There’s a kind of tension we don’t always notice until we leave it. It shows up in homes that are too open, too exposed, or too undefined. There’s no clear edge between one function and the next, no place where your body instinctively knows it can settle.

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Open floor plan homes present well and are an efficient use of space. The definitely have their benefits, like the ability to remain engaged with the family while cooking, but they also have their challenges. There's less storage space,  cooking smells and sounds that drift, fewer walls to place furniture to encourage proper flow, and a lack of privacy. Over time, it wears our system down. Folks find themselves snapping at each other because everyone’s overstimulated.

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We underestimate how much our nervous systems rely on physical cues to know when to shift gears. Kids need spatial prompts that signal when it’s time to play and when it’s time to wind down. Parents need moments of privacy and places to decompress, even in the middle of family life. Without clear divisions—visual or emotional—everyone starts blending into each other. That closeness can start to feel chaotic instead of connected.

 

When space doesn’t offer emotional boundaries, the family has to work twice as hard to create them themselves.

And in already stressful seasons—renovation, remote work, high needs parenting—that extra effort takes a toll.

Designing for safety means designing spaces that communicate something your nervous system understands: this is where you rest. This is where you focus. This is where you connect. The structure doesn’t have to be rigid, but it has to be felt. A shift in flooring, the placement of a chair, the way a room wraps around you—all of it matters.

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Emotional safety isn’t built with walls. It’s built with intention.

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