The following blogpost was written by Risa Teksten. Risa is a compassionate, reflective, and strong woman, who I’ve had the privilege of getting to know as she and her “wasband” / the forever father of her children, worked to thoughtfully restructure their family.
In August 2019, to complete an important house project that had been on my to-do list for a while, I took an extra week of vacation. I soon found that whenever I spoke to friends about my project, the conversation invariably went like this:
“I’m painting the exterior of my house.”
“Oooh really? What color ya thinking?”
After some banter about greenish/blueish/lavenderish shades of grey paint – with as much enthusiasm as that conversation can muster – the person would eventually ask,
“Who are you having do it?”
“I am. That’s what I’m saying – I’M painting my house.”
“WHAT?!?! Wait. YOU’RE PAINTING YOUR HOUSE?!”
“Right. Exactly. I am painting my house.”
“WHY ARE YOU PAINTING YOUR HOUSE?! (And do you even know what you’re doing?!)”
We’ll get to that second question later. But first – my house has minimal surface area. It’s a 1958 Mid Century Modern with floor-to-ceiling windows across a third of its sides. It’s also positioned on a hill in a way that makes it stand virtually single-story. I’ve painted the interior walls in most of the rooms and find painting to generally be an enjoyable and therapeutic DIY endeavor. Pragmatically, this project didn’t seem very different from painting a couple of interior paneled walls, so it seemed silly to hire pricey professionals to do something I knew I had enough experience to do myself.
Beyond pragmatism, there was another reason I wanted to paint my house. I needed to get to know it on a visceral level, and make it ‘mine’ for the first time in ten years.
Roughly a year and a half earlier, in March 2018, I refinanced my home, putting it into my sole name after undergoing a financial separation from my husband as we proceeded with our divorce. My refinance closing date was one of the most somber days I’ve experienced. The bank required both my husband and me to attend the closing. I cried, as did he. I apologized, and he stoically nodded his head. Despite the glimmer of empowerment I felt in realizing I was capable and successful enough to be a home-owner in my own right, it felt horrifically painful to strip him of right in what had formerly been our home. Whereas some people may have thought, and others even said to me, “YES BOSS LADY! You show him you can own your own damn house!” I actually felt zero enjoyment in proclaiming that fact and was even embarrassed for what I felt was – dare I say – an emasculating jab during an already emotionally difficult time. I saw it as a somewhat necessary consequence of our divorce, and a big ‘give’ on his part to help maintain stability for our children by having me stay in our Marital Home, as the property was labeled in our divorce papers.
The house was ‘his’. We had stumbled upon it in during our suburban home search and I remember him saying,
“We should buy that house,”. “That one without a garage?!?!” was my first, incredulous reaction.
I certainly saw merit in the house but hadn’t remotely considered that we’d actually put in an offer. Aside from its lack of a garage I didn’t have any concrete objections, and it seemed to me that when it came to these sorts of matters within our marriage, he had a sound and reliable decision framework. He was more financially proficient than me, not impulsive and had already owned previous homes. If he thought it was a good idea to get this house, then I supposed it was a good idea to do so as well.
The fact is, all our houses were ‘his.’ When we first met in Washington D.C. I was living with several roommates in a standard rental hi-rise while he already owned a 1-bedroom condo, walking distance from The White House. When we first moved in together as boyfriend and girlfriend in Colorado, his Veteran status helped secure a favorable loan for him to buy a condo while I paid him rent. I pushed for our South End rental when we first moved to Boston in 2009, but when it came to actually OWNING – that was something that was entirely his domain and I dutifully yet happily played my role as supportive and grateful wife.
