A (Sulking) Room of One's Own

A wee little confession and a peak inside my maximalist, disco-balled, book-lined, whimsy-infused, sulking-room-pink-painted home office/lady den.

Aug 02, 2024

I have a confession to make: I’m exhausted.

Okay, maybe that’s less a confession, and more of an assertion of a state of being. So here I am in this state of being remembering that I’ve made a promise to myself that I will show up here on this Substack once a week with an unhinged soapbox or a wry observation whether long or short in written form. Here’s the next part of the confession: I’m exhausted and uninspired to write anything.

I have excuses—and good ones. I was monumentally inspired in the admin session I had with my co-host for Dear Readers Book Club—we’re already planning the slate of picks for 2025, and HOLY JOAN DIDION is the lineup strong!1 I was also motivated and productive at work and home this week. All of this motivational fairy dust floating around in other areas of my life managed to miss the writing center of my brain. I just couldn’t tap into the sass or conviction that normally is so very present when I sit down to write these last few months.2

Throughout the week, I started a few different pieces—all in draft form still, so I may return to those ideas some day, but it all fell flat. In my uninspired state, I couldn’t cohesively tell you why nostalgia is such an important emotion (an idea borne from an emotional Peloton ride of all things) or why Japanese toilet culture is so life changing (seriously, I will pontificate about this topic some day and you will thank me, I promise). I refused to call this state of being “writer’s block” partially because I’m stubborn, but mostly because I really do want to show up here in a meaningful way. So, instead of sending out a “mea culpa/I’m so sorry I’m skipping a week,” I opted instead to encourage myself to look around at my physical surroundings, and here we are chatting about my office. I shouldn’t be surprised—gentleness always yields something lovely for me even if small.

As I write this, I am sitting at my desk with the windows open. The crisp morning summer air is breezing across my face. I look up and see one of five gallery walls (yes, five!) of my home office—the one with all the weird and/or alien ladies that I lovingly call the Monster on a Hill wall. It’s one of many Swiftie nods in this room.

The Monster on a Hill wall. One girl’s “clutter” is another girl’s (this girl’s) ideal.

The room where I’ve nestled my home office was, until last September, our guest room. Nik and I had been sharing the second upstairs bedroom as a joint home office. We even had our desks facing each other. When I tell people this, I get a lot of shocked reactions—how do you stand each other’s working voices? Do you not drive each other crazy? Do you get sick of spending every minute of every day together?

In all honesty, I truly loved our Nora-Ephron-rom-com style set up. We would make faces at each other over our monitors during calls and have breaks over coffee. It was our own intimate co-working space. It was FUN. When we first moved to Seattle in June 2020, our extroverted selves needed the at home “co-worker.” As Nik and I both gained more and more responsibility at work, however, the fun was outweighed by the constant negotiation of call schedules. Having five conversations a day about who needed to take a call in the dining room was too disruptive to be sustainable. Plus, it went against my deeply entrenched tendency to nest.

We shuffled our rooms around by moving the guest room to the bonus room in the basement, which was the former workout room that collected a lot of dust after the pandemic. Nik kept the original Nora Ephron office to himself, and I had a blank canvas to work from. WHAT JOY! Also, TOO MANY OPTIONS. I couldn’t help but feel Virginia Woolf herself surely levitating down the street to commend my ROOM OF ONE’S OWN!

Where the Sulking Room started (left) and where it is today (right). Let’s be honest—this room of my own is ever evolving, and I’m sure I can fit more pieces on this wall.

Setting out to create a vibey representation of who I am and how I work, the color palette was the most important choice. I channeled my inner Francophile and chose a moody mauve-toned pink for the walls—aptly named (and I’m not kidding on this) “Sulking Room Pink.” Later, a friend sent me this article about how the MoMA recently used this color for one of their new galleries. The article was nothing if not validating that I should line my walls with as much art as I possibly could. Thankfully, I already had a stack of prints and paintings that I had accumulated over the years with no home. This was not to mention all of my books scattered in all areas of the house (re: wherever I could find a free shelf space).

I had all the legos, I just had to build the scene. From sulking room pink, my love for navy, sage green, gold toned accents, and flowery, French-ish art and objects solidified and flourished into a vision—a maximalist, bold, colorful, busy, cluttered, sparkly, worn-in, messy vision. I wanted it functional and fun, chic and comfortable. The maximalist in me (hello, Strange Feathered Lady, once again) peacocked hard and created a room full of gallery walls and vignettes. Every inch of this lovely, warm room-of-my-own is plastered in ALL THINGS ME.

My office—sulking room—will be ever changing, as my needs, style, and moods shift and evolve. For now, it’s inspiring and a way for me to channel artistic expression—you know, the pursuit of Strange Feathered Lady meets Eccentric Art Teacher that I’ve droned on about before. And, I realize, too, that there’s not much of a Well…Actually point I’m making today outside of an encouragement to take some time for yourself this week and find space of your own—be it physical, emotional, mental.

So, I thank you, yet again, for hanging out with me today. And, I promise to take a little nap, or maybe a cheeky bath. And, let’s hope the exhaustion passes, and inspiration comes, for us all.

Until next week, my friends…

xo, Cassie