I got it from a thrift store for $20, and it had a small scratch, but I covered it with a sticker). But when the sun comes through the window, it reflects off the mirror and fills the room with light. It also reflects the tree outside my window—the one with the squirrels that Mabel loves to watch—so it feels like I have two windows instead of one. My living room went from “cozy but small” to “wait, is this actually bigger?” in one afternoon.

And Mabel? She loves it. She’ll sit in front of it sometimes, staring at her reflection like she’s checking if her fur looks good. Once, she tried to bat at it—thought it was another cat—and knocked over a candle (don’t worry, it was unlit). Cute, but also… relatable. Who hasn’t stood in front of a mirror and adjusted their hair 10 times before leaving the house?

You don’t need a giant mirror, though. A medium-sized one works too—just make sure it’s opposite a light source. Window, lamp, whatever. That way, it bounces light around, not just darkness. And avoid the funhouse mirrors—those are great for a laugh at the carnival, but they’ll make your space look weird, not bigger. One good mirror is all you need. I’ve seen people hang three small mirrors in a row, too—looks like a gallery wall, and still does the trick.

6. Open Shelving: Architectural Transparency and Display

Open shelving scared me at first. I thought, “All my dishes will just look messy. What if I can’t keep them neat? What if someone comes over and sees my chipped cereal bowl?” (The one I dropped last year—oops.) But here’s the thing I learned: When you can see your stuff, you’re more likely to put it away. No more shoving things to the back of a cabinet and forgetting about them (like that can of chickpeas I found last week—expired 2022).

I installed open shelves in my kitchen for plates, bowls, and my favorite mugs (the three I kept, remember?). I stacked the plates by size—small ones on top, big ones on bottom—lined up the mugs in a row, and even added a small succulent on top (don’t worry, this one’s still alive… so far). Now it looks like a little curated display, not a jumble of dishes. And I actually use the dishes more—no more digging to the back of a cabinet for my favorite cereal bowl. I see it, I grab it, done.

At first, I was paranoid about it looking messy. I’d rearrange the plates every day if one was slightly off. But then I realized—no one cares. My friends don’t come over and judge my slightly crooked plate stack. They come over for pizza and to pet Mabel. So I chilled out. Now, if a plate is a little askew? Whatever. It’s real life.

A word of caution, though: Don’t put your messy Tupperware collection here. No one needs to see that stack of lids that don’t match (we all have that stack—admit it). Save the open shelves for things that look nice and you use. Plates, mugs, pretty glasses, a small plant. Your space will feel lighter, I promise. And if you’re worried about dust? Wipe them down once a week. It’s not that hard. I used to think open shelves would be a dust magnet, but it’s really not a big deal—way easier than cleaning out that expired chickpea cabinet.

7. Clever Concealment: Architectural Ingenuity in Storage Solutions

If open shelving is about showing off the nice stuff, this tip is about hiding the messy stuff—and making it look intentional. No more plastic bins under the bed (though, let’s be real, I still have one… but it’s a nice bin—black, not clear).

I have a window seat in my living room. It’s cozy—plush cushions, a soft throw blanket, perfect for reading on a rainy day—but lift the top, and it’s a giant storage bin. I keep all my winter blankets there (the thick ones I only use when it’s below 50 degrees—so, 8 months out of the year in my city) and extra pillows. No more piles of blankets on the couch, no more digging through a closet to find the one I want. It’s all right there, hidden away.

Once, I forgot what I stored in there. I opened it up looking for my favorite hoodie (the one with the hole in the elbow) and found a pair of jeans I haven’t worn since 2019. They were too small, so I donated them—but it was a fun little “time capsule” moment.

Then there’s the space under my stairs. Yes, even tiny houses have stairs sometimes—mine leads to a loft bedroom (which is just a bed and a small dresser, but it feels fancy). I had a friend build small drawers there—nothing fancy, just simple wood ones—and now I use them for shoes, socks, and even Mabel’s toys. No more shoes by the door (tripping hazard), no more cat toys scattered across the floor (Mabel still knocks them out sometimes, but at least I have a place to put them back). It’s a game-changer.

My mom came over last month, looked around, and said, “Where do you keep all your stuff? This place is so tidy.” I just smiled. She still hasn’t found the hidden drawer in my entryway—it’s built into the wall, right next to the door, and I use it for keys, mail, and my sunglasses. Total lifesaver. The best part? These storage spots don’t look like storage. They look like part of the house. No more ugly plastic bins—hallelujah.

