Why do we still build homes that only suit one stage of life?

Our lives are changing. Our houses are rarely run. Maybe it’s time we stopped wanting families to adapt to buildings and asked buildings to adapt to families.

There is one question that has stuck with me throughout my adult life. Why do we build houses that only work for one stage of life?

For many people in the UK, the housing journey follows a familiar pattern.

A young couple finally saved enough money to buy their first home. It can be a one bedroom apartment or a small starter home. It feels like a huge accomplishment, but almost as soon as they open, life changes.

The child is coming. Suddenly the house feels very small and the search begins again.

Real estate agent fees. Lawyers. Removal companies. Stamp duty. The emotional stress of moving and the financial burden of getting on the property ladder all over again.

After a few years, another child arrives. Children grow, schools become important, and once again the family moves to find a larger home in the right catchment area.

Then something else happens, the children become teenagers.

We often joke that teenagers spend all their time in their bedrooms, but maybe we should ask why. Many modern homes are simply not designed to accommodate different ways of living with families. Teenagers long for independence, but still need connection. Parents need a quiet place to work. Families need places where everyone can gather without feeling on top of each other.

Instead, many retreat behind closed doors, each navigating their own screen and living under one roof.

Life will change again.

Children finish their education but cannot afford to buy a house. Most stay at home until adulthood because the housing market gives them few alternatives. A family home that was once quite small can suddenly become both crowded and ill-adjusted.

Then the parents grow up and the kids eventually move out, but the house stays the same as it always was.

One day, the father falls to the ground and injures his hip. Suddenly, stairs become a daily challenge. Downstairs there is a kitchen that could be converted into a bedroom, but the cloakroom is too small to install a shower. A design that worked perfectly twenty years ago no longer meets the family’s needs.

The solution? Move again. More legal fees. Higher disposal costs. Maybe more stamp duty.

But this movement is different. This often means leaving beloved neighbors. Leaving the footpaths that have become part of everyday life. Leave the local store where everyone knows your name. Downsizing often means that children and grandchildren can no longer stay overnight because there is no room.

Homes can get smaller and lives often get smaller.

I have bought and sold five houses in my lifetime and none of them have supported me comfortably in my old age.

Today I am looking for what I hope will be my long term home. In theory I have complete freedom. I can move almost anywhere in the country. However, I have spent years looking at new developments and searching online and I have yet to find a place that is truly designed for the future.

If I find a home I like, it’s often miles away from shopping, healthcare and community. If I find a quaint village with lovely walks and local amenities, the houses themselves are often surprisingly well thought out.

Garages are too narrow for modern cars, too little maintenance, nowhere to fit bicycles, mobility equipment or the chaos of family life.

There is no flexible accommodation upstairs to adapt if circumstances change. And I know how quickly things change.

A close friend of mine has a daughter who developed Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). For almost one night, she could not climb the stairs. The family home could not adapt. He slept on the end of the couch and washed up in the kitchen because there was no suitable place downstairs.

It wasn’t just a housing problem because it affected the well-being of the whole family. When one person’s home no longer works, everyone around them feels the effects.

Perhaps that is why one memory has remained with me for more than thirty years.

When I was sixteen, I participated in a home exchange with a family in the Netherlands. Walking around their house, I noticed something unusual. The doors were much wider than those of most British houses.

I asked why.

The father explained that he deliberately designed the house so that if someone in the family needed a wheelchair, the house would continue to function. Each room was planned with future accessibility in mind.

This struck me as incredibly practical.

At that time, I had already been working on weekends for two years at my family’s real estate agency. My father was a surveyor and I sold new homes, so I was fascinated by property. That Dutch house challenged everything I had seen in Britain.

I remember why we don’t build such a house ourselves.

Years later, I found myself working in social housing and helping new developments on the market.

And still…

We still build basically the same kind of houses. Not enough stock yet. However, the houses meant for each family were the same. Still designs that struggled to adapt when life inevitably changed and still allocate homes to families already living in inadequate housing because nothing better was available.

Often our conversations focus on housing goals, planning quotas and shipping numbers.

Much less time was spent asking a more important question.

How will people really live in the next fifty years?

I don’t believe the answer is just to add another room downstairs. I think we should be more ambitious.

Perhaps we need to discard many of the assumptions that have shaped British housebuilding for generations and start again.

Imagine houses that have rooms that can be repurposed without major construction work. Movable walls. Plumbing is designed so that bathrooms can grow. Built-in storage keeps clutter under control.

Garages that really fit modern cars.

Flexible living spaces that can become a home office, nursery, teen bedroom, downstairs bedroom or apartment for aging parents.

Maybe even homes that grow and adapt with life’s changes. Homes that recognize that life is unpredictable. Because life is always changing.

The question is whether our homes will be replaced by it.

Our population is aging and people are living with long-term health conditions. Young adults stay home longer. More people are working from home than ever before, and families are more diverse than at any time in history.

However, many of the homes we build assume that life follows a neat and predictable pattern.

This is not so.

The homes we build today will still be there long after today’s planning policies are forgotten. So maybe it’s time we stop measuring success by the number of homes we build.

Instead, let’s ask another question.

Will this house support the people living in it for twenty, forty or even sixty years?

Because a truly futuristic home isn’t just energy-efficient or full of smart technology. It is a home that grows with the people who call it home.

How do you want your home to adapt as your life changes? If you could start with a blank sheet of paper, how would you design?

Let’s start imagining the homes that future generations deserve.