Some projects begin with an idea, with excitement. Mood boards. Late-night conversations. A shared vision of “this is how we’ll live”.
And then reality enters the room — calmly, professionally — with a detailed proposal.
Last Saturday we received the full cost estimation for our new kitchen project. Not just the kitchen itself, but everything that comes with it. And that’s where the internal debate really started.
We came in prepared. We had ideas, references, and even a rough mood board. In all honesty: the proposal we received was better than what we had envisioned ourselves. More consistent. More balanced. More thought-through.
They also suggested straightening the angled side of the kitchen. The adjacent bay window is angled as well, and because of that slope, water often remains on the glass roof — something we absolutely want to eliminate. Straightening that side would visually enlarge the kitchen and solve a practical issue at the same time.
Conceptually, it all made sense.
Let me be clear about one thing: the price of the kitchen itself feels fair. No real discussion there.
The doubts start with everything around it. We already knew some things had to be done:
The bay window had reached the end of its life
The floor needed replacing
The ceiling (gyproc with painted wallpaper) was due for renewal
None of that was unexpected.
What was unexpected was how expensive those additional works turned out to be when bundled together. Individually, each cost can be explained, I guess. But taken as a whole, it raises questions.
The total project now sits around 30% above what we considered our absolute maximum.
And that leads to a very honest question: Was our budget unrealistic?
I don’t think so.
We weren’t aiming for excess or luxury. We set what we believed was a solid, well-considered budget for a home we plan to live in for the next twenty years, assuming life allows it.
This doesn’t feel like poor planning. It feels like a moment where expectations and reality drift apart.
Negotiation, Not Rejection
This is not a “yes or no” situation. It’s a conversation.
We’ve made it clear that we’re willing to talk — about wishes, choices, alternatives. But negotiation works both ways. If we’re expected to adjust expectations, we also expect flexibility in return.
That means:
Rethinking certain construction choices
Challenging cost assumptions
Looking for smarter, not just prettier, solutions
We asked them to go back internally and see what’s possible. Not miracles — just realism. We know some things won’t move. But others should.
Dreams don’t disappear just because you negotiate. They evolve.
This is where it becomes uncomfortable.
You’re shown a version of your future that works. And then you’re asked whether that version is worth stretching financial boundaries that far.
We want to stay here for a long time. That makes quality important. But responsibility matters just as much.
Sometimes the hardest part isn’t saying no. It’s deciding how far “yes” is allowed to go.
Lessons Learned (Thanks to Hive)
Hive has quietly trained me for moments like this:
Question numbers, not just ideas
Separate emotional value from financial reality
Negotiation is not conflict — it’s clarity
Boundaries protect long-term peace of mind
This isn’t about complaining. We’re fortunate to even be having this discussion. But it is about being honest: not every well-designed dream is automatically the right decision — at least not without pushback.
For now, we wait. For feedback. For adjustments. For answers.
And sometimes, that pause is exactly where better decisions are made.
