Hi, I’m Joanne.
Home improvement is a long game.

The house that started everything.

My name is Joanne Hadley, and I write for people living in real homes — not showrooms. In 2017, my husband and I bought a 1980s split-level in central Ohio that had sat on the market for almost eight months. The price was right, the bones were solid, and we knew going in that it needed work. What we didn’t fully account for was how expensive the gaps in our own knowledge were going to be — and how fast those gaps would show up.

The first contractor we called to assess the master bathroom gave us a quote for $18,400. The bathroom was genuinely ugly — dated tile, a discolored tub, fixtures that hadn’t been updated since the original build — but it was structurally sound. Nothing was failing. The quote covered a full cosmetic overhaul, and after the down payment, we didn’t have that money available. So instead of signing anything, I started researching what it would take to handle it differently.

I spent the better part of three months reading before I touched anything in that bathroom. Product specification sheets, contractor forums, Reddit threads where people posted two-year and five-year follow-ups on their refinishing jobs. I kept a running document comparing epoxy versus polyurethane coatings — noting which formulas held up under daily use and which ones people were redoing within eighteen months. I cross-referenced ILD ratings on flooring underlays and started paying attention to density specs the same way I’d read nutritional labels. That document eventually became the foundation for how I approach every topic I write about here.

The outdoor spaces took a different kind of learning entirely. Our backyard when we moved in was roughly half an acre of compacted clay and overgrown scrub. I didn’t have a landscaping background, and the quotes for professional grading and planting ranged from alarming to absurd. So I started from scratch the same way I had with the bathroom — researching soil composition, drainage, what actually survives a central Ohio winter without significant maintenance. Over four growing seasons I converted it into a low-maintenance perennial garden, mostly through trial, documentation, and a willingness to pull things out and start over when something didn’t work. That backyard is where I developed the same cost-and-durability lens for outdoor topics that I’d built up over years of interior projects.

The first bathtub refinishing I attempted was a genuine failure. I used the wrong epoxy grade — consumer-level, not industrial — and skipped the proper surface cure because I was impatient to see the result. It started peeling near the drain at about month eight. I refinished it a second time, correctly, and that coat lasted the remaining six years we owned that house. The lesson was direct: the material grade and the application process determine the outcome, not the intention. That principle shapes every article I publish. It’s why I cite spec numbers instead of adjectives, and why I try to tell you not just what works but how long it’s likely to work.

Over the years that followed, I worked through fourteen significant projects across three homes — bathroom floors, bedroom flooring, mattress research after my lower back started giving me problems, kitchen fixture upgrades, outdoor fencing, sleep system comparisons, and the full backyard overhaul. Each one followed the same rhythm: research the specs first, understand what durability actually looks like in practice, then make the call. I got considerably better at reading product data sheets and considerably worse at trusting marketing copy.

Friends and family started reaching out regularly once they knew I’d been working through projects this way. Someone would be looking at a bathtub resurfacing quote and want a second opinion on whether to refinish or replace. Someone else was shopping for a mattress for a bad back and felt overwhelmed by options that all made the same claims. I found myself writing out long email responses with spec comparisons and material breakdowns. At some point, it made more sense to put those answers somewhere permanent — somewhere anyone could find them before spending money on the wrong thing.

I started Solina Decor because the gap I kept running into online was consistent. Most home improvement content assumes you have a renovation budget and an open timeline. It presents design options without explaining which ones require re-doing in three years versus ten. It covers bedroom ideas without mentioning foam density ranges for people with actual back issues. It shows you what’s beautiful without telling you what’s maintainable. I write for people making real decisions with real constraints — a limited weekend, a specific budget, a back that doesn’t feel great in the mornings. That’s the focus that shapes everything published here.

A few things beyond the projects.

I’m a morning person who starts most days with too much coffee and a running list of things that still need doing around the house. I have a rescue greyhound named Fig who has strong feelings about patio cushions and no apparent guilt about any of them. Outside of home topics, I read a lot — mostly nonfiction, mostly about how things are engineered and why some of them last while others don’t. I’m still learning on every project I take on, which is the most honest thing I can say about any of this work.

If something on this site helps you avoid a mistake I already made, or helps you ask a sharper question before you hire someone or buy something, then it’s doing what I intended. I appreciate you reading, and I’m glad you’re here.

— Joanne