From Dreaming in Swatches to Designing a Life: My Journey Through Loss, Self-Doubt & Happy Accidents

It started with a love for design, but the real transformation happened in the detours—through loss, reinvention, and learning to believe in myself.

I always wanted to be an interior designer. Even as a little girl, I was obsessed with changing the world around me—rearranging furniture in my mind, fantasizing about colors and fabrics, and, most importantly, ripping pages out of my mom’s interior design magazines like a tiny, unhinged archivist.

My mother, a historical archivist turned stay-at-home mom (which, let’s be real, is the hardest and most important job in the world), was constantly poring over design magazines. Our coffee table was always buried under stacks of Architectural Digest, Veranda, and House Beautiful, which I promptly dismantled, tearing out the pages of rooms I adored. Instead of reprimanding me, my mom—wise woman that she was—got me my own biofile folder so I could neatly store my “future designs.” At seven years old, I was already curating my dream career.

But life doesn’t always follow the beautifully designed path we envision.

The Detour: Struggles, Self-Doubt & Surviving My 20s

As I grew up, my passion for design remained, but so did a lot of personal struggles. My teenage years were marked by crippling anxiety, depression, an eating disorder that nearly killed me, and substance abuse that I used to numb the discomfort of simply existing in my own skin. I also battled cystic acne, which made me feel so self-conscious that I wore sunglasses everywhere—even at night—because I believed if I couldn’t see people, they couldn’t see me.

My 20s were a mess of self-doubt, detours, and the overwhelming belief that a career in design wasn’t possible for someone like me. My father, a finance and law guy, came from a world where “success” meant numbers, contracts, and things that required spreadsheets. Meanwhile, I was over here collecting swatches and dreaming about wallpaper. I didn’t see a clear path forward in design—sure, I saw designers in magazines, but they felt like distant celebrities, not real, tangible career models.

So, I tried other things. I worked for Guerlain at LVMH (because, skincare—obviously). Then I moved to Shanghai for a job at Publicis, helping to bring Cadillac and Heineken into the market. Two brands that, ironically, could not be further from me—I don’t drink Heineken, and I’m certainly not a Cadillac girl. Plus, I was so homesick I practically cried in my (gluten-free) dumplings.

Finally, I took a job as a showroom assistant at a small lighting company in the D&D Building, CL Sterling. It wasn’t glamorous, and I was pretty miserable (not due to the brand but due to the closet-size of a showroom with blinding lights and unbearable heat), but at least I was getting closer to design. That led me to Parsons for interior design and architecture (which, if I’m honest, was fine, but I wouldn’t recommend it—so much of design is about exposure and finding great people to complement your skills).

After Parsons, I landed at Jonathan Adler and then got what I thought was my big break—a role as part of the in-house design team for a billionaire art collector. It was an experience, to say the least. I learned about logistics, the art world, and the intense pressure of working with ultra-high-net-worth clients. What I didn’t learn? How to start my own firm. That part came next.

The Pivot: Loss, Reinvention & The Unexpected Start

In early 2020, my mom and I had a dream: to go into business together. We formed Loudon-Atkins Architectural Interiors, a mother-daughter design duo blending her rich historical expertise with my more contemporary aesthetic. We had just filed the LLC paperwork, we had just taken on our first major project—Turner Lane, a house many thought was a teardown but that we saw as a hidden gem—and we had just started imagining what this could be.

And then, one month into COVID, my mom passed away in a tragic accident on April 18th, 2020. The last text I sent to my mother was quite literally ‘should we order the Schumacher wallpaper?’ and to be honest, that pretty much sums up our relationship with design (I am serious LOL- proof below…).

Everything stopped. I was shattered. Completely broken. But in the midst of my grief, I knew one thing: she would have wanted me to finish the house. And I needed something—anything—to do.

So, I threw myself into the renovation.

And then, life did what life does—it threw me a curveball.

That summer, while at the pool at our country club, a woman approached me. She had just bought a house on the golf course and needed help decorating. I assumed she was making polite small talk and brushed it off. But the next day, she texted me—having gotten my number from a family friend—asking when I could come by to take a look.

I panicked. I didn’t have an LLC. No logo. No business cards. No real idea what I was doing. I was buying everything on my dad’s Amex and praying it would all work out. I had only ever been a salaried interior designer and had zero experience running a business.

But I showed up. I walked through the house. I gave my honest thoughts. And she hired me.

That single client led to another. And another. And suddenly, I was in business—by accident.

The (Messy, Beautiful) Present

Everything that has happened in my life—both the heartbreak and the happy accidents—has led me here.

Do I sometimes want to quit? Yes.
Do I feel inadequate? All the time.
Do I still struggle with self-worth? Absolutely.

But this career—this unexpected, unplanned, whirlwind of a career—has forced me to show up for myself in ways I never thought possible. It has given me purpose. It has gotten me sober. It has led me to put myself out there—on camera, on social media, on YouTube—when I used to be so self-conscious I wouldn’t leave the house without sunglasses on.

And the truth is, I still don’t have it all figured out. Some days, I feel like I’m absolutely winging it. But I’ve learned that most people—even the ones who seem to have it all together—are winging it too.

So, if you’re reading this and feeling lost, let me say this: you don’t have to have it all figured out to take the next step. Just start. Even if it’s messy. Even if you don’t feel ready. Even if you’re terrified. Life has a way of leading us where we need to go—sometimes through heartbreak, sometimes through happy accidents, but always somehow.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Truly. Thank you for being here, for following along, and for letting me share this wild, unpredictable journey with you.

I hope you stick around as I share design tips, little life anecdotes, and, hopefully, some inspiration to show up for yourself—even when life has tried to knock you down.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

You never know where a happy accident might lead you.

With Gratitude,

xx,

Hollis