8. Scale and Proportion: Architectural Harmony in Miniature

Here’s a mistake I’ve made so many times—like, embarrassing levels of many: buying furniture that’s too big. I once bought a king-size bed for my tiny bedroom. Let me repeat that: A king-size bed. In a room that’s barely 10x12 feet. I could barely walk around it—had to climb over the side to get in. It felt like the bed was living in the room, and I was just visiting. Every time I opened the closet door, I’d hit the bed. Every time I tried to put my suitcase on the floor, there was no space. It was a disaster.

I had to ask a neighbor to help me move it out—he’s a big guy, and even he struggled to get it through the door. He laughed the whole time. I wanted to die.

Lesson learned: Size matters. For small spaces, go for furniture that’s proportional. A two-seater sofa instead of a three-seater. A round coffee table (no sharp corners to bump into! I’ve bumped my hip on square tables one too many times) instead of a big square one. Even small armchairs—they’re cozy, but they don’t take over the room.

If you’re not sure, measure. Measure the space, then measure the furniture. Write it down—don’t just guess. I keep a tape measure in my purse now (yes, really) because I’ve made that mistake too many times. Once, I almost bought a dining table that was 6 feet long—for a kitchen that’s 8 feet wide. The tape measure saved me.

And if you can, test it out. Sit on the sofa. See if you can walk around the coffee table. Can you open the closet door without hitting the bed? It sounds silly, but it’ll save you from that “why did I buy this?” regret (and the embarrassment of asking your neighbor to move a king-size bed).

I now have a queen-size bed in my loft—still big enough to be comfortable, but small enough that I can walk around it. And my sofa? It’s a two-seater, but it’s deep enough that I can curl up with a blanket. Perfect. No more climbing over furniture. No more feeling like my stuff is taking over.

9. Zoning Without Walls: Architectural Definition Through Spatial Cues

Open floor plans are great for small spaces—they feel bigger, less boxed in—but sometimes you need to know, “This is where I watch TV, and this is where I eat.” Walls would take up space, so instead, use little “hints” to define zones. Think of it like giving your brain a map: “This area is for relaxing, that one’s for eating.”

I have a big, soft rug in my living room. It’s a light beige color, with a subtle pattern, and it’s where my sofa and coffee table are. That’s my “relax zone.” When I step onto that rug, my brain knows it’s time to unwind—watch a show, read a book, pet Mabel (she loves being petted on that rug). It has a small stain from when I spilled wine last month, but I just put a pillow over it. No one notices, and it’s part of the charm.

Then, in the dining area, I hung a pendant light over the table. It’s a simple gold one, nothing too fancy, but it’s like a sign that says, “Hey, this is where we eat.” No walls needed—just little cues. When I turn it on, I automatically think, “Time to sit down and eat,” instead of eating on the couch (which I still do sometimes, but hey—progress).

Furniture arrangement helps too. I placed my sofa so it faces the TV, but it also creates a natural path to the dining area. No more weaving through chairs to get to the fridge. No more tripping over the coffee table when I’m carrying a plate of food (I’ve done that—pasta everywhere. Not fun). It’s all about flow—making the space feel organized, not chaotic.

I also use a small bookshelf to separate my “office nook” (which is just a corner of the living room) from the rest of the space. It’s not a wall, but it gives a little separation. My desk is behind it, so when I’m working, I feel like I have my own space—but I can still hear the TV if I want to (great for background noise during boring meetings). Perfect for working from home without feeling like I’m in an office.

10. Natural Light Infusion: Architectural Openings to the Outdoors

Natural light is like a superpower for small houses. The more you have, the bigger the space feels. My friend Mia has a tiny house with floor-to-ceiling windows, and when you walk in, you forget it’s small—you’re too busy looking at the garden outside (she has roses, and they smell amazing). It feels like the house is part of the outdoors, not separate from it.

If you can’t add more windows (hello, rental restrictions or budget—we feel you), skylights are a great alternative. I have one in my bathroom—small, but it lets in so much light. No more dark showers where I can’t find my shampoo (I’ve used body wash as shampoo before—don’t judge). It’s like having a little piece of sky above me. Just… don’t forget to clean it. Mine got dirty last winter—bird poop and all—and I didn’t realize how much light it let in until I wiped it down. I stood on a chair, balanced with one hand, and scrubbed it with a sponge. Almost fell, but it was worth it. The bathroom went from “meh” to “wow, this is bright” in 10 minutes.

And keep your windows uncluttered. Heavy curtains block light—go for sheer ones, or even no curtains if you can (privacy permitting, of course). I have sheer white curtains in my living room—they let in all the sunlight, but still give me a little privacy (so my neighbors can’t see me eating pizza on the couch in my pajamas). No more dark, dreary days. Let that sunlight in! It makes everything feel better—your mood, your space, even your morning coffee tastes better when it’s in the sun.

