The apartment was a clean slate… a blank page on which to write a new life. My interest in design predated this turbulent chapter of my life. Even while living in her house, I had begun carving out a small corner that reflected who I was; a slice of individuality that I could call my own.

But it was always her house. Her life. Increasingly, she made me feel like a visitor… or perhaps an intruder.

Now it was my turn to create something I could truly call my own. It will not be to everyone’s taste. It is what spoke to me. It is nothing grand… just simply mine—what I was able to do with my limited resources.

As these pages evolve, it may be helpful to return to this one. This is where it started. The space that would become my sanctuary… where my journey toward healing began.