DIY definitely started as a necessity for me and my husband. When the Air Force moved us to a tiny base in a small town in the middle of nowhere called Enid, Oklahoma, we didn’t have much. A couch. Some second (or maybe even third) hand bedroom furniture. His parents’ old dining room table. My parents’ old dish set and glassware. Decor from my high school bedroom and college dorm room. Buying something new or even hiring something out was beyond the scope of our budget, so we lived with what we had and made do with inexpensive clothing and cheap dinner ideas.

The town of Enid was strange to us – we weren’t familiar with the oil run economy, which in turn drove living expenses, and we definitely didn’t fit in to a town where the median age was about three decades older than our twenty-two and twenty-three year old selves. Most people our age and of military affiliation rented in town or lived on base, but neither of those seemed like viable options for us – we couldn’t afford the marked up rent (thanks recent oil boom) and we weren’t married, so I couldn’t get on base without being escorted, much less live there full time. So we did the only thing we could think to do and the only thing we could afford – we bought a house.

I know, you probably think we’re crazy. How is buying a house cheaper than renting? Well, we took advantage of the 0% down VA loan, wrapped the funding fee and closing costs back into the loan, and walked into a dirty house with an air mattress, a duffel bag, and a dream. Oh, and our massive orange dog Charlie. Can’t forget about him.

Over the next year of Oklahoma living, lots of change happened. We dug out wheelbarrow load after load of dog poop from the back yard (did we mention the previous owners had FIVE dogs and never once picked up after them?!), installed a patio and fire pit with nothing but a shovel, a rake, and our muscles, and leveled the entire yard and spread grass seed by hand, making sure to water it twice a day every day for months using our little sprinkler hooked up to the well water. We painted every single wall in the house. Twice. We landscaped the front yard, pulling out years of overgrowth. We glued tiles we found for free to the bathroom mirror, making a faux frame that was friendly on our shallow pockets. We painted the entirety of the exterior of the house with a paint brush and a roller one month before we moved out, because it took us the entire year to save up for that paint and that brush and that roller. I staged our house with air mattresses and cheap art and taught myself how to take near professional quality real estate photos. We pored over rental listings for months in the competing market and wrote and rewrote the description for the listing. And then we got our orders, packed up, moved all our belongings (minus a mattress, a couch, and two plates, cups, and bowls) to a storage unit, and trekked to the next training station for four months.

The best part? It worked. Our little ideas and our tiny budget created a house that looked like a home, a house that attracted hundred of people, a house that made the neighbors first stare at us open mouthed while we painted it by hand in the summer heat, but then made them stare in amazement at the finished product. Our house rented in record time, and continues to amaze us by filling itself with a new tenant before the old one can even pack their belongings.

So, we did the only natural thing we could think of – we decided to repeat it.

When Grayson first asked me if I’d consider buying and moving into a fourplex at our next duty station in Missouri, I said no. I had been miserable and suffocated in that town in Oklahoma, and all I wanted after years of moving around so much was to just be settled. But logic won out (along with the fact that our new station was completely unaffordable, yet again), and a few months later we were moving into a unit in a fourplex.

Our lifestyle was once again dictated by necessity. We used the second entitlement of our VA loan to purchase the fourplex, which involved putting down $15,000 at the closing table (and again wrapping the funding fee back into the loan), and once again found ourselves with a place that needed work (albeit quite a bit more this time) and a pocket book that couldn’t quite stretch to cover it. So we worked days and nights and weekends. We hired out only the bare necessities, and even then managed to get pretty decent deals. I learned how to lay tile and fix a squeaky subfloor thanks to Google. Grayson learned how to rewire outlets, hang doors, and install kitchen cabinets. We bought clearance appliances and learned how to frame and drywall and do finish carpentry. It went on and on. Anything that could be wrong with that unit was, from the ferret poop smeared down the surface of the walls to the slow water leak inside of them, and we learned how to fix it one project at a time, with nothing but our own two hands. Oh, and the jackhammer we rented once. That was a beautiful day.

And wouldn’t you know it, it worked. We moved out and now rent the unit for almost $400 more a month than when we bought the place, and it’s a safe and clean and welcoming place to call home. And we continue to repeat it over and over and over again.

Somewhere along the journey, I found my home in DIY. I love the challenge it brings and the new skills I learn every day. I find myself welcomed into a virtual community that moves with me from place to place, making connections with women from Canada to Vegas, Florida to Italy, and beyond. And although my journey started out of a need, it now it feels like a personal necessity to keep creating, to keep fixing with my own two hands. I don’t feel complete if I haven’t touched a tool all day and I use the time that I spend working on projects to meditate and reflect on my troubles, to listen to podcasts and books and grow as an individual, to reach out to other people doing similar things to find my place in the world. So, here I am, a proud DIY lady. I hope this blog can welcome you in to our journey and encourage you to start your own.