Interior design was the first thing I ever wanted to do. But design school wasn’t in the cards, so I chose the practical route instead: a degree in biology, a corporate career, and all the sensible decisions people make when they’re trying to build a life.

The funny thing is, design never really left.

It showed up in text messages asking, “Which paint color?” It showed up in helping friends rearrange living rooms and spending far too much time in the lighting aisle at Home Depot. What started as a running joke slowly became impossible to ignore.

Eventually, I stopped treating it like a hobby and started following it like a plan.

Presence over perfection.

A few years ago, life became very small.

I have cystic fibrosis, and that season brought a double lung and kidney transplant—the kind of experience that quietly rearranges what matters.

I don’t talk about it often because it’s not the headline of my story. But it is the reason “presence over perfection” isn’t just a phrase I use. It’s the lens I see everything through.

You don’t come through something like that and still care whether the throw pillows match perfectly.

You care whether the room feels like somewhere you’re grateful to be breathing in.

And suddenly, home becomes less about impressing people and more about holding the life that’s happening inside it.

Perri, and the house we’re building around her.

My daughter, Perri, is woven into almost every corner of this business.

She’s the reason I think about muddy footprints, toy baskets, and whether a room can survive an actual Tuesday afternoon. She’s the reason I believe beautiful homes should be lived in—not preserved behind glass.

Well, Lived was never about creating homes that photograph perfectly.

It’s about creating homes that hold a real family well.

We’re renovating a builder-grade California house into ours.

Right now, we’re living this philosophy in real time.

My husband and I are slowly transforming our home—one budget line, one weekend project, and one “let’s just do it ourselves” moment at a time.

Everything I recommend to clients has usually been tested here first: the paint colors, the layouts, the materials, the mistakes.

Because good design doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens in homes with backpacks by the door, dishes in the sink, and people you love waiting in the next room.

Why Well, Lived exists.

Well, Lived started as a place to write about slow mornings, motherhood, and the small rituals that make an ordinary day feel meaningful.

Well, Lived Home grew naturally from that.

Because after all these years, I’ve realized the same thing is true of both: a good life and a good home are built the same way—slowly, intentionally, and one decision at a time.

That’s the whole practice, really.

Creating homes that feel as good as they look, because they were designed for the people actually living in them.

See where the story goes next.