Challenges to Living a Simple Life
Or, Why I Had a Breakdown Over a Chicken Coop Roof While Trying to “Uncomplicate” My Life
When I first decided to leave behind the noise and chaos of city life to live simply on a homestead, I imagined serenity. Peaceful mornings. Butter churned by hand. Long walks in the pasture with a steaming cup of herbal tea. Maybe I’d even knit a hat or two by candlelight while listening to birdsong.
Instead, what I got was: a chicken on my roof, rainwater flooding my pantry, and the deep, spiritual chaos of trying to DIY a composting toilet system from YouTube videos while sobbing into a home-grown turnip.
Simple living, it turns out, is incredibly complicated.
Let’s talk about it……
It’s Not Just Chickens and Sunsets
There’s this adorable fantasy people have when they hear the words “simple living.” They imagine something out of a Pinterest board: woven baskets, sourdough rising, children frolicking barefoot through clover.
Yes, I do make sourdough.
No, it is not cute when I forget it on the stove for 14 hours and it explodes like some unholy gluten volcano.
Here’s the truth no one tells you: simple living requires constant effort. There’s no app to do it for you. There’s no 2-day shipping. If you want bread, you bake it. If you want a shower that doesn’t leak, you fix it. Yourself. Probably while covered in goat fur.
Everything you think you’re “simplifying” by not outsourcing? Congratulations, you’ve just added three new jobs to your life.
Nature Doesn’t Care About Your Schedule
You can try to plan a peaceful weekend of “simple” homesteading. But nature has its own chaotic calendar.
Sometimes that looks like a flash hailstorm flattening your bean crop. Sometimes it’s a raccoon teaching its children how to breach your feed shed. Sometimes it’s just the cow giving you a look that says: “I’m about to go into labor at 3 a.m., and I’m going to need your full emotional attention.”
Living in sync with nature sounds poetic until you realize it means giving up any semblance of control. Which, for someone like me who color-codes her seed packets, is an emotional journey.
Everything Takes Ten Times Longer Than It Should
You want to replace a broken fence board? Should take five minutes.
Except:
- You can’t find the hammer
- The goats stole your gloves
- The replacement board doesn’t fit
- The chickens won’t stop roosting on your shoulder
- And now it’s raining
Now it’s 3 hours later, your boots are filled with mud, and you’re crying while yelling “THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SIMPLE LIFE!”
This happens approximately twice a week.
Living simply means doing things the long way. Sometimes the hard way. Always the “this could’ve been a trip to Home Depot but instead it’s a spiritual test” way.
People Don’t Get It
One of the loneliest parts of trying to live simply is explaining it to people who don’t.
When you tell someone you’re making your own soap, they either assume you’ve joined a commune or that you’re going through a crisis. (Honestly, both things can be true.)
When you say you don’t use paper towels anymore, someone will absolutely forward you a BuzzFeed article about how “rags are unsanitary.”
And don’t even start with the reactions you get when you say you compost your toilet waste.
Living this way means opting out of convenience culture—and that makes people uncomfortable. Especially when they’re invested in convenience themselves.
Sometimes it’s isolating. But you learn to nod, smile, and move on. You’ve got garlic to plant.
You Still Want the Other Life Sometimes
Here’s the thing I try to be really honest about:
Even though I love this life—deeply, truly, madly—there are moments when I miss the other one.
I miss coffee shops. I miss Wi-Fi that works consistently. I miss not having to Google “how to tell if your goat has bloat or is just dramatic.”
I miss ordering takeout. I miss long showers. I miss days when my entire wardrobe didn’t smell faintly like hay and sour milk.
And you know what? That’s okay.
Simple living doesn’t mean you don’t get tired. It doesn’t mean you don’t wish for comfort. It doesn’t mean you’re above the occasional Amazon binge at 1 a.m. when your back hurts and you just want a memory foam mattress topper.
This lifestyle is beautiful—but it’s also intense. The challenges aren’t a sign you’re failing. They’re just a sign you’re human.
Your “Stuff” Still Follows You
One of the biggest misconceptions is that living simply = having no clutter.
Let me tell you, I brought ALL my clutter with me. Not just physical stuff (hello, three bins of vintage Ball jars and an embarrassing number of flannel shirts), but emotional clutter too.
I didn’t magically become zen the moment I moved to the country. I still get stressed. I still compare myself to others. I still have days where I spiral because the potatoes aren’t sprouting and maybe I’m not cut out for this and what if this whole thing is a huge mistake?
Turns out, you can grow your own food and still need therapy. (Which, by the way, is not as easy to find in rural areas as you’d hope.)
The Freedom Is Real—but So Is the Exhaustion
What keeps me here, through the endless projects, the broken tools, the emotional rollercoasters, the mud in places I didn’t know mud could go?
Freedom.
No boss. No office. No one telling me when to clock in or out. I get to make my own choices, grow my own food, raise my kids the way I want. That part? That part is priceless.
But the price is exhaustion.
Simple living isn’t easy. It’s earned. And it’s constantly evolving. What felt simple last year might feel unsustainable this year. What drained me in year one might feel like second nature now.
The trick is not to romanticize it too much. And not to give up when it punches you in the face.
Final Thoughts from the Dirt-Covered Trenches
Living a simple life is a rebellion in a world that wants you distracted and dependent. It’s also a daily decision—a hundred daily decisions—to keep choosing meaning over convenience.
So yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s sometimes ridiculous. Yes, I did cry over a broken clothesline last week like it was a personal attack.
But it’s also real. It’s mine. And in a world where everything feels disposable, complicated, and performative—that feels like the most radical thing I can do.
So if you’re dreaming of a simpler life, just know:
You’ll still have bad days.
You’ll still fight with your compost bin.
You’ll still wake up and wonder what the heck you’re doing.
But you’ll also build something beautiful. On your own terms. At your own pace. Even if a chicken is standing on your head while you do it.