As I approached my 75th birthday one year ago, I started feeling ill at ease in the home I had loved for over 16 years. When I purchased it at 59, I’d wanted a large garden, a driveway and attached garage, plus a guest bedroom and second bath.
Suzanne’s old home
But now, in some vague way, it no longer suited my needs. The parties were less frequent. Friends and family had grown older, circumstances had changed. I felt isolated and burdened. Did this mean I was dying? Was something wrong with me?
After a few months of this, I decided to employ a life coach to keep me on track in response to these feelings. I had never been coached before. It felt raw, awkward and alive.
With my coach as my witness, I acted on these stirrings. First, I engaged a realtor referred to me by a friend. She appraised my home. In this initial “bargaining stage”, every step I took was taken with the caveat, “Well, whatever I do, this will be valuable regardless.” Things like cleaning out my garage. Emotionally, I was still afraid to commit.
Visiting homes for sale as a next step felt like make-believe, so cloudy was my commitment and direction. Still, it was a curious process of stretching my imagination. I would imagine living in these homes. They each had some isolated quality that was charming. But time and again, I could not move forward. Each time I blamed myself for weakness and cowardice – rather than acknowledging my discretion. Ultimately, discerning what I needed was rooted deeply in my core.
As I edged along, I felt increasingly unmoored. My caveats held less sway. I really could no longer honestly imagine staying in my home. I had reached a point of no return – with no destination in sight. My sleep was fitful and restless. I would babysit for my niece at her home and dread going home.
Then one afternoon during a nap, my dreams were filled with emotive drawings of my feelings. While a surge of images flooded my vision, the only one I remembered was a cartoon character of myself floating above the earth – unattached. My imagination had created an image of my predicament. Me, homeless and floating.
Perhaps oddly, this filled me with hope. There was a part of my being that was intact, despite my uncertain physical shelter. My ‘roots’ were in my creativity and imagination rather than a physical place. That gave me tremendous solace.
When I did find the home I eventually moved into, there was an odd recognition the minute I saw it on Zillow. It had so many of the upgrades that I’d wanted for my own home. After a tour with my realtor, I heard myself saying, “I want to buy this.”
Then the night I was supposed to sign the purchase agreement, I had a complete emotional break down. I had just casually looked up at a tree as I came indoors and somehow that tree spoke to me. You’re abandoning us. We need you. You have cared for us all these years. I erupted in sobs. Great thunderous wrenching sobs.
I was convulsed. I was wailing. I was like a mother giving birth. No shame. I called a friend while heaving great sobs. I couldn’t do this alone. Generously, she came over and bore witness until I calmed down and we could share tiny glasses of Limoncello she’d brought over. Then my realtor texted that my offer had been rejected.
I started to experience panic attacks. My whole chest, front-to-back was aflame. I couldn’t eat. I Googled “grief on leaving one’s home” to reassure myself that my feelings were legitimate.
Meanwhile, my future home was still available. Within a matter of weeks my cousin and my coach each played a pivotal role. One dared me to do a sleepover in one of the condo guest rooms to “try it out”. The other suggested a home equity loan to address the financial hurdle of purchasing before selling my home – since without the proceeds from the sale, I could not make the down payment.
Yet the fact remained that I was downsizing from a three-bedroom home on a quarter acre into a one-bedroom condo. I lost a lot of sleep obsessing about what furniture I could take and where I’d put it. Downsizing has its own grief. Letting go of furniture, décor and mementos that might not fit is also emotionally challenging.
Still, I forged on. I had my home professionally photographed. I decided to buy the condo first so I’d have a place to move to. I’d put my house on the market once the first transaction was finalized. Both transactions sailed through without a hiccup. Off-loading garden tools and ornaments went well. The heavy lifting of emptying my garage was distributed with amazing grace among friends, neighbors and family.
In hindsight, I am appalled by how harsh I was on myself. In the end, my discretion –– ultimately trusting myself –– did discern what I wanted. I didn’t want a retirement home nor a house and garden. I wanted to have independence and autonomy and yet still live in a community. I am located on a major walking thoroughfare along a riverside waterfront. I am close to many of my regular haunts – farmers’ market, gym, library, shopping, cafes and restaurants. It feels familiar.
Now when I drive by some of the places I had looked at, I feel sympathy for myself. They seem so wrong. I have a long way to go to make my condo a cohesive artful refuge. But I do have an overriding sense that it’s “right.”
I am surprised now when I tell friends what I’ve done. So many of them are feeling a similar tug. They are curious. They are impressed. They are giving me credit for what I found so hard to do for myself.
I left everything familiar and discovered a connection and respect I never anticipated. And I am learning how to go forward with more self-kindness and trust.
Suzanne Michalik migrated north in 20-year increments from the balmy climes of California’s San Fernando Valley to its north coast and then on to Washington state. Always a gifted drawer she became an avid photographer in her retirement years. She did non-profit accounting at San Francisco State University before retiring to Vancouver WA to be near family. The Pacific Northwest has been a haven for hiking, gardening and photography. Besides being Nana to three young children, she is active in a book club and several photography and Buddhist communities and keeps company with her parrot of 24 years.
Beautiful accounting of a major life change. Thank you for sharing your story with the world!