I thought this was my forever home.
I have cherished memories in this house for two decades. Twenty years filled with birthdays and festive times. It’s the place where, many years ago, my little daughter swung gleefully from the chandelier when she was a mere 3-year-old. When we added that charming front porch, I confidently declared it would be my home forever.
Just last week, I placed it on the market, and astonishingly, it sold in just one day.
Like all significant life choices, I didn’t wake up one morning resolved to sell. The decision had been simmering for quite a while—about five years, to be precise. I enlisted the help of a realtor back then who clicked away her camera, explaining the process and showing me new houses as suggestions. Yet, I told her I wasn’t ready.
Letting go wasn’t something I was prepared for. In this home, my three children mastered the art of crawling and walking. Our driveway, gracefully looping around blossoming pear trees—trees I planted while gently cradling a sleeping baby on my back—was where they first pedaled their bikes. I have fond memories of digging for hours, sowing hundreds of hydrangeas. At the property’s edge, a small hill became a cherished spot for sledding adventures. We strolled across four acres with ducks, and cherished our first family dog, now resting here.
I repainted every room at least thrice and altered every light fixture. Nights were often spent rearranging kitchen shelves. It was as if the house and I merged into one. But this year, something stirred. Though I can’t quite pinpoint what it is, I find myself saying goodbye.
For so long, this house felt like my haven. It always seemed like the place I was destined to linger. Yet, over the past months, I’ve come to understand that as my children grow and begin their own journeys, I’ve outgrown this place. There’s this compelling desire for a fresh start somewhere new, in a different house within a different town. Although it’s an unsettling feeling I’ve resisted, my heart keeps whispering the same truth: this is not my place anymore.
What’s comforting is knowing that the precious memories shared with my kids dwell within us. They’re inside me, my children, and even my ex-husband. These memories don’t cling to the red-vinyl-and-black-shingle-clad walls, nor to the picnic-spotted lawn or the garden soil we toiled over. Those 20 years of varied memories remain with us, no matter where we journey next.
Yes, our feelings are mixed, and yes, we might miss this house. But it’s just that—a house, a space. It does not define us.
Even though starting anew invokes feelings of excitement, trepidation, and nervousness, they don’t deter me. My curiosity, and longing for change and growth eclipses any fear. It wasn’t an easy choice, but deep down, I recognize its wisdom.
Katie resides in Maine, alongside her three kids, two ducks, and a Goldendoodle. When not crafting words, she’s immersed in a novel, working out, redecorating her space, or indulging in online shopping.
