ANOTHER UPDATE FROM Jan. 21, 2026

These photos don’t show a finished dream.
They show a dream in the middle of a fight.

What you see here is not polished, staged, or picture-perfect. And honestly, that’s part of why this is hard for me to share.

I have been far away, asking for meaningful photos -- clear angles, proper views, something that tells the story of each space. Not for vanity, but because THIS HOUSE MATTERS TO ME. This is not just a structure. THIS IS A DREAM I BUILT IN MY HEART LONG BEFORE WALLS WENT UP.

What I received were photos that feel random, unplanned, and careless. And that’s what hurts. Not the lighting. Not the framing. But the feeling behind the effort. These are not the kind of shots I asked for again and again -- organized, thoughtful, showing the whole space. Even a grade school child can understand “take good pictures of the room from different angles.” That was never a big request. But the output I received feels like the bare minimum, and that truth is frustrating.

Because this house is not casual to me.

The Powder Blue Room was supposed to feel open, calm, like breathing space. Instead, the photos make it look like an afterthought -- bits and pieces, no real story of the room. That space represents clarity and peace in my vision, but right now it feels like my instructions were heard but not truly understood. It’s there, but not presented with care.

Then you see the colored stairs. They aren’t just “cute.” They look like steps I’ve been climbing alone -- each one a different mood, a different day, a different emotional effort. It’s not a smooth journey. It’s layered, uneven, real.

The pink room was meant to feel soft and warm. Right now it feels exposed -- like a gentle heart still waiting to be handled with care.

The yellow room should feel joyful. And it will. But at this stage, it looks like hope still under construction -- light trying to come through, but not yet given the full attention it deserves.

And the green room says the most. Green means growth, life, calm. But here it looks like something trying to bloom while being half-managed. Full of promise, full of personality -- but not presented with the intention it deserves.

That’s why these photos feel senseless to me. They lack intention. And intention is the language I build with.

I don’t do things halfway. I don’t treat dreams like chores. So seeing my vision documented without care feels like my heart being handled without care.

But here’s the truth.

Nothing in these photos says the dream is lost.
They say work is happening.
Color is alive.
Identity is forming.
The vision still exists.

What’s missing right now isn’t the house.
It’s the right attention. The right hands. The same level of love I am pouring into this from a distance.

So this is not a before and after.
This is a during.

A home becoming.
A dream still fighting to take shape.
And a reminder that beautiful things don’t always look beautiful in the middle of the process.