Would a Tiny House Solve My Big Problems?

It began innocently enough—an episode of “Tiny House Builders” here and an episode of “Tiny House Nation” there. 

I parked myself on the couch and, in true superfan fashion got so absorbed and enthusiastic that I began yelling things like, “Are you insane?! There’s no indoor bathroom!” Or, “How many times will you hit your head on that bedroom ceiling before you run to the nearest hotel?!”

My crazy house obsession was fueled by the fact that we were looking to move out of our awkward, oversized suburban house into something smaller. We weren’t using all of the space our house had to offer and it made sense to downsize.

All the same, I found the concept of extreme downsizing and a small living space strangely compelling. Before I knew it, I had binged all four seasons of Tiny House Hunters and started googling, “Tiny houses for sale Canada.” I stalked the social media accounts of couples who moved into shoeboxes on wheels and families who deemed eight-foot-wide shipping containers “home” with the addition of a sparkly chandelier.

Around this time my husband, Declan, got seriously concerned. “We are NOT living in a tiny house,” he declared. To which I replied, “I know! I just want to get design ideas for when we move into a smaller house.” I don’t think Declan believed me. And to be honest, I didn’t believe me either.

One day, my friend sent me the listing for a completely renovated, modern farmhouse with a gorgeous yard. It even had a “she shed” straight out of a Property Brothers episode. While not officially a tiny house, it was still very small at 900 square feet, with two bedrooms and just one story of livable space. I affectionately dubbed it the “hobbit house” and promptly made an appointment to see it.

As soon as I walked through the front door, I fell in love. Small but light and airy? Check! Room for the fifty pairs of leggings I’d accumulated during lockdowns? Check! Picture-perfect lawn ready for entertaining? Check! I booked a second viewing—this time to persuade my anti-tiny house husband—and began dreaming about all of the backyard soirees we would host that summer.

Shockingly, my husband also loved the house. We decided to put in an offer and called our agent, giddy with excitement.

But the next morning, as we sat down over tea, I blurted out, “The house is too small.” I felt sad and almost embarrassed about changing my mind, but Declan agreed. He had been thinking the same thing, but was worried he’d be labeled the “dream-house killer” if he brought up his concerns first.

I had come to this surprising conclusion after lying awake all night, planning how to arrange our furniture in the new house. And it struck me that I wouldn’t have room for some very precious—and very large—items. These included a solid oak chest my dad had made, a mid-century teak dining set, and an eight-foot tall antique grandfather clock. I was all for getting rid of excess junk, but did I really want to part with these sentimental items? Absolutely not. I loved these things and wanted to keep them.

At this point I had to ask myself, “Why did I really want a tiny house?”

And the answer hit me: I was looking for a cure to overwhelm.

I was hoping that with less stuff, less space, and less to clean, I would magically feel in control of my life. I thought I would feel balanced, whole, and at ease, and suddenly have time for all the things on my to-do list that I knew I “should” do, but never got around to.

It was a fun concept, but I knew it had no real substance. Yes, your physical environment has a huge impact on your life. And yes, a smaller abode would take less time to maintain. But no one was stopping me from knocking out my to-do list. Freedom is ultimately an inside job. 

As a coach who focuses on mindset work with all of my clients, I found my situation almost comical. On what planet did I think I could simply change my exterior experience to instantly  transform my interior experience?

I had gotten swept up in the romanticism of the tiny house movement and thought I could simplify my life into a manageable state by downsizing. And while it does feel amazing to purge closets and donate unused items, I realized I couldn’t Marie Kondo my way into complete peace and freedom.

Instead, I needed to double down on my personal development work, meditation, and energy healing, get clear on what I could control, and where I was making excuses that pushed me away from the easeful life I craved.

During this experience, I remembered that “space” is one of my top four core values (in addition to leadership, connection and generosity). I’ve always valued space—not only physical space but energetic space, such as scheduling free days in my calendar. When I’m cramped or overscheduled, I instantly become a hot, hangry mess. No wonder moving into a tiny house felt wrong—it was in conflict with one of my most deeply held priorities! But I also could see why the idea was appealing—I need my physical environment to be simple and clear.

So, am I anti-tiny house? No. But I’m definitely pro-space and ease.

My husband and I are currently renting a normal 1300 square foot condo, just a few blocks away from the “hobbit house” as we search for a new house that fits our needs. Renting has turned out to be a great way to see if we truly like living in this part of Ontario. And now that I have discovered the joys of an expansive living/dining room and, yes, a walk-in closet, I will never go back to wanting a tiny house. 

Let the normal house hunt begin!

To your brave success,
Alana

PS: Do you live in a tiny house? Would love to hear about it! Comment below!