At our place, the bathroom renovation was the forever project. We’d been talking about it for more than five years — measuring, imagining, but never quite doing it. It wasn’t broken per se, just... tired. And while we sourced quotes and talked through ideas, I always hesitated. Why spend so much on something that still "works"?
Maybe it’s a frugal trait I picked up from my mum — the kind where if it still turns on, flushes, or drains, it’s good enough. But it wasn’t just about money. I was also paralysed by the fear of the unknown:
What if the tradie rips us off? What if they find ‘problems’ mid-job and keep adding costs? What if we go over budget by miles?
That kind of fear kept me stuck in indecision for years.
But my wife — ever the gentle force of nature — has had enough. “We’re doing it this year,” she declared. And that was that.
We began sourcing quotes again. At one point, she casually said, “Should we add in some cabinetry in Noah’s room too?”
That’s when I panicked. I said, “Let’s define the scope first. Just the bathroom. Let’s see how we go.”
She nodded. As always, patient and pragmatic.
The Search Began
We found someone who seemed great — reasonable quote, confident pitch, good energy. We were about to book him in when he casually asked for a 50% deposit, to start work six weeks later — while he was overseas on holiday.
🚩 Red flags everywhere. I ghosted him, silently.
Then came the fun part — showroom visits, visualising tile combos, comparing chrome vs matte black fittings. While Mrs was looking at colour choices and the dream of finally it all coming together - the other side of me was thinking partly - how can we make her satisfied and yet it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Eventually, we went with a local place. I gave Mrs. full design control — tiles, vanity, mirrors, you name it. I just clung tightly to the budget like a blanket in the winter weather - holding closely up to the chest.
Soon, dust was flying and tradespeople were marching in and out of our home. Mrs. was thrilled. Every night, she mopped the dusty floor with a kind of excited determination, counting down the days to our dream bathroom. Finally a home renovation project which was in the making for years coming to life.
Enter: The Shower Niche drama
A few days into the reno, I noticed something missing — the shower niche we’d spoken about. I asked the plumber. He casually said,
“Oh, not enough space. Doesn’t make sense to add it.”
The next day, I got a text from the showroom guy:
“Can do niche. Will cost you $500 extra. Plus $600 for the glass up above for the windows to clearly seal it and make it water proofed.”
Hold up.
I clearly remember this niche being part of our first conversation. I even remember him scribbling it in his little notepad.
When I challenged him, he played it vague:
“Can’t remember. Can’t see it written anywhere. Okay, $400 then.”
I stood my ground:
“It’s not about the price — it’s about what we spoke and agreed on.”
He went again: “Okay, $300. I’m doing this at a loss.”
I told him, “I’m sure you’re smart enough not to run a business at a loss.”
Eventually, after depleting my social and emotional battery reserves in a worn out tone and drained, I agreed to pay the $300.
But I made it clear:
“I consider this a regret spend — not because of the money, but because this should’ve been included from the start.”
So, should we Budget for regret?
This whole ordeal left me wondering:
Should we have a line item in our budgets for regret spends?
That buffer for mistakes, miscommunication, or plain fatigue from negotiation?
Or can we actually avoid them with a better process?
Should I have asked for a written scope of work down to the tiniest detail?
Should I have insisted on a formal contract with clauses?
How would I even know what to include? I’m not a builder!
Maybe this is the tuition fee for inexperience.
Maybe this is how we learn — by paying for it.
Maybe the next project will be smoother. I still have my deep down beliefs and doubts stuck with me like a glue to my bones.
But here’s the realisation that stung:
For tradies, this is just another Tuesday. For us, it’s a once-in-5-or-10-years experience.
They know how to work the system — how to price things in, shift quotes around, upsell mid-job.
We, on the other hand, are walking into this like first-timers at a poker table — hoping not to lose our chips before the game even starts.
They’ve got the lived experience. We don’t. And that’s a plainly unfair advantage.
So maybe — just maybe — part of our budgeting should account for that learning curve. For the emotional energy. For the back-and-forths. For the "I wish I’d known" moments.
Until then, I’m holding on to this as a lesson. And next time… I’ll come in a little wiser — with a scope written down, a contingency fund, and yes, a small line titled:
“Regret Spends: Up to $500 – for my sanity.”
What are your ways of coping up with the regret spend and are how have you went about in being able to avoid / eliminate it?