• I enjoyed living in a small, one-bedroom apartment with my family of three for years.
• Once we moved to a house more than triple the size, I totally changed my minimalist mindset.
• Now that we live in a bigger space, I can't imagine going back to living small or minimally.

When my husband and I bought our apartment in Kyiv back in 2017, we were thrilled to finally have a family nest of our own.

It was a cozy, 500-square-foot place with one bedroom, and we meticulously planned to optimize every inch of it. Our kitchen table doubled as my workspace, and our living room couch became the guest bed whenever family stayed over.

Hosting required pure creative problem-solving and, with limited seating around our small table, I'd sometimes feed guests in shifts. It was chaotic at times, but I didn't mind.

After our son was born, bright plastic toys, endless boxes of diapers, and bulky baby gear started claiming every free corner of our apartment. With the three of us packed into a single bedroom, finding space was a daily puzzle, but we made it work.

Surprisingly, living so close together didn't feel limited back then — it felt intimate, cozy, and deeply fulfilling. Then COVID-19 hit.

Spending so much time indoors made me feel isolated, and for the first time, I began dreaming about more living space. But we barely had time to figure things out before life took a drastic turn: When the war in Ukraine escalated in 2022, we made the heavy, life-changing decision to relocate to Canada.

A few months after moving, we began renting a two-bedroom house, where we currently reside. At 1,700 square feet, it wasn't considered especially large by local standards, but to us, it felt vast.

It didn't take long to adjust to having more space — and to quickly fill it up

At first, our house seemed almost too large for just three people.

For the first time, we had two bedrooms and a basement, which instantly doubled our usable space at a ground level.

After years of apartment living, though, the sheer thought of having so much space to keep clean felt exhausting. However, it didn't take long to change my mind.

It turns out that when both you and your belongings finally have room to breathe — and you've got a trusty robot vacuum doing the heavy lifting — life shines in completely different colors.

It's also been wonderful to have more room to host, from a dedicated guest space (in the basement) to a table big enough to actually seat larger groups.

In time, we began to pick up local habits and traditions, too. Many of our neighbors in Canada decorate for different holidays, so we started joining in.

And of course, seasonal decor needs a place to be stored when it's not in use — and since we now had a full basement, I didn't feel super limited with what I could buy.

A lot of neighbors also had an extra stand-alone freezer in their homes. It seemed ridiculous for our family of three to also get one … until my first Costco run.

I caved when I realized I needed a place for all those bulk-sized boxes of frozen food. In our bigger home, large grocery hauls began feeling normal.

Gradually, I felt a shift in my identity: I was no longer the strict minimalist I used to be.

In Kyiv, whenever my husband wanted a new kitchen gadget or a giant toy truck for our son, I was firm about saying no. We simply didn't have room for "extra." I took pride in keeping our home completely clutter-free.

But between the extra space and North American convenience, I'd completely changed my minimalist rules. Now, saying "yes" to big additions — like the bulky food dehydrator I'd been eyeing for drying fruits and vegetables, or the roomy couch we'd dreamed of for years — felt easy.

I didn't need to worry about where something would be stored or if it'd take up too much space: We finally had the room to bring those dreams home.

Ultimately, my family and I have thrived with more room to breathe

Over time, I realized this shift was much deeper than just being able to shop more and store more stuff. In a bigger space, our family had room to breathe and grow.

In Kyiv, our whole routine and my minimalist mindset felt shaped by how tight everything felt, but here, the extra room opened up a whole new chapter.

I've become more outgoing, more relaxed, and genuinely excited to gather people together. Our home has turned into a place for hosting friends, cooking weekend dinners, and laughing over backyard barbecues.

Living small was a beautiful, intimate part of my life that I will always hold close to my heart. It taught me intentionality and gratitude.

However, creating space to thrive, host, and watch my family grow has completely transformed my definition of home — now, going back to 500 square feet no longer feels like an option.

• When it comes to money, I'm a big budgeter, and my husband prefers taking risks.
• Now that we're building a house together, our differences are causing some disagreements.
• We've learned to stay flexible and balance each other's approaches.

My husband and I have very different ideas about financial responsibility.

When we're feeling stressed about money, my instinct is to run the numbers and account for every financial what-if. He's a big-picture dreamer who sees what something could become and is more willing to say, "We'll figure it out."

His attitude has paid off before. He had the vision for our first home, which we bought for under $100,000 and recently sold for a decent profit after 13 years of renovations.

I know some of the best things we've done together wouldn't have happened without my husband's willingness to take a chance, but our differences have still caused some friction over the years.

Now that we're building a new home together, we're trying to balance my need to plan for the unknown with his belief that we'll find a way forward.

After 13 years, we took a risk and sold our home

For 13 years, we'd lived in the same place. My husband had moved frequently as a child, and he wanted his two daughters to have a consistent place to call home.

Leaving this house behind was bittersweet, but my oldest stepdaughter had just bought her own house, and my younger one was heading off to college. We were ready for what came next.

We could have bought an existing house needing renovations. Instead, we found land in southern Maine that felt worth taking a risk on.

We've always loved the area. My family has an annual reunion there, where we spend a week at the beach. Our new property will hopefully give us that lifestyle without the summer crowds: It's more than 2 ½ acres with hiking trails next door, a nearby kayak and paddleboard launch, and the ocean just a short drive away.

