Maybe you had been looking for a long time. After all it’s a big investment and the market moves fast in the DMV. You needed to stay within your price range. You wanted Metro or Beltway access. At least three bedrooms. A good school district.
You schlepped from open house to open house - together. Gradually you narrowed your focus. You were able to agree, back then. That was a thing.
Then one day, you found it. You loved it. You made it official; you made an offer. You waited anxiously, together. Giddily, you celebrated when your contract was accepted.
Moving day arrived. Barely half the house had furniture when you were done. But slowly you fixed it up. Together. You found the family room couch. The dining room table. The grill and deck furniture. You remodeled the original kitchen. You cleaned up the bathrooms too. All those Saturday mornings at Home Depot. You did it. Together.
Then you were pregnant. You fixed up the nursery. Together. The crib, the changing table, the glider. You knew you were having a boy. Navy worked. You put the stars on the ceiling, together.
Fast forward…it’s no longer TOGETHER.
It’s just you.
You’re rattling around in that same house. The kids go to school now. They’re 5 and 7. And you have a shared parenting time schedule so you only see them half of the time. The rest of the time it’s just you. And that house - that house that is a relic of a life imagined. A life and a dream that is no more.
But it’s home. And it’s familiar. It’s a mooring in the storm.
You worked hard to fix the house up the way you like it. It’s lived in. It’s you. That mark on the wall: that’s where your son bumped his head so badly that you had to go to the ER. That couch in the living room: that’s where you spend a month on bedrest before your daughter was born. That mark on the kitchen floor: that’s where your water broke.
Upstairs, the navy and stars themed nursery is no more. Now it’s aglow in pink and purple sparkles. There’s a new dinosaur room down the hall.
Your bedroom looks the same: same comforter, same sheets, same pillows, same rug – as BEFORE.
Your Ex wants to sell the house. He wants his share of the equity. But you can’t part with it. You can’t stop yourself from thinking: This was supposed to be our house. It was supposed to be everything. The place that WE made our home together.
Letting go of the family home is hard. The home that you and your ex made when you were together is a symbol of the hopes and dreams that you had for the marriage and your family life together – happily ever after, until death do us part. Grieving the loss of these hopes and dreams is a huge part of the emotional recovery following a separation or divorce. This is why, for many people who are separated and struggling, selling the former marital home is a sticking point. Even if they are having trouble maintaining the house financially, the emotional need to hold onto the house is strong.
Anyone else looking at the picture objectively may say that this makes no sense. Your Ex may be pushing. Your lawyer may be pushing. Your friends and family members may be shaking their heads. But until you are emotionally ready to part with the house, you may soldier on regardless of any advice you are given.