It will be great. We’ll just put some paint on it and maybe redo the floors…

We actually said this to our new neighbors that August when we bought our house. “We’ll be done by Halloween.”

This was Scotland, so our neighbors politely nodded their agreement. I almost missed the soft comment as i walked back to our newly-purchased dream home. “Yes, but which Halloween?”

I wasn’t worried. It was going to be great. The only thing that really would need work was the conservatory, a squat construct of cinder blocks (if you’re American) or breeze blocks here in the UK, squashed against the front of the house. Of course, that was before the dread renovations/bottom circle of hell began.

Several years passed in which every other item was repaired — plumbing, wiring, roof, kitchen, floors, etc. — except the conservatory. Our bank balance was finally approaching black. Our untouched conservatory continued to quietly deteriorate, crumbling from uncomfortable to untenable. Of course, our best action would have been a quick sale and hopes we would be far enough away before the new owners opened the door to the conservatory. Since it was on the front of the house, however, escape was unlikely.

Like almost all of our larger projects over the years — especially those that involve planning and significant investment — we could offer lessons in how NOT to do it. But while we’ve gone through the process of this project over the last three (yes, THREE) years we’ve been at it, I’ve realized that the stages were actually familiar. I’d heard about them before.

So my gift to those who are contemplating similar projects is the following list. (Along with a recommendation that you give very serious consideration to topping up your life and property insurance, arrange for ‘accidental’ domestic fires, and/or pray for the zombie apocalypse.)

Or if you’re lucky enough to live in a place with huge trees, you could try this approach. [Note: for optimal expletive placement, skip straight to minute 1:15 on following video.]

 

1. Shock: Brandy

This stage is a combination of numb disbelief as, for example, my foot goes through a floor and I realize that our 150-year-old dwelling apparently pre-dates modern conveniences such as a foundation. Oddly, it can simultaneously manifest as a feeling of euphoria as we decide to invoke the handful of television home renovation programs we saw while waiting at the dentist’s office or that time on the airplane when it was the only in-flight entertainment option that didn’t involve Morgan Freeman or the Marvel Universe. Based on sources such as old HGTV home makeovers, we budget for  a renovation taking less than three weeks with a total cost under £10,000.

Did I mention this was in 2020? Immediately after we decided to go ahead, Covid pulled the off-switch, and the world went home, turned off the outside lights, and hid. Building permits weren’t permitted, architects weren’t drafting, building suppliers weren’t supplying. But the wait, it turned out, was worth it. The one piece of luck was that Slav, our brilliant builder, was again available. He took on the herculean task of attempting to deal with our architect, who had taken up residence in another dimension (perhaps under witness protection?), and to obtain building supplies. Orders went off for building supplies which never arrived, windows and doors were ordered from a subcontractor who for almost a year hid the fact that their factory had burned down, permits were filed to wend their way through the ether for over a year.

NOTE: I should say right here that while he’s gone through enough roadblocks and supply disasters for six ulcers, our wonderful builder Slav remains frustrated but determined to slog forward. He and his crew are basically the only bright spots in this never-ending spiral of doom project.

2. Denial: start with Prosecco, but move on to hard reds as situation requires.

Denial may entail refuting the reality of what needs to be done. Although you’re convinced all your house needs is some paint and patching for the roof holes, the contractors bidding on the project raise other concerns.

 

The only good news is that these first two stages, shock and denial, keep you from noticing that you have officially moved past the last moment when you will ever again have even the slightest control of your budget, the renovation process, or your life.

3. Anger: single malt

This is where owning an old house comes in handy. You can direct your anger toward the unknown idiots whose piss-poor decision making skills got you into this mess in the first place.

This replaces the numbness of shock and denial. It is important to address the anger. Single malt whisky works well here, and you might as well drink it now because you’ll never be able to afford it again.

4. Bargaining: Margaritas

Bargaining involves thoughts such as “I will do anything if you take away the pain.”

This stage may come at any point within the construction process. It is frequently accompanied by guilt. And margaritas.

5. Depression: beer. (The cheap stuff your brother-in-law left last time.)

At this stage, the homeowner may experience feelings of emptiness and intense sadness. They may also withdraw from daily activities and things they once enjoyed. Everything they own is covered with construction dust, the neighbors won’t look them in the eye, and they can’t remember why they ever thought this could be a good idea.

While this stage is difficult, it is a necessary step toward healing. Plus you get rid of all that crap beer.

6. Testing: Moscow Mule

Testing is the process of trying to find solutions that offer a means of dealing with your never-ending construction project, with the furniture piled everywhere, the piles of construction dust, the decisions, supply fails, and the way you’ve forgotten you ever had a life…

You can be forgiven if one of the particularly attractive solutions involves changing your name and moving to a foreign country in the middle of the night. “Renovation? What renovation?”

 

7. Acceptance: Coffee. Black.

This is the final stage of the renovation grieving process. Acceptance does not mean people feel OK about a project fail. Rather, it means they realize this their new reality. They understand that while life will not continue as it did before renovation, it will go on.

This stage may involve reorganizing roles and forming new relationships, perhaps with the help of stints in rehab, the advice of a good divorce lawyer, or the phrase, “It has to look like an accident.”

Completion: Champagne. (You can’t afford the good stuff anymore, of course, but the stuff in the box does just fine.)

This is like giving birth, where the last nine months—not to mention the previous 24 hours of pure hell—are instantly forgotten. You embrace your precious little new room and suddenly hear yourself saying, “Let’s redo the attic.”