What renovating together really does to a relationship – somewhere in the middle of all of it we’ve built something that isn’t on any floor plan
It's the project's most stress-tested material
Committed home renovators David and Andrew Harrison-Colley (better known on Instagram as The Home Boys) are part of Ideal Home's new Open House contributors, sharing their thoughts on making a home together and living through the tricky parts. See the rest of their articles here.
There’s a particular kind of intimacy that comes from being on your hands and knees together at half past ten on a Wednesday night, laying terracotta tiles, both of you slightly delirious, both sharing a packet of crisps because dinner never quite happened.
It’s not romantic, exactly. But it’s something.
The things no one puts on a mood board
Before we tackled the cottage, we’d already renovated together twice. So we knew what we were getting into. Or we thought we did.
What the mood boards don’t show you is the 10pm breakdown about whether the grout is the right colour. The Sunday afternoon where one of you wants to push on and the other has genuinely hit a wall (metaphorically – the literal walls are already down). The moment you both stare at a room that looks worse than when you started and neither of you can summon the words to make it better.
Renovation has a way of surfacing everything: how you make decisions, how you handle stress, whether you’re a ‘push through it’ person (Andrew) or a ‘let’s stop and think’ person (David). And when you’re both tired and covered in plaster dust, those differences feel enormous.
Where we’ve clashed (honestly)
Our biggest friction points have rarely been about the big decisions. We’ve been surprisingly aligned on the layout, the materials, the overall vision. It’s the small stuff that creeps up.
Pace is one. One of us is happier living in chaos if it means faster progress; the other needs occasional moments of calm and order to function. Neither approach is wrong, but when you’re sharing a half-finished house with no kitchen worktop and an almost burnt-out coffee machine, those differences require negotiation.
Then there’s the spontaneous purchases. A few years ago we drove four hours round-trip after spotting a vintage set of cast-iron shop scales online. David said no. Andrew said let’s go! We went. Andrew pulled a muscle hauling them into the boot. They now live in what will eventually be our utility, weigh approximately as much as a small car, and David refuses to admit how much he likes them.
And then there was the rattan rocking chair. David spotted it at the tip shop for £10, hesitated, talked himself out of it. Andrew – on seeing the photo – had some strong words.
David went back the next day to right the wrong. It was gone. We are both still processing this. (neither of us are fine about it).
What’s actually kept us going
The thing we’ve found most useful – and it took us embarrassingly long to figure out - is dividing responsibilities clearly.
Not every decision needs to be made together. Not every opinion needs to be sought. We’ve naturally settled into lanes – one of us tends to lead on materials, finishes and sourcing; the other on budgets, logistics and keeping the wider project on track. It doesn’t mean we don’t consult each other. It just means we’re not both drowning in every single detail, every single day.
We’ve also learned to recognise tiredness in each other before it turns into something sharper. When one of us starts going very quiet around a tile choice, it’s usually not about the tile.
And we’ve gotten much better at celebrating small wins. A finished room. A wall finally painted. A drawer that closes properly. These feel minor from the outside, but inside a long renovation they’re the moments that remind you why you started.
What it’s taught us about each other
Here’s the thing about renovating with someone: you find out who they are when things go wrong.
Not when the before-and-after looks great and everyone’s commenting how well it’s come together. When the plasterer can’t come for 6 weeks. When the budget runs out faster than the jobs do. When you’ve laid four rows of tiles, stepped back, and realised the laser level wasn’t set up properly an hour ago.
We’ve seen each other at our least patient, least composed, and occasionally least rational. And we’re still here, still enthusiastic (mostly), still choosing paint samples together at 11pm on a Tuesday.
If you can renovate together and still want to have dinner together afterwards, that tells you something.
A few things we’d tell anyone embarking on this
Divide responsibilities early. Not because you don’t trust each other, but because shared ownership of every decision is exhausting.
Keep one space liveable. Always. Having somewhere calm to retreat to when the rest of the house is chaos is not a luxury – it’s necessary.
Make time for things that have nothing to do with the renovation. A meal out, a walk, anything that reminds you you’re a couple, not just a project management team.
Say thank you more than you think you need to. The person who did the unglamorous jobs this week – the sanding, the priming, the sealing – needs to hear it.
Get the chair. Whatever your version of the chair is. If one of you spots it and lights up, just get it. You will think about it forever otherwise.
The cottage is still unfinished. There are rooms waiting for their moment, decisions still to be made, floors still to be laid. But somewhere in the middle of all of it, we’ve built something that isn’t on any floor plan.
A home we’re genuinely proud of. And a partnership that’s been tested, shaped and – we think – strengthened by the whole messy, exhausting, occasionally joyful process of making it.
Even if we will never quite forgive the rattan chair.