I frankly didn’t know anything about buying homes. My parents STILL live in the same rent-controlled NYC apartment that they brought me home from the hospital to when I was born. Moreover, it felt like I was participating in the appropriate succession of matrimonial progress. Of my approximately dozen close college girlfriends – an extremely successful assortment of attorneys, partners at major consulting firms, CFOs, architects – only four of us ever owned property before getting married. For the rest of us – and I think for a lot of American women still today – we abide by the rule of First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage…
Actually,before marriage comes The Bridal Shower which is when you can FINALLY satisfy your craving for nicer homewares beyond the basic out-of-college Ikea staples. I’ve actually had conversations with highly accomplished women who admit, “I really could use new towels but we’re bound to get married in the next year so I’ll just wait to put nicer ones on my registry.”
I have a slight sample bias of being from the northeast and New York City where the economics mean that hardly anyone can buy a home in their 20s and early 30s regardless of gender, but I generally find that my male friends view home-purchasing far more independently of their relationship status, and certainly would buy new towels if they felt the need. (Whether men ever have an urge for new towels is another matter).
After my Ex moved out and we had successfully settled our children into their dual-home lifestyle, I did some expected minor decor changes and purchases, but the house generally stayed untouched. Sometime later I realized that although I’d been living in my home for nearly a decade, I really didn’t know much about taking care of a house. I didn’t know about changing the air filter to lower heating bills or draining the external pipe of water before the weather froze, getting the chimney inspected, or having the septic checked. Recognizing that I felt overwhelmed by all the maintenance things I didn’t know, after he moved out my y ex graciously gave me tons of homeownership tips. – However, the one thing I didn’t need help with, and DID know was that for two consecutive summers, my ex had said we needed to paint the exterior of the house. So I set out to not only get that job done over the summer, but to do it myself.
What I never imagined was how important a process it would be in my divorce journey. The project became a daily, solitary meditation from sun-up to sun-down for seven consecutive days. I had various music moods, hours of contemplative focus that resurrected memories within the home and of the life we built in it. I developed true ownership of my labor, and of the house as I discovered things like,
“Oh! There’s an outlet there. I didn’t know that. Now I know where to plug in our Christmas lights!”
By painting my own home I also came to realize the wonderful applied principles you can take from house projects to life, for instance:
- Preparation is 85% of the work.
“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.”
― Abraham Lincoln
Wise words, Abe. Wish I had realized that. Power washing, sanding, power washing more, cleaning up, trimming, adjusting, getting more tools, going back to Home Depot AGAIN. Going back to the paint store AGAIN. I started on a Monday and worked daily for over 12 hours. I didn’t get to the actual painting itself until late Friday afternoon – leaving me only 2 days to complete the intended output I originally thought I had a week to complete.
- Priming isn’t just good for the paint. It’s the way to gain familiarity with your process.
I honestly didn’t know what I was doing. But I learned along the way, and all the preparations were great dry-runs for the final endeavor. When it was time to apply the first paint coat, I had already discovered which panels were smoothest, where I’d need to switch to a different brush or rod combination, and order of operations when it came to which wall or section to complete first. Priming, truly primed ME.
- Trust the Process
Days were long. The work was physically tiring with unanticipated hurdles. (PSA: Having someone help lift a power washer into your car at Home Depot makes for a precarious situation when you’re trying to take it out of your car without help at home). But I took every moment as a learning opportunity and was patient with myself as well as confident that the job would ultimately get done. Time for another podcast, a glass of water and coffee, and on we go.
- Ask for Advice
Did I mention I didn’t know what I was doing? Had it not been for a few friends, and my lawn guy who suggested a few tips to get me started, I would have just taken a brush to the damn walls un-prepped! And while the work was all mine, I willingly took their recommendations. My lawn guy stopped by several times to check in on me and it felt good to have him and others rooting for me.
- Reward Yourself
Good, strong coffee. Always.
I love how the house turned out. I love the color choice, how it pops against the landscape and most of all how I did it on my own. I can’t help but noticing some imperfect spots each time I pull into my driveway so who knows, come spring I may give it another coat. 🙂
Although at the outset of my house painting project I recognized my desire to get to know my house, what I didn’t recognize was how much my act of painting would allow me to embrace myself.