11. Indoor-Outdoor Continuity: Architectural Flow and Spatial Extension

Here’s a trick that feels like cheating: Make your outdoor space part of your indoor space. It’s like adding extra square footage without building anything. Genius, right?

I have sliding glass doors in my living room that open to a small patio. It’s not a big patio—just big enough for a small table and two chairs—but when I push the doors all the way open, it’s like my living room grows. Suddenly, my small space feels twice as big. I used the same flooring inside and out—wood-look tiles—so your eye just flows from one space to the other. No more “indoor” and “outdoor”—it’s just one big room.

The patio gets a little windy, though. I had to weight down the cushions with a rock I found on the beach last summer (it’s a pretty rock—smooth, gray). Now they don’t blow away, and it adds a little personality.

And my outdoor furniture? It’s the same style as my indoor sofa—neutral, cozy, with soft cushions. So when the doors are open, it feels like an extension of my couch. I even keep a blanket and a few cushions outside. So I can sit there and read, or have a cup of coffee in the morning, and it feels like I’m still in my living room—just with fresh air. Perfect for summer days—no need to “go out” when the outdoors comes to you.

I also added a few potted plants on the patio—same kind as inside (pothos and snake plants, the ones I haven’t killed). So it feels cohesive. No more jarring changes when you step outside. It’s all just… flow. My friends love it—we’ll have dinner outside, and it feels like we’re in a much bigger space. Plus, Mabel loves sitting on the patio and watching the birds. Happy cat, happy me.

12. Verdant Accents: Architectural Biophilia in Miniature Dwellings

Plants! Let’s talk about plants. I used to kill every plant I touched. Seriously—even succulents. I’d overwater them, or forget to water them, or put them in a dark corner where they never saw the sun. It was bad. I once bought a cactus because I thought, “Cacti are impossible to kill.” Spoiler: I killed it. I overwatered it. I felt guilty for weeks—buried it in the backyard and put a little stone on top. RIP little cactus.

But now? I have a few easy ones, and they’re still alive. A pothos (I named it Kevin—don’t ask, it just felt right) that grows like crazy, even if I forget to water it for a week. A snake plant (named Linda) that’s basically indestructible—seriously, I went on vacation for two weeks, forgot to water it, and it was fine. And a small fern (named Gary) that needs a little more love, but it’s worth it for the pretty leaves.

They add color without taking up much space. Kevin hangs from the ceiling, so he’s not on the floor. Linda is in the corner of my bedroom—adds a little green, and she purifies the air (win-win). Gary is on my bookshelf—needs a little more humidity, so I spray him with water once a week. Easy.

And plants make the space feel alive—way better than fake flowers that collect dust (though, I do have a fake succulent on my desk—looks real, and I can’t kill it. No shame). There’s something about having a living thing in your home that makes it feel cozier. Like, you’re not just living there—you’re nurturing something. It’s nice.

Just be honest with yourself: If you’re a serial plant killer, start small. One plant. Water it once a week. Set a reminder on your phone if you need to (I have one for Kevin—“Water Kevin!” every Sunday). You’ll get the hang of it. And if you really can’t keep a plant alive? Fake ones are okay—just pick high-quality ones. No one needs to know your secret.

13. Statement Lighting: Architectural Luminaires as Focal Points

Lighting isn’t just about seeing—it’s about style. A good light fixture is like jewelry for your room. It can make a small space feel put together, even if everything else is simple.

I used to have those tiny clip-on lamps in my living room—you know, the ones you clip onto bookshelves. They were cheap, they didn’t give enough light, and they looked… well, cheap. I’d have to turn on three of them just to read a book, and even then, my eyes would hurt.

Then I went to a home decor store and saw a pendant light—gold, with a woven shade—and thought, “That’s it.” I bought it on sale (it was 30% off—score!), and it had a small scratch on the base, but I covered it with a little sticker. I hung it over my dining table, and it changed everything.

It’s not huge—just big enough to be a focal point—but it’s the first thing people notice when they walk in. “Where did you get that light?” they ask. And it defines the dining zone, which is helpful in my open floor plan. When I turn it on, it casts a warm glow over the table, making dinner feel a little more special—even if I’m just eating takeout (which is most nights).

In my living room, I have a floor lamp with a linen shade. It’s not too bright, but it adds a cozy glow in the evenings. I put it next to the sofa, so when I’m reading, I have just the right amount of light. Way better than those clip-on lamps. I threw those away—good riddance.

The key? Pick one statement piece per room. You don’t want to overdo it—too many fancy lights will make the space feel cluttered. One is enough to make a difference. And don’t be afraid to mix styles—my pendant light is modern, my floor lamp is more bohemian, and it works. It’s your space—make it feel like you.

