My Adopted Son Wanted Black Walls and a Locked Fort—Here's What I Did Instead

A note on privacy: I'll be sharing our journey preparing for adoption, but the children's names have been changed to protect their privacy during this transition.

A quick note on transparency. Some links in this post are affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you purchase through them. I only recommend products that align with my values and that I would suggest even without an affiliate relationship.

A New Chapter

If you've been following along, you know I talk a lot about small space design, intentional living, and creating homes that support real life. What I haven't talked about yet is that my real life is about to change dramatically.

After four years in the adoption system, my husband and I are now matched with two children, Owen (12) and Sophie (9). Both are neurodivergent. Both carry trauma. And in the next 6 months, they'll be moving into our modest three-bedroom townhouse.

This isn't theoretical design work anymore. This is about creating safety, supporting regulation, and building a home that works for four very different nervous systems in 1,200 square feet.

We're currently in the preparation phase, which means we're purging, reorganizing, and redesigning spaces to make room, not just physically, but emotionally. My office is moving into a living room closet. Our routines are being rebuilt from scratch. And we're learning everything we can about sensory design, trauma-informed environments, and how space affects neurodivergent children.

It's overwhelming. It's humbling. And it's exactly the kind of design challenge I'm built for.

So I'm going to share this journey with you: the decisions, the research, the mistakes, and what I'm learning about creating homes that truly support the people living in them.

Let's start with Owen's bedroom.

What Owen Asked For

During his meeting with the social worker, Owen was very specific about what he wanted in his bedroom:

• A big comfortable bed (double, not twin, like Sophie currently has)

• A fort with a locking door, "so if something bad happens, everyone can go into the locked fort."

• Matte black walls that don't "absorb light" for when he wants to sleep during the day (but he actually never does)

• A punching bag and treadmill in his room (he wants to work out to stand up to bullies)

• Space for kinetic sand and Lego

His favourite colours are black, green, magenta, purple, and indigo. He's not a fan of cartoons. He likes dinosaurs, mythological creatures (especially the Loch Ness monster), and ancient crocodiles. He's entering his moody pre-teen era and is very fixated on control, safety, and being prepared.

The Problem With Just Saying Yes

Here's the thing: we could have taken that list and tried to check every box. Big bed? Sure. Black walls? Okay. Locking fort? Um... maybe?

But that's not actually good design. And more importantly, it's not what Owen actually needs.

When you're working with kids who've experienced trauma and have neurodivergent brains, you have to look beyond the surface request and ask: What is this really about?

The Big Bed

Surface request: Comfort, adult-sized bed. What it's actually about: Containment and predictability.

For kids with trauma and anxiety, sleeping space is one of the few places where their nervous system can drop. A bigger bed feels safer—it's about body boundaries, not luxury.

But here's the reality: Owen's bedroom is modest. A double bed would take up so much floor space that he'd lose the very thing he actually needs more than bed size, usable space for movement, play, and regulation.

Looking at photos of his current room, it was clear: Owen spends a lot of time playing independently, moving around, staying active. Taking away half his floor space for a bigger bed would actually work against him.

My solution: A twin loft bed.

This does three things:

1. Preserves all his floor space for play and movement

2. Still meets his need for containment (a twin can feel like a cozy nest with the right bedding and enclosure)

3. Creates an opportunity to address his other request in a healthier way

The Fort with a Locking Door

This one stopped me in my tracks.

"If something bad happens, everyone can go into the locked fort."

This isn't play. This is threat management.

Owen is telling us that:

• He doesn't trust that adults will keep him safe

• He feels responsible for protecting others

• He needs a plan for when safety fails

That comes directly from early experiences where safety wasn't guaranteed.

So what do we do with that?

We don't give him a literal locking fort. That would reinforce hypervigilance and the narrative that danger is always coming.

But when I suggested the loft bed to maximize his play space, he loved the idea—and suddenly the two requests could merge into something that actually serves him.

The space under the loft becomes his contained, darker retreat space.

Not a locked bunker. Not a fort for hiding from danger. But a calm space with curtains he can close himself when he needs to regulate, darker, quieter, his to control.

We're not dismissing his need for safety and control. We're translating it into something that supports regulation without reinforcing fear.

We're also being explicit with him that adults are responsible for safety, not him. He doesn't need to protect everyone. That's not his job.

The Matte Black Walls

Owen doesn't want black walls because they look cool.

Black = sensory reduction + invisibility + control

It reduces visual stimulation, makes the room feel quieter, and allows him to disappear when overwhelmed.

But full matte black walls in a small room will:

• Shrink the space visually

• Increase heaviness

• Lock him into a "closed off" emotional state long-term

Better strategy: Give him zones of black, not a black world.

• Black/dark tones inside the loft space under the bed (his retreat area)

• One deeper green feature wall

• Black through textiles, curtains, bedding

He still gets the darker, contained space he's asking for—but it doesn't consume the entire room. The rest of the space stays lighter and more open, giving him options depending on how he's feeling.

The Gym Equipment

Owen wants to be strong. He wants to be ready. He's worried about bullies.

This isn't about fitness. This is about power, agency, and preparing for threat.

We don't need gym equipment in his bedroom to meet this need.

What works better:

• A small climbing wall next to his loft bed (active, fun, builds confidence)

• Regular trips to parkour parks and trampoline parks

• Framing movement as supported play, not self-defense training

What We're Actually Building

So here's what Owen's room will actually include:

A twin loft bed that preserves his floor space for play and movement, with a desk underneath.

Curtains around the space under the loft that create an enclosed "cave" space—darker, quieter, his to control. This is where the black tones live. This is his regulation zone.

A climbing wall next to the bed with a soft chair below that unfolds into a floor mattress (doubles as safety cushion and extra seating he can pull into his hideaway space).

One deep green feature wall with lighter walls elsewhere, so the room doesn't feel heavy but still has depth and personality.

A table with drawers for kinetic sand and Lego, so his projects can be stored and accessed easily.

Organized, accessible storage that makes the room easier to reset without feeling institutional.

The room will feel like his, but it will also give him space to move, regulate, and grow without reinforcing fear narratives or creating a bunker mentality.

The Bigger Lesson

This is what I mean when I say design should support real life.

Owen's requests weren't wrong. They were clues. Our job wasn't to dismiss them or blindly fulfill them; it was to translate them.

To say yes to comfort without sacrificing movement. Yes to safety without reinforcing fear. Yes, to control without giving him responsibility, he shouldn't carry. Yes to his personality without creating a space that limits him.

That's the difference between accommodation and attunement.

And honestly? This is the work I care about most. Not making things look good. Making them work for the real humans living inside them.

Next up: Sophie's room, which is a completely different challenge. Stay tuned.

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Black Twin Loft Bed