Designing with Intention: What My Middle-of-the-Night Vision Taught Me

Marissa Northrop
Apr 10
3 min read

It was 2 a.m.

I had just gotten up to pee—one of those middle-of-the-night wake-ups where you expect to fall back asleep easily. But this time, something else was stirring.

I couldn't shut my mind off. Not in an anxious, racing way. But in a soul-lit kind of way. Ideas were flooding in. Visions of our bedroom, refinished pieces, a little desk for my husband Tyrone, the backyard finally coming together. The kind of creative spark that makes you want to get up and build something now.

So I did.

I logged into work, thinking I’d get a head start on the day and quickly felt the urge to instead journal on everything flowing through me. I was right at that sweet spot of energy—where aligned action and soulful downloads meet—when I heard soft footsteps.

It was my youngest daughter, awake and wide-eyed, dragging me back to bed like a sleepy little oracle.

I had to laugh. Of course she came to get me just as I was ready to pour into the visions. It felt cosmic, like the Universe winking at me. A reminder that life, especially motherhood, is never linear. That becoming happens in the in-between.

The Vision That Wouldn’t Let Go

Before she came in, I had started seeing it so clearly.

Two end tables that I’d refinish, replacing the mismatched pieces we’ve outgrown.
Selling my beautiful bookshelf—not because I don’t love it, but because someone else might love it more in their space.
Moving the treadmill to the garage that would create a proper little workout corner.
Giving Tyrone a desk area of his own, right where his contractor license hangs like a badge of honor.

It all felt right. Simple shifts that carry energy. Edits that make space not just for beauty, but for us to feel more like ourselves.

I even saw the bathroom—finally becoming bold and brave. Moody green paint, Galey Alix’s wallpaper, a gold ornate mirror, a vanity I’d paint a pottery barn wood look even though Tyrone swears it won’t look right. (I trust the vision.)

And then there was the backyard.

The chickens finally having a contained area, so we could reclaim the rest of the yard. A black-painted table, softened with sanding. An umbrella, outdoor rug, and cushions for our gifted patio set tying it all together. The girls’ playhouse, finished and full of wonder. A whole new chapter of backyard living that’s both beautiful and attainable.

Design as a Reflection of Becoming

None of this came to me from Pinterest or a magazine.

It came from being still. From listening to my soul at 2 a.m. From years of evolving, editing, releasing, and reimagining.

This is what I’ve come to believe: Design isn’t just about making something pretty. It’s about making space for who you’re becoming.

Your home should reflect your evolution, not just your aesthetics. It should hold you, stretch with you, and inspire you. It should feel like you—even as you grow into the next version of yourself.

And sometimes, the most aligned visions don’t come when you’re sitting at a desk with a to-do list. They come in the dark, in the quiet, when you're half asleep but fully open.

If You’re in a Season of Reimagining...

Let this be your permission slip.

You’re allowed to outgrow things—even the ones you once loved. You’re allowed to dream new dreams at 2 a.m. You’re allowed to create a home that supports your nervous system and your soul.

So start with one thing. Maybe it’s a chicken fence. Maybe it’s a can of paint. Maybe it’s simply a vision on a journal page for now.

Every shift—no matter how small—is a way of saying: I’m listening to who I’m becoming.

And that is always enough.