Diary of a

Daydreamer

the story of a
daydreamer

A heart to heart about healing, starting over, and finding strength in the most unexpected places.

The chapters that rewrite us

If this were an interview and we were sitting across from each other with a cup of tea (or let’s be honest, surrounded by paint samples and dog hair) I’d probably smile awkwardly, and say something like:

“I never thought I’d be here.”

Because truthfully, I didn’t.

Sure, I could tell you about the little girl who lived in her imagination, paint in her hair, glue on her hands,

the one who was born a daydreamer.
She was.

But that’s not where Dawn of a Daydream began.

It came from the woman who had to claw her way out of the dark. The one who found a flicker of light when everything else felt black.

It’s not the happy moments that shape us most.

It’s the parts no one plans for.

It’s what we learn when life brings us to our knees.

These are the chapters that rewrite you.

Lonely and invisible

For a long time, I felt like I was lost. I moved across the world for my husband’s career, far from my family, my culture, and any clear sense of who I was. For years, I wasn’t allowed to work because of my visa. And while people told me to enjoy the break, I quietly felt like I was losing myself. I went from being a teacher with purpose to… just being. And not the peaceful, meditative kind, the lonely, slightly invisible kind.

To make matters worse, I was stricken with a mystery illness that left me bedridden most days. My body was no longer mine to move as I wanted. I lost weight, I lost my strength, and worst of all, I lost my sense of self.

All I had left were my daydreams.

That experience shaped me more than I can explain. It’s why, today, I push myself to use my body to its full capacity. Every paint stroke, every piece of furniture I flip, every wall I build, I do it because I can. It feels like a quiet rebellion. A victory.

a wasted body

But I’ll be honest, sometimes it fills me with intense guilt. I can’t sit still, because sitting still was once all I could do. And on the days when my body won’t cooperate, I feel like I’m failing. I’m terrified of wasting time, of wasting the body I worked so hard to heal. I’ve learned that your quality of life can change in a moment, and a working body is a gift. That same urgency that pushes me to move is the same reason I try to remember to rest. Our bodies deserve both. (Spoiler Alert: I’m much better at the moving part.)

the in-between

Eventually, my body did begin to heal. Slowly, gently, as if it, too, was tired of waiting.
Little by little, I started regaining a sense of agency over myself. But even then, I still felt like a guest in my own life.
I was a stranger in a foreign land, waiting for a little green card to arrive and give me permission to begin living.

Years passed in that in-between and somewhere inside the ache of that waiting, the isolation, the uncertainty, I decided I didn’t want to wait for permission anymore.
If I couldn’t change the rules, I would find a way to live fully within them.
I craved a home, something to call mine, so I started researching like my life depended on it, because in a way, it did.

And slowly, a new daydream began.

The rescue

Every single day, I taught myself something new; how to save, how to plan, how to renovate.
I scoured the internet for answers to questions I barely knew how to ask, and talked my husband’s ear off about my imaginary plans whilst he smiled, watching my enthusiasm return.

This daydream became the thing that pulled me out of bed in the morning.
It reminded me that I was more than just someone’s wife-in-waiting.
I was someone with ideas, with passion, with purpose.
I mattered. Even if no one else had stamped that truth into a document yet.

And then, just one week before we closed on our first home, my green card arrived.
But by that point, it no longer felt like a rescue.
Because I had already saved myself.

An unfamilar feeling

Fast-forward to now, and most days you’ll find me smiling and sweaty, knee-deep in DIY projects, building something I never expected: a home, a community, and most surprisingly, a version of myself I’m proud of. That’s something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The only option

I didn’t grow up doing this. No one taught me how to use power tools or lay flooring. And with my family far away, learning to do it myself wasn’t a creative choice, it was the only option. If there’s nobody around to teach you either, don’t worry. You’re not alone. We can learn together.

It’s what we learn when life brings us to our knees. These are the chapters that rewrite you.

take your space

I started sharing what I was doing online not because I had expertise, but because I needed something that felt like mine. And somewhere along the way, I realized there were so many women who felt the same way. Women who were waiting for permission to try, to build, to take up space.

That’s when everything shifted. I stopped trying to be perfect and started being vulnerable instead. Suddenly people began to tell me I was inspiring them.

And every time, I wanted to reply, “Me?! Really??”

But maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe we don’t need to be experts, we just need to be brave enough to start.

Women like me

Now, I create content for women like me. Women who are figuring it out as they go. Women who want to feel strong, not because they have to be, but because they are! Women who want their homes to reflect their heart, not just their budget.

What I didn’t expect was how sharing my story would lead me to a community. In opening up, I found connection, true friendship, something I didn’t realize how much I craved after moving far away from the place and people I called home. In many ways, this space is helping me build a new one.

To some, this is just another little corner of the internet, but to me, it’s a place where I belong.

Progress
not perfection

This space has never been about perfection or pretty pictures. There’s enough of that online already. Instead, it’s about progress, empowerment, and being willing to laugh through the chaos and creativity.

If you’re still reading this, thank you. You’re my kind of person. Whether you’re here for DIY inspo, a little motivation, or just someone to remind you that you can do hard things, I hope you find it here.