
Choosing the Struggle
Written by: The Builder’s Wife
We always said we’d want to build our home without a mortgage.
It wasn’t just a financial decision—it was a lifestyle one. We’re simple people with a not-so-simple dream: to live a life rich in time, not debt. One where our days are spent together—raising our kids, homeschooling them, building not just structures, but a rhythm of life that’s sustainable, slow, and deeply ours.
So we broke ground. Poured the foundation. Moved forward.
But like most dreams, we hit the part that required a decision: do we slow our build and take out a loan? Or do we sell the house we’re in now, and move into our camper—live right there on the land while we finish our home with the cash we already have?
To me, the answer was obvious. The camper is lovely. The timing makes sense. Summer is better for selling. We’d be free of this current home’s upkeep and able to be on-site daily as we finish our dream. It checked every box.
Except one.
Discomfort.
Would the kids struggle? Would we? Would the dogs?
We went on for days thinking about the decision and weighing all the information.
And then, like most important moments in my life, a story arrived.
This time, through a friend: The Butterfly Parable.
A tale of a woman who saw a butterfly fighting to get out of its cocoon in her garden. As she watched nature's miracle unfolding she couldn’t bear the sight of its struggle any longer, so she took scissors and gently attempted to help the butterfly in its distress. So, she cut open the cocoon, releasing the butterfly.
But it didn’t fly.
It fell. And it died.
What the woman didn’t know is that the very act of struggling out of the cocoon is what circulates the blood through the butterfly’s wings. Without the struggle, there is no strength. No flight. No future.
And that’s when it hit me.
The struggle we’re considering sparing our children from—the temporary squeeze of a tighter space, the shared bunk beds, the lack of a dining room table—is the very thing that might prepare them to fly.
Our kids are not unfamiliar with discomfort. But in this age of instant everything, their real struggle might be that nothing is hard enough to mean something. We do not want to raise kids who fear friction. We want to raise kids who learn to meet it with curiosity, creativity, and grit.
This decision, this move into the camper—it isn’t just a financial one anymore. It’s a rite of passage. For us. For them.
Because resilience isn’t built in comfort. It’s built in moments like this.
And if the only reason not to move forward is that it might be hard for a little while, then maybe that’s exactly why we should.
This is a Discovery Loft principle. This is the why behind how we build.
Not just homes.
But humans.
Cassie
