I Do It Myself
When one of my nieces was tiny, she had a phrase she used frequently with absolute clarity and determination:
“I do it myself.”
And do it herself, she did.
No dithering. No asking for permission. Just a small human, quietly resolute, earning respect simply by showing up and getting on with it. That family phrase has been circling my head all week as I took on what I can now confidently describe as a gargantuan task: painting the top floor of my house in France.
You know that moment when you say yes to something (internal dialogue between me and me, obviously) and only later realise you may have slightly overestimated your enthusiasm, physical resilience, and tolerance for fear? That was me. But once I’ve started, I finish. That’s the rule.
This wasn’t a quick slap of a similar colour paint. We’re talking colour drenching, vaulted ceilings. Beams. Textured walls. Architectural “features” that demand care and patience. Add height into the mix—never my favourite place to loiter—and picture me teetering on a tall ladder, roller in one hand, paint in the other, trying not to think too hard about gravity.
After three full days—proper days, ten hours with only brief reward breaks for cuppas and bite to eat—I ended up with a full-blown migraine. Constant neck strain, intense concentration, dragging furniture and a low-level hum of fear will do that to you. After a morning work meeting, I surrendered entirely: bed for the rest of the day and night. Up only for sustenance and pees. Honestly? Delicious.
The following morning I bounced out of bed… well, bounced-ish… and got stuck in again. Yesterday was a good day, though tiring. Today is day five. The second coat is going on and I can finally see the end in sight. But let’s be clear: this has been effing hard.
And I know a big part of it hasn’t just been physical—it’s been energetic. I needed to put my energy into this house. Into my home.
Music helped. One day it was classical. Another day I wandered down memory lane, asking Alexa to randomly play albums from my childhood home—Perry Como, Val Doonican, The Stylistics, The Drifters… you get the idea. I sang my heart out while painting, wrapped in memories. Mum and Dad love music and dancing; they were brilliant entertainers, throwing many parties at home. A home filled with laughter, movement, and sound.
And so I painted those memories into my walls. I honoured and smiled with them. I thought of the people who populated those moments—you know who you are, my special ones.
Right ho. Lunch is nearly finished, and then it’s back for the final shift. It’s going to be gorgeous—and thank goodness I love the colour, because it’s staying like this for quite a while.
And just to be clear:
I am not available for painting.
The roller is officially being hung up. 🎨