Being confined to a suburb, one would argue, is a pretty sweet deal. There's so much space! 

But when you are a closeted queer person in a homophobic household the way you must navigate that space, the self-imposed restrictions on movement to avoid the inevitable toxicity of interactions with family, renders that space as suffocating as any. 

As designers we understand the dichotomy between positive and negative space, and so in this 2500sqft detached single-family 'home,' I find myself drowning in the negative space. The bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the hallway have always existed as transitory spaces pre-covid. They were spaces I returned to out of physical necessity after spending as much time outside of the house as possible, but they were never spaces I truly existed in. You'd find only a closeted and angry version of myself. Now the only spaces I exist in, as my authentic self, are the virtual realms of Instagram DMs, Facebook chats, and maybe even a Zoom call if I whisper.