I never imagined I’d end up living in a tiny house, let alone building one myself. For decades, I was a proud renter, even resigned to the idea that I might never own a home. It felt like the trade-off for having a dream career a travel writer, roaming the globe, constantly on the move. I called Sydney home, but my real address was wherever my backpack happened to land.
But dreams can get heavy when reality knocks. As rents soared and my freelance income fluctuated, I found myself priced out of the city I once loved. I was 48, single, and still yearning for solitude but even the most modest studio was now out of reach. I moved to northern New South Wales, hoping for affordability, but I faced the same barriers. The housing crisis had followed me, and I was tired of running.
What started as a desperate attempt to find stability turned into something more empowering. I discovered tiny houses on wheels compact, movable, minimalist homes that didn’t require land ownership. It felt like someone had built this concept just for me. I could live simply, tread lightly, and most importantly, have a home of my own.
In my early 50s, the idea of owning anything felt far-fetched, but the notion of a small, sustainable cabin-like space reignited something in me. I enrolled in a Natural Building course, exploring techniques like straw-bale construction and using salvaged materials. But reality bit again I still didn’t own land, and buying any wasn’t an option.
That’s when I truly committed to the idea of a tiny house on wheels. I loved that they were self-contained, eco-conscious, and that I could legally park one on someone else’s land for a small fee. The only catch? I’d never built anything in my life. But after two decades of navigating unfamiliar places and cultures, building a house from scratch felt like just another adventure.
Then COVID-19 happened. Suddenly, I had time and a small government subsidy since the borders had shut down and travel work disappeared. For once, I wasn’t bouncing between continents. I was grounded, quite literally, with a rare opportunity in front of me.
I took a tiny house workshop, devoured everything I could about small space architecture, and ordered a trailer. My then-partner, Max, a retired scientist and gifted woodworker, offered his driveway for the build and brought a garage full of tools and know-how. His best friend, a retired builder, helped us lay the foundation and structure. From there, Max and I spent nearly every day six or seven days a week building the interior together. It was a steep learning curve, full of wins and setbacks. The work was deeply satisfying, but it also put a strain on our relationship. We didn’t survive the build as a couple, but we did complete the house.
Eight months after that first piece of timber, my tiny house was ready. In May 2021, at 56 years old, I moved into the first home I had ever owned. It was only 23 feet long and 8 feet wide but it was mine. That little space, parked among the trees, brought me a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in years. It was like coming to shore after a lifetime adrift. I finally had an anchor.
There’s still a lingering sense of uncertainty. Australia doesn’t yet have robust regulations for tiny homes, so I like many others have to lease space on private land. But the joys far outweigh the risks. Every morning I open the windows wide and watch the native birds flutter by as I sip my coffee. My writing desk faces a grove of trees. At night, I fall asleep in my loft bed staring at the stars. These are simple pleasures I never experienced in all my years of renting.
Living tiny has given me not just a roof over my head, but also freedom. I moved my house from Max’s place to a friend’s property, where I now pay less than half of what local apartment renters do. I have zero debt, more time for meaningful work and community volunteering, and long walks with friends that don’t get cut short by deadlines.
This way of life isn’t for everyone. It comes with trade-offs. But for me, my tiny home is more than a shelter it’s a symbol of everything I’ve earned, learned, and chosen. It’s proof that home doesn’t have to be big to feel infinite.
Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
