To all the bedrooms I've loved before

Five love letters to five of my most cherished childhood bedrooms.

I can trace my love of interiors—and of colour—back to my bedrooms. They were the first spaces I could claim as my own. I’d experiment in small ways: with paint my dad would put on my walls, with pattern, with how I arranged my things (like carefully lining up my Beanie Babies just so). Each bedroom I’ve lived in tells a story—of time, of place, of changing taste.

Because bedrooms are more than just rooms. They’re little worlds, filled with the objects we treasure (and maybe hoard), the things that feel too personal to live anywhere else. Each of my bedrooms held a different version of me: playful, hopeful, restless, inspired. The walls and cities have changed, but that feeling—the one that comes from making a space your own, even for a moment—has always stayed with me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my past bedrooms and I thought it would be fun to write five love letters to the first five that I lived in and adored. The colours, the memories. A big thanks to my mom for taking the time to flip through several photo albums to collect these gems.

Join me for a trip down memory lane…

Little Lisa in Colour in her adolescence bedroom. I loved collecting, even then: Barbie dolls, Beanie Babies, The Baby-Sitters Club books.

Bedroom #1: The yellow nursery

Dear glowy yellow bedroom,

You were so yellow. The softest, warmest shade—somewhere between sunshine and marigold—that seemed to glow brighter whenever the light streamed through your window. I don’t remember you. Not really. But the photos and stories have stitched you into my imagination so vividly that sometimes, I think I do.

They say I loved you. (Honestly, the photos don’t lie—I look thrilled to be in your golden light.) You cradled me in yellow floral sheets, with a matching blanket tucked just so. My Uncle Tommy gave me the rainbow-coloured clown mobile that hung from your ceiling, spinning gently above me. That mobile became a part of me—following me from room to room, from babyhood to teenager, always a little piece of you.

I look thrilled to be hanging out in my first-ever bedroom.

You wore my mom’s handiwork with pride—fabric balloons she sewed and hung on your walls, the first of many things she’d make to bring colour and care into my spaces. You were the beginning of all of that.

Even though I couldn’t name it then, you were my first room. The first space that was mine, even if I didn’t understand what that meant. My mom says this is where I fell in love with sleeping in sun patches—something she does too, so it must be in our blood. I may not remember your exact corners or how the carpet felt (I think you had carpet), but I know I felt safe here.

Sleeping in a sun patch in my bedroom when I was a tiny newborn.

Bedroom #2: The bedroom with the green and yellow cow curtains

Dear bedroom with the cow curtains,

You were mine for so long—longer than any other room. From 1989 until I left for university in 2003, you held me through every version of myself: the competitive runner, the boyband-obsessed pre-teen, the moody, poster-hanging teenager. You saw it all. Stuffed animals, secret journals, awkward phone calls on the landline stretched too far across your floor. You changed so many times, but your bones stayed the same.

You held my very first “big girl” bed, with a safety rail that I probably pretended not to need. My mom made you special—she dressed you in a cow-and-farmer-print bedspread, with matching curtains that framed your window just right. She even covered the rails in the same fabric. I loved it. I loved you.

You were more than four walls—you were my little, growing world.

Matching pyjamas with my Cabbage Patch doll, Berta.

Bedroom #3: The floral bedroom with a precious hand-made pillow

Dear soft ‘pillow person’ and the bedroom you belonged to,