We decided to go for it, and by the end of August, our old house was nearly empty. My younger stepdaughter left for college on a Wednesday, we moved the rest of our things to a rental on a Thursday, and officially sold the house that Friday.

Every estimate comes with an 'unless'

In September, we began building our 1,500-square-foot house.

We're now paying $3,000 a month for a rental home — with a construction loan on top of that — and keeping track of a lot of numbers, from lumber and labor to excavation, plumbing, electrical, permits, and finishes.

My husband is doing most of the construction himself, which is what makes this project possible. If we had to pay for all of the labor, we probably couldn't afford to build right now.

However, that's not to say this hasn't been a very stressful time. We think we've accounted for everything, but every estimate has an asterisk: Unless lumber prices go up. Unless a contractor's price changes.

Unless we hit ledge — that is, solid bedrock beneath the soil that can be expensive to excavate. We might have to rethink the foundation or adjust the entire plan once we see what's underground.

I find that uncomfortable, but my husband doesn't.

We're leaving room to adjust

My husband can picture what this property could become over time, and has big dreams for it.

He wanted a garage, a small cottage where our family could stay when they visit, a little more space, and nicer finishes in some areas. I kept bringing us back to what we could afford right now, and how much we wanted to keep in savings rather than put everything into the house.

After a lot of discussion, we decided to start small. We're building for the life we have today, while — at his request — leaving room for the one we might want tomorrow. The garage and cottage can wait. For now, we're focusing on getting the house right without stretching our budget too far.

That means staying flexible. For instance, my husband wants a finished basement, and I agreed, knowing this would give us the option to add a third bedroom down the road.

Though the cost difference between a basement and an unfinished crawl space isn't huge upfront, hitting ledge could put us thousands — or even tens of thousands — over budget.

We're willing to give the basement a shot, but if excavation costs start climbing, we may have to scale back to a crawl space and save the extra bedroom for another day.

We have a plan, but we know it might change once we get further into the build. I'll keep making the spreadsheets and asking for the numbers. He'll keep looking at the big picture and reminding me why we decided to do this.

This project, and my husband, have taught me that financial responsibility isn't necessarily about eliminating every risk, but knowing which risks are worth taking and staying open to changing course.

• I'm in my 60s and I'm enjoying life more than I did in my 20s.
• At this point in my life, I'm more confident in my fashion choices and friendships.
• Plus, I've finally stopped questioning whether I'm where I'm "supposed to be" in life.

At 62, my life looks almost nothing like the one my 20-year-old self pictured. It's better.

Sure, I'm divorced and don't have grandchildren, but I have adult children I adore and friendships with decades of history. Plus, I'm doing something I never imagined: building a career on social media.

Every day, I talk to over 200,000 followers on TikTok and 135,000 on Instagram about hope, finding your purpose, and remembering that life doesn't have an expiration date.

At an age when many people are winding down, I seem to just be getting started. And I wouldn't change a thing.

I dress for myself, not my age

I've always loved fashion, from jeans and flip-flops to high heels and designer gowns. But these days, I have more confidence in my choices and a lot less interest in anyone else's opinion of them.

When I look at clothes, I don't see an age requirement. I see something I either love or don't.

Whether it's a bold print, an unexpected silhouette, or a statement piece, my decision on what to wear comes down to how it looks and feels on me, not how old I am. Fashion has always been a form of self-expression for me, and getting older hasn't changed that.

I don't think women should have to trade their sense of style for something more "age-appropriate" every time they celebrate another birthday.

Plus, my goal isn't to look 30. It's to make 30-year-olds excited to turn 60. After all, why would I want to turn back the clock? I've spent six decades learning who I am. I wouldn't trade that wisdom just to have younger-looking skin.

My friendships don't require me to be anyone but myself

One of the most beautiful parts of getting older is having friendships that have stood the test of time. There's something special about sitting across from someone who knows the chapters of your life you'd rather forget and realizing you have absolutely nothing to prove.

My friends and I have stood by one another through divorces, financial struggles, challenges with our children, and some of life's most difficult moments.

But we've also shared incredible joy, deepened our connections, and celebrated the love, wisdom, and experiences that make growing older such a gift.

In my 20s, I was still figuring out who I was. Now, there's no pressure to perform, impress, or constantly please the people closest to me.

We don't take everything personally, either. If someone is busy or life gets complicated, we understand. We know that a friendship isn't measured by how often you see each other.

That kind of freedom doesn't happen overnight. It's built through years of showing up, forgiving, laughing, and sometimes simply giving each other grace.

I've stopped questioning whether I'm where I'm supposed to be

When I was younger, I spent so much time wondering whether I was on the right path. I had a very specific picture of what my life should look like, and when things didn't go according to plan, I questioned myself.

At 62, I can look back and see that even the experiences I never would have chosen were my greatest gifts of all. Every path is the right path.

Loss taught me gratitude. Starting over taught me courage. Being told I wasn't enough taught me to recognize my own worth. And through it all, I've developed a resilience that allows me to face whatever life brings with confidence and hope.

And perhaps that's the biggest difference between 22 and 62: I know that my life is happening for me, not to me.

I spent so much of my younger years thinking about what my life would become. Now I'm actually living it, and I still have so much I want to do.

I know aging is inevitable. But spending decades dreading it isn't.