Signed, A Recovering Neutral Addict

For most of my adult life, I was terrified of color.

In my wardrobe, in the paint swatch, in the rug, everywhere.

If you had walked into one of my houses between 2010 and, honestly, 2025, you would have found a carefully curated collection of grays, whites, beige, black, and brown. The millennial gray years hit me hard. Then I graduated into what I lovingly refer to as my "expensive oatmeal" phase. Everything was neutral. Everything was safe. Everything matched, and I genuinely loved it.

As a designer, I can appreciate a beautiful neutral room. I still do. There is something calming about layered textures, natural materials, and a palette that doesn't scream for attention. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was using neutrals as a security blanket. Color felt risky.

What if I got tired of it?
What if it looked dated?
What if it didn't match?
What if I spent money on something bold and immediately regretted it?

So instead, I bought another beige pillow.
And another.
And another.
And then I had kids.

Hear me out.

Children experience the world completely differently than adults do. They don't walk into a room and wonder whether the paint color will hurt resale value. They don't care if something is trending on Pinterest. They don't spend twenty minutes debating between Accessible Beige and White Dove.

They see color.

They notice the bright blue flower. The pink sunset. The yellow rain boots. The green dinosaur cup they insist on using every single day. Everything feels a little more magical through their eyes.

Between watching my son pick up the the yellow Fisher Price school bus over the neutral wooden train every time, buying markers and paint in every shade imaginable, and watching my kids get genuinely excited about things that adults overlook, something shifted in me.

I started realizing how much of life I'd been editing down.

Not because I didn't like color, but because I was afraid of it. I was afraid of getting it wrong. I was afraid of standing out.

The funny thing is, the more I learned about design, the less afraid I became. After studying interiors, sourcing products, creating mood boards, and helping clients put rooms together, I finally started understanding something I hadn't before.

Color isn't random.

The people whose homes feel effortlessly colorful aren't necessarily braver than the rest of us. They just understand balance. They know how colors relate to one another. They know when to push and when to pull back. They trust themselves and their intuition.

That changes everything.

Today, I find myself gravitating toward things I never would have considered two years ago. Moody greens. Dusty blues. Rust. Chartreuse. All the patterns. Wallpaper. Vintage art with personality. Pieces that make me feel something.

For the record, I'm not abandoning neutrals. I still love warm woods, linen, natural stone, and all the organic textures that built the foundation of my design style. Those still feel like me, but now I see them differently.

Instead of being the entire story, they're the supporting cast.

The color gets a seat at the table.

And honestly, this shift has felt bigger than design.

I think becoming a parent made me realize how short life is and how much time we spend trying to make safe choices. Safe choices in our homes. Safe choices in our careers. Safe choices in how we present ourselves to the world. Meanwhile, our kids are over there coloring the sky purple because they felt like it.

There is something incredibly freeing about that.

So if you've been staring at the paint color, the wallpaper sample, the colorful vintage rug, or the piece of art that you secretly love but keep talking yourself out of, consider this your sign.

You don't need to turn your house into a rainbow.

But maybe buy the pillow.
Paint the powder bath.
Hang the weird art.
Add the color.

Life is colorful. Our homes can be too.

Signed,
A recovering neutral addict