Why Home Décor?
Hi, I’m Przemo, and here’s why I started a home décor blog based on my journey through love, loss, and creation…
Life has a way of surprising us in ways we never imagined. For me, it began with a fairytale wedding in 2012, marrying the love of my life, but soon after, our fairytale turned into an unimaginable struggle. Allow me to unpack this…
I was born in the first week of the 1980s and grew up in southwestern Poland, not far from the German and Czech borders. I lived through the tail end of Russian communism. Money was scarce, but the forests were generous. I learned early that you can feel rich with a piece of bread and drippings, an egg, and a hot cup of tea with lemon, especially if you eat it after running through rivers and climbing hills until the sky turns violet.
My mother taught school and filled our home with houseplants. She showed me how a room softens when you tuck life into the corners. My father was a police officer who retired young and left to work across Europe — Italy, Cyprus, France, Spain, and finally Portugal — building villas and hotel resorts.
Each summer as a teenager, I joined him on sites. That is where I learned patience, proportion, and the satisfaction of putting something sturdy into the world. It is also where I discovered that the most beautiful rooms are built on kindness: straight lines, clean joints, quiet respect for the people who will live there.
In 2007, I moved to London for work and opportunity. I carried my parents’ ethic with me: work first, play later. I took three separate jobs — demolition by day, building on weekends, and maintenance shifts on the Underground when the city slept. In the spaces between, I tried to remember what it felt like to breathe.
I had always loved movement. As a kid, it was gymnastics, football, anything that made my heart hammer. In my teens, it was martial arts — eight years of discipline that taught me how to stand my ground.
In London, I wandered into a dance class looking for balance and found a teacher who believed in me. She sharpened my lines, steadied my rhythm, and eventually became my wife. We married in 2012, surrounded by friends from the studio. For a moment, life looked like a film you watch twice because the ending is so good.
The same year we married, my wife was diagnosed with stage IV deep infiltrating endometriosis. A year later came fibromyalgia. The chronic conditions took away more than energy, took her dance school, her students, and the identity that had once fit so easily on her shoulders. Endometriosis also took away our chance to have children. It was a loss we kept feeling in new ways, long after the first grief.
The mental toll was heavy. Panic attacks, anxiety, and relentless OCD. Moments of despair that frightened us both. Twice, I stepped back from work so I could hold the line at home and make sure she stayed alive. Love sounds simple until you’re measuring it in small, necessary acts: the right words at midnight, a glass of water set gently on a bedside table, the choice to stay.
From Rugs to Riches!
I wanted to understand what she was carrying. I began reading, listening, and then writing — first to gather knowledge, then to share it with anyone walking a similar road. That became my first blog: a place for partners and families trying to make sense of chronic illness together.
Because my wife needed to work from home, I focused on the one thing I could change immediately: her space, light that didn’t hurt, a chair that didn’t punish, and calm on the walls. I created my own little corner, where I wrote late into the night after long shifts. Those experiments became my second blog — home office décor and humane work-from-home design. It blended the best lessons of my childhood: my father’s craft and my mother’s sense of comfort.
Eventually, I left the building sites. I missed making things with my hands, but I wanted my work to mean something when the day was over. I began working with medically disabled children. It was not the same as having our own, but it met a quiet part of me that still wanted to care, guide, and build gently.
At the same time, I kept writing.
I started my third blog about earning online — not because chasing money ever satisfied me, but because financial stability feels like oxygen when illness keeps stealing the air. Little by little, the blogs became a business. We could pay for treatment without flinching. The pressure eased. My wife exhaled in ways I hadn’t seen in years. Work-from-home became bearable, sometimes even joyful. She began to imagine a different future, one not held hostage by fear.
I do not think of design as decoration. I think of it as relief. The right chair changes a back and a day, a warm lamp placed well can lower a heart rate, a decent rug can mute a room’s edges so a mind can settle. These small choices add up to dignity.
I also believe work should serve life. For too many years, I traded time for money in the least forgiving ways. Blogging gave us something else: mornings without alarms, pockets of rest, long talks that are not forced into the margins. It gave us the chance to be together and to heal in ways that do not show up in photos.
Most of all, I believe stories can keep people standing. When you read words that sound like your life, loneliness loosens its grip. If I can offer that to even one person who is searching at two in the morning for a sentence that steadies them, then the hours I spend at this desk are well used.
What You Will Find Here?
You will find home office ideas that respect real bodies and limited energy. You will find budgets that start where most guides end. You will find lighting plans for rooms without windows, cable routes that stop the daily snarl, and layouts that claim a quiet corner in a small home.
You will also find the truth about building a living online without hype. I share what worked for us and what didn’t, because there are enough glossy promises in the world. I would rather hand you a map you can actually use. Beyond that, productivity tips and cozy comfort.
We have not solved everything. Chronic illness does not ask permission before it rearranges a day. But we have stitched together a life that fits us. The blogs pay the bills, and the home holds us. The work gives back more than it takes. I still like to make something solid every day — sometimes a shelf, sometimes a paragraph that makes a stranger feel less alone.
If any part of our story sounds like your own, you are welcome here.
Pull up a chair, let me show you how to make a space that is kind to you. Let me share what I have learned about supporting the person you love. And if your life has been broken open by news you never wanted, know this: there is a way to build again. It will not look like the plan you had. In time, it can be better than you dared to hope.