14. Wall-Mounted Elegance: Architectural Solutions for Floor Space Liberation

Floor space is gold in a small house. So why put things on the floor when you can put them on the wall? It’s a no-brainer, but it’s easy to forget.

My bathroom is tiny—like, barely big enough for a sink and toilet. I used to have a pedestal sink, but it still took up floor space, and I had nowhere to put my toothbrush or face wash. So I swapped it out for a wall-mounted sink. No cabinet underneath, so I can sweep easily (no more dust bunnies under the sink), and it feels bigger. I also added floating shelves above the toilet—simple wood ones—for my toothbrush, face wash, and a small plant (Linda’s cousin—another snake plant, indestructible). No more cluttered counter. No more feeling like I’m in a closet when I’m brushing my teeth.

I was nervous about mounting the sink, though. I watched three YouTube tutorials, bought all the tools, and tried to do it myself. Spoiler: I messed up. The sink was crooked, and I was scared it would fall off the wall. So I called my dad. He came over, fixed it in 20 minutes, and laughed at my sad attempt. Worth it, though—now it’s solid.

In my office nook (remember, it’s just a corner of the living room), I have a wall-mounted desk. It’s a simple fold-down one—when I’m not using it, I fold it up against the wall, so it doesn’t take up space. Perfect for working from home without feeling like I’m in an office. I even added a small wall-mounted shelf above it for my laptop when I’m not using it. No more desk taking up half the living room.

Just a heads up: Make sure you mount these things properly. You don’t want your sink falling off the wall, or your desk collapsing when you put your laptop on it. If you’re not handy (I’m not), ask a friend or family member to help. And if you’re renting? Check with your landlord first—most will let you mount things if you promise to fill the holes when you move out (use spackle—easy peasy).

15. Personal Architectural Accents: Infusing Character Without Clutter

Here’s the most important tip of all: Don’t let minimalism make your space boring. Your home should feel like you—not a showhouse where no one’s allowed to touch anything. It should tell your story.

I have a small gallery wall in my living room. Just a few framed photos: me and my friends at the beach last summer (we got caught in the rain, and everyone’s hair is a mess—blurry, but perfect). My grandma’s old recipe cards (I framed them—they’re yellowed and have her handwriting, which makes them so special). And a drawing my niece made of Mabel (it’s not perfect—Mabel’s eyes are two different sizes, and she has three legs—but it’s my favorite thing in the room). It’s not big, but it’s me. Every time I look at it, I smile.

I hung the gallery wall myself, and it’s a little crooked. My mom pointed it out, but I didn’t fix it. It’s part of the charm. Perfect is boring.

On my open shelves, I have a few handcrafted mugs—my cousin made them when she was in pottery class. They’re not perfect (one has a little chip on the rim), but they’re special. I use them every day. And I have a soft throw blanket on my sofa—striped, in my favorite colors (navy and cream). It adds warmth without cluttering the space. When I’m cold, I grab it, curl up on the couch, and feel at home.

The point? You don’t need a million things. Just a few that make you smile when you look at them. That’s what turns a small house into a home. It’s not about having the fanciest furniture or the most expensive decor—it’s about having things that matter to you.

I used to think I needed a big house to be happy. But now? My tiny space feels cozier, happier, and way more “me” than any big house ever could. Because every inch is filled with things I love, things I use, things that tell my story.

Wrapping Up

Small houses aren’t about sacrifice. They’re about living with intention—having what you need, loving what you have, and not letting stuff take over your life. I’ve learned that the hard way—from the king-size bed that didn’t fit to the 12 mugs I never used—but now? I wouldn’t trade my tiny house for anything.

You don’t have to do all 15 tips at once. Pick one or two that feel doable—maybe start with decluttering your kitchen mugs, or adding a mirror to your living room. Take it slow. This isn’t a race. It’s about making your space work for you.

And remember: It’s okay if it’s not perfect. Life’s messy, and your home should be too—just a little organized mess. Mabel still knocks over my plant sometimes (sorry, Gary). My throw blanket is always on the floor. My gallery wall is a little crooked. But that’s okay. It’s home.

Last week, I sat on my patio with Mabel, drinking coffee, and watched the squirrels chase each other in the tree. The sun was shining, the sliding doors were open, and my tiny house felt perfect. That’s the magic of small spaces—they’re not about size. They’re about feeling.

Here’s to your tiny, wonderful house. It’s not the size that matters—it’s how you make it feel. And I have a feeling it’s gonna feel amazing.

15 Decoración Casas Pequeñas Tips That Will Make You Fall in Love with Tiny Spaces!