The Biggest Mess of My Life: The Ugly Truth

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May 2

Exterior of the Style Garage photo by Louis Bockner

Part 1: Divorce Dust & The Style Garage

“They say renovation dust leads to divorce dust…”
And in my case, they weren’t wrong.
One quarter of the way into laying our new hardwood floors, my husband left.

That home had captured my heart because of its unfinished garage space—with adorable folding doors, cute mullioned windows, and beautiful light. I could already see myself creating in there: painting, selling vintage treasures, and working from home while raising our six- and nine-year-old daughters.

We took on a massive renovation—ripping out walls, floors, the kitchen, even the fireplace. It was a huge undertaking for a marriage that was already cracking, made even harder by the fact that we were living at my mother’s with our daughters and a senior cat.

When he walked out the door, I had no choice but to step up. I hired contractors, managed the work, and tried to hold everything together while my husband chased his passion overseas. He spent years in the Bahamas, Bhutan, and Cambodia—not exactly helpful when you’ve got a home and kids to care for.

Eventually, I renovated the little studio—on a shoestring budget, with some help from him during one of his rare trips home. I figured I’d open a hair salon in the space, since I’m a trained hairdresser and needed an income source.

The “Style Garage,” as I called it, was cute and ready. But day after day in that room? It didn’t feel right. I couldn’t commit to being in there.

Living alone, raising kids, and trying to stay afloat—I was slipping into depression.

So I looked for work outside the home.

I landed a job at a furniture and home decor store that quickly evolved into a full-blown succession plan. I became the decorator, merchandiser, buyer, and manager.

The owner? Toxic. She was known for chewing people up and spitting them out.

Like so many women, I thought I’d be the one to tame the beast.

Big mistake.

This was just the beginning of the unraveling. Stay tuned for Part 2—where the Style Garage turns into a dumping ground, and I discover just how much our spaces reflect our state of mind.