The first time author Samantha M. Bailey walked into her backyard studio, she cried with relief

CBC

17-03-2025

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Leading up to Canada Reads, CBC Arts is bringing you daily essays about where this year's authors write for our series Where I Write. This edition features Watch Out For Her author Samantha M. Bailey.
I'm easily satisfied by simple pleasures: escaping into a great book, singing in a private karaoke room where only my friends can hear me, playing board games I never win with my family. My dreams are about passion, not possession. But from the cramped apartments where I resided in my 20s and 30s to, finally, a small house in my 40s, I always envisioned a space where I could close the door, shut out the responsibilities of adulting and tap away at my computer to my heart's content.
It felt totally out of reach, a luxury I could never give myself. So I carved out places within the walls of my homes, learning to work with constant noise. I adapted, though I still longed for a room of my own.
But during the pandemic, things changed. I changed. As I wrote Watch Out for Her — that pressure-laden sophomore novel all authors fear — while virtually promoting my debut, Woman on the Edge, at a desk shoved up against my kitchen wall, I was stressed and burned out. My family, including my dog, already isolated enough, were confined upstairs during my many online events and interviews, while I hoped no one called out "Mom" or barked. I was lucky to have all of these opportunities to promote my work, but I was about to crack.
Torn between my two loves — my children, who I wanted to be completely present for, and writing — just as I was finally seeing my decades-long goal of becoming a published author come to fruition, I knew something had to give. My kids are always my main priority, but I needed to find a way to put my oxygen mask on first.
I'm uncomfortable spending large sums of money on myself, so it was two years into the pandemic before I took action. I researched she-sheds and tiny homes relentlessly. For a hot second, I even debated DIYing it, without any building experience or actual time to attempt it.
Then I found the solution: a sustainable Toronto-based company that, in six weeks, could build a tailor-made office pod in my backyard for a somewhat affordable price (of course, it wasn't going to be cheap). Though I grappled with guilt over what felt like a selfish decision, I invested in myself. And as I watched with unbridled glee as the crew erected, frame by frame, the walls of my studio, then painted, laid the flooring and installed the windows and doors — all in styles and shades I'd selected — my stress levels immediately dropped. It was like magic.
The first time I entered my finished, sun-dappled studio, I sat on the floor, deeply exhaled and cried with relieved happiness. When I decorated with a little pink couch and a white bookshelf, then carried in the desk that used to be pushed against my kitchen wall, I fully breathed in a way I hadn't in years.
Now, I can blast my alternative '90s music, do yoga, take a nap, post sticky notes all over the walls and cover the floors with the puzzle pieces of my plots. I do virtual events without bracing for interruptions and create my fictional worlds without distractions.
It's an enormous privilege to give myself this gift. The value is priceless. I'm a more patient mother and a more focused author. I've written two more books, A Friend in the Dark and Hello, Juliet, within the solitude I desperately needed. I never take for granted how lucky I am to have a space I can call my own.