I’m making strange life choices. Someone reign me in.
Two years ago I was a happily practicing chiropractor partnering in a busy clinic with my husband, Kevin, also a chiropractor. I love being a chiropractor. Like, love it to depths of my soul- that kind of love. Helping others fulfills me. Someone asked me once what my dream job was and I immediately answered that I was doing it. They said “yeah, but if you could be ANYTHING.” I said again,” yeah, I’m doing it,” and I meant it. So, why then am I doing weird things with my life?
Buckle up because I’m going to get overly personal right off the bat.
My husband and I struggled with infertility, so having both of our boys was particularly monumental. We underwent years of fertility treatments to conceive both of them. It felt like this made my attachment to them stronger, my time with them felt more fleeting and precious. I went back to work part-time after we had our first son, but I made the decision to stay home full time after we had our second son. I needed this time with my babies. During this time I had everything that I wanted- time at home with my boys and a husband who supported this decision; everything was truly perfect and fantastic.
So why after two years did I begin to feel so itchy? So restless? So left behind by my peers in practice? So jealous of my husband for getting to go out into the world and use all of his brain cells? I was writing out my son’s Valentine’s Day cards one day, and I forgot how to spell the word “friend” and immediately started crying. I text my sister that my brain was dissolving. I said “please send help right now, my brain broke.” She assured me that all mothers’ brains dissolve but eventually regenerate. I wasn’t convinced, and it was at this time that I began my plan to go back into practice.
And then I got pregnant for the third time. By accident. I say by accident because we were definitely, absolutely confirmed to only be able to get pregnant very intentionally. By spending gazillions of dollars and having our babies made in labs. So how on earth did this happen? It was only by some very large and intentional miracle. We were so happy. We were just absolutely over the moon. We always wanted tons of kids and we felt that our miracle had finally arrived. Our guard was completely down and our hearts were completely open and in love with this precious child. I was absolutely convinced that it was a boy, and we began to call him “Tripp,” as he would be- in my convinced mind- our third son. And then, at ten weeks pregnant, I had a miscarriage. Physically, it was a two week long nightmare of a miscarriage that ended in surgery. Emotionally, we were heartbroken and completely devastated. Not only had we lost a baby that we were completely in love with, the loss of this baby also signified the end of babies for our family. The definite and very painful closing of a chapter.
I didn’t return into practice as I had been planning before the pregnancy because my focus in our clinic centers around the care of pregnant moms, babies, and young children. All the things that broke my heart into a million pieces. I just couldn’t even.
And so it was after this miscarriage that I started to feel myself losing myself. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t laughing or smiling; I wasn’t coping. I was very definitely falling into a very bad and dark place.
To add some additional backstory, my mom has Alzheimer’s Disease. My sisters and I moved her into a local assisted living center a year ago, but we left my parents’ house vacant. (My dad died when I was in high school. This is the last depressing fact in this blog, I promise. You’re almost to the good part. Keep reading.) We came to the agreement that it was time to sell the house for my mom because the memory care unit in assisted living is hella expensive, guys. I mean really. So I reached out to a friend who is a realtor and he came and looked at the house. He confirmed what we already knew- that the house wasn’t in great shape and would not pass any inspection even with hardcore bribery and a prayer (my dad was into DIY before that was a thing. Hello entire electrical panel that was rewired *DIY*. Cringe.). Our realtor said that the only person we could get to purchase the home would be an investor, a house flipper. He mentioned that he knew of two who would likely be interested, both women, and he invited them to come out and look at the house. They came and walked through the property with poker faces and inevitably made the same offer to purchase the home. I presented this offer to my family and we agreed to accept and move forward with the selling of our family home.
And then I got in my head.
Kevin and I successfully “long flipped” two homes. Our first two houses we bought and completely renovated with the intent to live in them while remodeling them and then to sell them for a profit. We enjoyed this process immensely. So I started thinking that if one of these two Lady Flippers was going to buy my beloved childhood home and tear it to shreds and make it unrecognizable and do this for a profit, why then couldn’t I? What skill set did they have that I didn’t? And what if they did a crappy job? Why couldn’t I do what they were going to do and have control over the quality of the products going into the renovation so that it could be made into something that my parents would be proud of again? So that our family home could be brought back to life and make a happy home for a family all over again?
So I voiced these things to Kevin. And bless that man, without batting an eye he said, “You can do this. You’ll be great at it.” I love him so.
So, I presented the idea to my family and they agreed to let me purchase the home from my mom for the same price that the other lady flippers had offered, and after closing on the home I began the process of renovating it.
And this blog is the story of how that process came along at exactly the right moment and saved me from my dark place. It’s the beginning of the story of how saving houses- breathing life back into them- breathed life back into me.
The name Ash and Ivy has two meanings. It represents the balance of masculine and feminine design elements that I like to achieve in every home. Ash represents the masculine: as a type of wood it is hard and strong. And there is nothing in this world more beautiful to me than ivy growing on a home: it is charming and mysterious and quaint and soft and feminine. But deeper than that, and on a level far more personal to me, the name signifies the idea that out of the ashes- out of all of the ugly- there emerges something beautiful and living. Taking these older homes found in disrepair and renovating them breathes life back into them again. It rewrites their story. And that’s what this did for me. It breathed life back into me. It rewrote my story. Out of the ashes I found myself again.
I’m excited to share my house flipping journey with you. I can’t say what the future looks like or how long I will continue on this path or when I will go back into practice, but for now this feels just exactly right and is exactly where I want to be. I hope you’ll enjoy following along with me as I go.