Well, first of all, I'm wondering what a railroad room is. Do you hear train whistles in it?
What you want to do is to stop making comparisons between yourself and the people around you. Do you worry what the people in the beautiful houses think of you? If you knew those people really, really well, you wouldn't want to be them - not for all the beautiful homes in the world!
Here are some questions to ask yourself. I'm not accusing you of anything; they just might help you keep things in perspective (I ask them of myself, too):
What would you trade for one of your neighborhood's magazine-cover homes right now? Your health? Your husband? (Seriously.) Any of your children? Your bank account, even as it is? Your values? Your children's education?
When you see a house you think is wonderful, can you be happy for the people who live in it? Refusing to bow down to envy is what you're working toward here. Envy is one of the worst heart diseases anyone can have.
What do you think is the price tag - not to mention the mortgage - of the houses you like best? It might be interesting for you to find out. What would you think about going into so much debt?
This summer, I received a great education in being thankful for what I have. Only six or seven miles to the west of our home, over three hundred houses burnt down in a terrible fire. One street has only one house standing out of twelve or so that were there last spring. Some of the homes that didn't burn were so badly damaged structurally that they've been written off as losses. Most of those families are still living with relatives or in rented property while they go through the tangles of insurance and sifting through the ashes (literally). These homes were beautiful, and in one of the most fashionable parts of town.
Here's another true story. Some dear friends of ours, who are in their late sixties/early seventies, had a very nice house in a new area and loved it. They had expected to sell it after a few years, and about that time the bottom fell out of the market. Their mortgage rate ballooned, and they had to give their nice house to the bank (or whoever). They had to scramble around to find a fixer-upper they could afford, because they couldn't get a loan at all. Their purchase was definitely shabby, and they've been fixing it up themselves - inch by inch. While they work very slowly on this non-dream house, they invite their local friends over for supper anyhow, and their out-of-town friends over to stay. Their house isn't filled with style or comfort, but it's filled with a lot of friendship and laughter. Sounds like a deal.
Meanwhile, I have a fifty-year-old house that looks like a fifty-year-old house in a fifty-year-old neighborhood. It never will be a dream home, whatever I do to it. The best two things about it are that it's standing and that it's paid for. Well, all right. It could be worse. I, too, need to appreciate what I have - to be happy for those who have more but to know I don't need to be them.
But you know all this! It's a matter of reminding yourself at the right time. If you're a churchgoing person, you could begin thanking God for every little thing you have NOW that you forget you have, from the running water to the good roof to the little closets (instead of none) to the potential you see in the place. When you see a house that you wish you could have, thank Him that, even though it's not for you to live in, you can at least enjoy looking at it. A little beauty is refreshing to the soul.
End of lecture (sorry). I will now step down from the soap box and step into my laundry room, which is a test case for learning how to be thankful.