When I was a kid, my grandmother always said some houses just felt “friendly” while others felt cold, no matter how nice they looked. I didn’t understand what she meant until I started modifying our own house to help my wife after her stroke. That’s when I learned that rooms really do affect how you feel – and more importantly, that you can do something about it.
The revelation came about six years ago when I was visiting our daughter in Seattle. She’d moved into this tiny apartment in an older building, nothing fancy, but walking into her place felt like stepping into a completely different world. After spending months focused on medical equipment and grab bars, being in her space reminded me that houses could actually make you feel better instead of just safer.
The first thing I noticed was how she’d arranged the lighting. Instead of relying on those harsh overhead fixtures – the kind we’d had throughout our house for decades – she had small lamps positioned around the room that created what she called “light layers.” Some spots were brighter for reading, others softer for relaxing. It reminded me of how natural light changes throughout the day, something our sealed-up house with its heavy drapes never allowed us to experience.
But what really caught my attention was how she’d incorporated natural materials into everything. The coffee table was a thick slab of reclaimed wood that still showed saw marks and weathering. Bookshelves held pieces of driftwood and smooth stones alongside her books. Even her drawer pulls were made from polished wood instead of the chrome hardware we had everywhere at home.
I found myself constantly touching these surfaces while we talked – running my fingers along the wood grain, picking up the stones to feel their weight and smoothness. It wasn’t conscious; I just kept reaching for these natural textures. When I mentioned it, my daughter laughed and said she did the same thing, especially after stressful days at work.
That got me thinking about our own house. After my wife’s stroke, we’d focused entirely on functionality – non-slip surfaces, easy-to-clean materials, everything designed for safety and maintenance. But we’d inadvertently created an environment that felt more like a medical facility than a home. Everything was synthetic, hard-surfaced, sterile.
I started reading about something called therapeutic environments, initially looking for information about spaces that could help with my wife’s recovery. That led me to research on healing gardens, which I’d already been working on, but also to studies about how indoor environments affect mood, pain levels, and overall wellbeing.
One study I found particularly interesting was about “material empathy” – apparently our nervous systems actually respond differently when we touch natural materials versus synthetic ones. Wood, stone, and other organic textures can measurably reduce stress hormones. It made sense from an engineering perspective; we evolved touching natural materials, so of course our bodies would respond positively to them.
I decided to experiment in our own house, starting small. The kitchen had these awful plastic cabinet handles that had always bothered me, though I’d never thought about why. I replaced them with simple wooden pulls I turned on my old lathe in the garage – nothing fancy, just smooth pieces of maple that felt good in your hand. The difference was immediate. Opening cabinets became pleasant instead of just functional.
Encouraged by that success, I started looking at other high-touch surfaces throughout the house. Replaced the laminate desktop in our home office with a piece of oak I’d had stored in the garage for years. Switched out synthetic area rugs for wool ones that felt better underfoot. Small changes, but they added up to making the house feel more… alive.
The plant situation was trickier. My wife had always been the gardener, and after her stroke, I was intimidating by the thought of keeping houseplants alive. But I’d read about the air-purifying and mood-lifting effects of indoor plants, so I started with the most foolproof options I could find. Snake plants, which apparently thrive on neglect, and some trailing pothos that I hung near the windows.
The effect on my wife was noticeable within a few weeks. She started asking me to move her chair closer to the plants, and I’d often find her just sitting and looking at them. When I asked why, she said they made the room feel “less empty.” That made perfect sense – for months our main floor had been arranged around medical necessities, not comfort or beauty.
The lighting changes took more planning but made the biggest difference. Our house had been designed in the 1980s when the standard approach was bright overhead fixtures controlled by wall switches. Everything was either fully lit or dark, no subtlety. I installed dimmer switches first, which helped, but then I started adding table and floor lamps to create what I learned designers call “ambient lighting.”
The real breakthrough came when I replaced our old incandescent bulbs with LED lights that could change color temperature throughout the day. Cooler, brighter light during daytime hours, warmer light in the evenings. It sounds technical, but the effect was like having natural light patterns indoors. Both my wife and I started sleeping better within a month of making these changes.
One modification that surprised me with how much we both enjoyed it was adding a simple water feature to our living room. Not anything elaborate – just a ceramic bowl on a side table that I kept filled with fresh water. Sometimes I’d add a smooth stone or a small cutting from one of our plants. The gentle sound when someone walked by and created vibrations, the way light reflected off the surface – it was subtle but soothing.
I learned about something researchers call “biophilic design” – basically, incorporating elements of nature into built environments because humans have an innate need for connection with the natural world. A lot of it was common sense that previous generations understood instinctively. Houses used to have front porches where people spent time outside, larger windows, materials that came from local sources.
What I realized was that we could bring some of these principles into our existing house without major renovation. It wasn’t about turning our living room into a greenhouse – it was about strategic touches that engaged multiple senses and reminded us of the natural world we’d somehow designed out of modern homes.
The changes helped both of us more than I’d expected. My wife’s pain levels seemed lower on days when she spent time in rooms with more natural light and textures. Her physical therapy exercises went better when we moved them to the area near the plants and windows. I noticed I was less irritable in the evenings and more motivated to work on projects.
Friends from church started commenting on how different our house felt. People seemed to relax more quickly when they visited, stayed longer for conversations, offered to help with projects instead of rushing off. I realized we’d unintentionally created an environment that was more welcoming and less stressful.
I started sharing what I’d learned with other retirees dealing with similar challenges. How to improve lighting without rewiring the whole house. Budget-friendly ways to incorporate natural textures. Which plants are most likely to survive if you’re not an experienced gardener. Practical modifications that make spaces feel more restorative without requiring professional design expertise.
The key insight for me was understanding that these changes don’t have to be dramatic or expensive. Start with one natural material you’re drawn to – maybe a piece of wood you can sand smooth and use as a cutting board, or some river rocks you can arrange in a bowl. Pay attention to how touching these materials makes you feel compared to plastic or metal surfaces.
Lighting is probably the most important factor and often the easiest to modify. Replace a few overhead bulbs with warmer-toned LEDs. Add a table lamp or two so you can create different moods for different activities. If you can afford it, get some of those color-changing bulbs that mimic natural light patterns throughout the day.
Plants don’t have to be complicated. Start with something nearly impossible to kill – snake plants, ZZ plants, or pothos are good options. Even artificial plants can help if they look realistic and you’re just trying to add some green to the environment. The goal is creating visual connections to nature, not becoming a master gardener.
What I’ve learned over these past several years is that our houses affect our wellbeing much more than most people realize, especially as we age and spend more time indoors. Small changes in materials, lighting, and natural elements can make a big difference in how we feel day to day. It’s not about following design trends – it’s about creating environments that support our basic human need for connection with the natural world.
Our house now serves multiple purposes – it’s still the home where we raised our kids and plan to age in place, but it’s also become a testing ground for modifications that help other older adults create more supportive living environments. The changes we’ve made aren’t fancy or expensive, but they’ve transformed how the house feels and functions for both of us.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
