Home is Where the Heart Is, Part 1

I had a home once. One that was all mine, well, me and my kids, but honestly mostly mine. They loved it because they knew it was part of me. A part of me that wouldn't have existed if I had stayed with their Dad. A part of me that I was still figuring out for myself, and was thrilled to be able to share the figuring out with them. I loved my home. The kids loved our home.

And now, it's gone.

6 years ago I bought my first house with my husband, a new house, in the suburbs. I hate the suburbs, have always hated the suburbs. But my husband convinced me that a brand new house in a brand new development in the suburbs was the right place to bring up young kids. Not downtown. Not an older house that needed fixing up. Not a neighborhood where you could walk to stores and restaurants. No, that was wrong.

I let him convince me. And we watched it get built, and we moved in, and I made it a home as best I could for my family. I tried to fall in love with it. But I couldn't. So I hated it. And was starting to hate him, partly because he loved it. So for that and so many other reasons, and with much guilt, I left him and the house 6 months later.

But I didn't want him to lose the house that he loved. Didn't want the kids to lose their home in the midst of watching their parents split up. So as part of our amicable separation agreement, I offered to pay his mortgage for as long as necessary for him and the kids to keep the house. While I also paid my rent in a one-bedroom apartment in a downtown neighborhood that I fell in love with upon my first discovery. Seemed like a fair trade at the time - he and the kids have a home in a neighborhood I hate, I have a crappy apartment in a neighborhood I love, and the financial burden and my increasing debt seemed a fair price to pay to make everyone as happy as possible during an turbulent time.

And the financial burden and turbulence appeared to be temporary. My ex found a new girlfriend, she moved into the house within the year, they took over the mortgage payments, and eventually we came up with a possibly less than fair selling price that gave her my half of the house. The negotitation on the terms of the deal were less than honest, I lost out on every debate, and in the end was told to take the price they offered or go to court. With the debt I was carrying and the crappy one-bedroom getting on my nerves, I didn't feel I had a choice. So I signed the deed of sale, and hoped that that would be the last big negotitation we had to do.

And was happy to pay off some debt, and get into a position where I could find a home, a real home, of my own.