It was Always This

My family had just moved to Columbia, Missouri, and it was the Fourth of July. The town was alive and buzzing with festivities. Several of the historical estates along the parade had opened their doors to the public.

I remember looking up at what I thought, at three and a half years old, was a mansion. I’d only seen homes that looked this beautiful in my Disney princess movies. It was a white colonial with hothouse pillars three stories high. I was captured by all the details of the architecture. The house had been there long before me. I could feel that energy in its presence and I was captivated.

My Family in Columbia, Missouri 1995.

I felt a gentle tug on my arm as my mother led me inside, but I lingered.

I remember the woodwork. The wainscoting. And the floors—parquet, warm, worn smooth with time. They looked like something you were meant to notice. They felt like permanence. I remember how even the ceilings felt considered. Everything had presence and soul. Nothing felt ordinary.

That was that moment. The first time I remember being completely moved by a space.

Long before I had words for design, I had instincts. I’d rearrange the furniture in my childhood bedroom every few weeks and regularly reorganize the bookshelves in the living room. I’d linger in old buildings, fixate on details most people overlooked—doorknobs, molding, stair rails, the feeling of light hitting certain corners. I'd ponder on "why" a picture was hung where it was and how a chair in corner could make you feel both cozy and powerful. I didn’t just notice the space. I felt it. And I’ve spent my life learning how to translate that feeling into something tangible.

Today, as the founder of Victoria Ford Interiors, I design spaces that are layered, personal, and emotionally resonant. Homes that don’t just look beautiful—but feel intentional and alive.

Because great design doesn’t just meet the eye it meets the soul.

It was always this.