Bread & Butter - Issue 09

In my last newsletter, I talked about trust issues — and why empathy and compassion make a huge difference in our everyday lives.

I’m not gonna harp on what folks already know, but I will say this: forgiveness and the way we handle each other’s humanity are the scaffolding for rebuilding trust.

How we perceive our relationships — and their quality — determines how solid that foundation really is.

That’s where this issue starts: with acceptance, perspective, and the reminder that sometimes, even when we’re running low, we can still find one extra spoon tucked away somewhere.

Perspective is super important for wisdom and growth, but it’s hard to adjust when your brain isn’t your friend (my shorthand for executive dysfunction, rejection sensitivity, and social anxiety).

No matter where you are, finding value in yourself and what you do matters. Getting worked up when others are unfazed paints a target on your back. It means more masking, more avoidance, and more subsequent anxiety.

Last week, I wrote about hunting for a spoon at work. I’d made chicken tortilla soup — a small comfort in the middle of a long day — and realized I’d forgotten my spoon. It turned into a mini odyssey: wandering the office, scavenging break rooms, finally landing outside on a concrete step under the crape myrtles.

It wasn’t really about the spoon. It was about running on empty. I wasn’t just short a utensil — I was short on spoons, period. Energy, patience, and focus were gone. And still, I sat there, realizing I may never be that perfectly polished person I keep chasing.

That’s where this issue starts — with acceptance, perspective, and the reminder that even when we’re running low, there’s usually one extra spoon tucked away somewhere.

I talk a lot about structure, framing, and process — and it’s not just because I’m house-obsessed. I truly believe these are the difference between sanity and hot mess.

I’m emotional, expressive, and creative by nature and trade. I create chaos on the daily — which isn’t sustainable, durable, or resilient.

This hyper-reactive way of living (and homebuilding) creates invisible problems: cracked foundations, leaky roofs, moldy walls, and more.

As I matured and settled into longer seasons of stability, I started to crave structure. Deadlines, outlines, and feedback don’t restrict me — they fuel me. They remind me I’m progressing, that there’s proof of growth, not just a proofing stage.

Wrestling with mindset and messiness — and moving toward tangible progress — is so f***ing hard. And yes, I know there are harder things. But I’m tired of being tired all the time.

Fear about my future and my health (mental and physical) still rules too many of my days. I want more mental space — a mindset remodel of my current perspective floorplan.

Because I am building something worthwhile. When I forget that, I let doubt, fear, and overwhelm win. Yet every single time I connect with someone in the home industry, it feels like kismet.

And I’m still not a homeowner. Not even close.

Even on the most terrible of Tuesdays, the right partner, a change of scenery, or a sweet treat (in moderation) can shift everything.

I’m entering my habitual season of apathy (seasonal affective disorder’s cozy cousin), and fighting it — even in small ways — matters.

Can we also talk about saying yes too much? That dopamine hit from novelty? The constant thinking-thinking-thinking that doesn’t stop — especially when your brain’s wired for chaos?

There’s no plumber for that drip. The faucet keeps running.

So how do we reframe this mental foundation?

How much renovation is required — and what’s the cost?

Are my relationships suffering? Am I losing patience? Sleep? Something’s gotta give. Because the cost of neglect always catches up — even if it hides behind the walls, like mold or mildew.

Below, find a chat I had with Eddie and Andrew Prchal of Gunner Roofing about the long-term costs of hidden damage and what owners can do with a bit of seasonal prevention.

A homemade take on what’s shaping homes, housing, and the future of how we build in North Texas.

Each path keeps money circulating locally — supporting DFW builders, designers, and the urban core’s future.

If this made you pause, plan, or see your home a little differently — that’s the whole point. Know someone who’d love this? Pass it on. Or hit reply and tell me what’s on your plate.

Warmly,
Amanda