Home is where your quilt is
far off dreams from a millennial in severe debt
Moving from the middle of nowhere back to the city has shifted my routines. Instead of walks through nature with the dogs off-leash, I now find myself walking through surrounding neighborhoods, the dogs attached at the hip. We loop the streets, observing how other people live. I take the alleyways, scouting old garages with chipped paint, looking for the perfect backdrop to photograph my work. I love studying the houses that line the concrete sidewalks, critiquing and admiring. “I’d paint the front door red…” I mutter to myself.
More than fantasizing about marriage or children, owning a home was always my North Star. When I was younger, I’d build houses for my Barbies out of VHS tapes, usually three stories tall. I’d spend hours decorating them, arranging the furniture, and worrying more about their outfits than any storyline. I didn’t play “house” the way my sisters did. I didn’t want to hold a baby doll and pretend to change its diaper. Instead, I preferred drawing, hand-sewing, or writing.
Growing up on a farm in the log cabin my grandfather built, I witnessed the rewards of hard work and the deep value of a "forever" home. My uncle also built his own cabin in that same style, and my mom—had she been mentally well—planned to do the same. It seemed like a family tradition, one I thought I was meant to follow.
In my early 20s, I was bartending and started saving money. Over the course of a few years, I managed to put away $23,000. Determined to start from the ground up, like my grandfather, I began aggressively searching for property near Mount Rainier. Does it have power hook-ups, or a well? I dreamed of a small, simple cabin with a wraparound porch. I raised my credit score, found a realtor, and got approved for a $260k loan, which was the median price for homes at the time LOL. I looked at 20+ properties, and by the end of summer, I was ready to make an offer. Then, I discovered that my boyfriend at the time had cheated on me.
Everything felt like it was falling apart, and in November 2019, I moved to Portland to start over. Just a few months later, in March 2020, COVID hit. I used my savings to stay afloat through those uncertain months, and eventually, I started Softpaw. Looking back, not buying that house on some property was a blessing in disguise. If I had, I might still be bartending in Tacoma instead of sewing full-time. I see again that everything happened for a reason.
My tax debt surfaced when I started looking into buying a house again in my 30’s. It was the second year of Softpaw, and I felt confident that I would qualify for a loan. I was making more money than I ever had before. But then the problem became clear: they wanted three years of tax returns as proof of income. I had forgotten just how complicated the process was from my first attempt at buying. Back then, we went with an unconventional loan based on bank statements—bartending meant cash tips, so there was no clear record of my actual income. Long story short, through this unearthing I found that I had messed up my 2020 taxes and had to amend them. I was in 30k worth of debt and so the whole process stalled, and the dream of buying a house was pushed to the back burner once again.
In the last ten years, I’ve moved a lot—changing addresses, registering my business in new states, and constantly downsizing. I’ve sold things I swore I’d keep forever on Facebook Marketplace, donated books, and had countless yard sales. I feel like I own the least amount of stuff I ever have, and that feels good?
I started a tradition when I left the cabin on Mt. Hood: to sew a quilt for every place I live. I currently have four quilts and a wall hanging, each one representing a different chapter of my life. My obsession with quilting has only deepened the more I make them—and the more I learn about the process and its history. The patience and attention to detail required is intricate, and with every stitch, my appreciation for quilting continues to grow.
Now, after living with Cory for a month, without the pressure of paying massive rent, I’ve been challenging myself to create wall hangings and quilt blocks using vintage patterns to sell. Making my own quilt blocks was not something I thought I had time for in the past. Quilting has humbled the fuck out of me in terms of sewing, and I am grateful.
Constructing these house quilt blocks feels like a symbol for a much larger, ongoing theme in my life. It all weaves together—the quilting, the dream of owning a home, the weight of debt, and the yearning for financial freedom. As a broke millennial, owning a home often feels out of reach. So I think, If I can’t own one, I guess I’ll wear one? As I pin a house quilt block to a vintage distressed crewneck. It’s a sentiment I know a lot of other thirty-something year olds can relate to.
Through this process, I’ve often found myself reflecting on the idea of ownership. I’ve come to a realization—nothing is truly mine. I’ve released myself from the attachment to owning things in the traditional sense. When I left the lake house, I understood that the trees, the land, the cabin—none of it was ever really mine, nor would it ever be. I wasn’t “losing” anything. We’re all living on stolen land, first and foremost. And even if I were to buy a house, unless it’s fully paid off, would it truly ever be mine? Or would I essentially be renting from the bank? What does it even mean to “own” something? As they say, when you die, you can’t take it with you. This has been a constant mental struggle for me over the years, especially while paying someone else’s mortgage. Feeling stuck and powerless.
At the same time, owning a home has always been the driving force behind everything I do. Even though I’m conflicted about the deep ties to something as monumental as homeownership, it’s still a goal I have to pursue. I trust that the timing will be right, and I believe that all the obstacles I’ve faced along the way have been part of the journey. I’m thankful for where I’m at right now, and for the opportunity to get ahead financially. I will be a home owner one day.
Over the years, my vision of the home I want has evolved, but the core values have remained the same: room for lots of dogs, a separate studio for sewing, a wraparound porch, a fireplace, space for a garden, and plenty of natural light. I picture a cottage or a cabin, tucked away from the road, full of character—maybe a red house with white trim.
I believe that home is where your dogs are—or where your quilt is. And I feel truly blessed and fortunate to be living in the space my partner owns, sharing it together. While I’m still adjusting, I feel like we've blended our lives and our belongings in a way that feels comforting, safe, and whole. Something I didn’t think I could experience with someone else.
One day, I imagine the chance to plant vines that will climb iron archways leading into the garden, knowing they’ll be there the following year—and so will I.
-Taylor
I relate to this a lot. ♥️
this is beautiful ❤️