Hello readers! Today’s newsletter is one that provides backstory for some planned future newsletters about identity ~ I’m trying to keep things to a manageable length and decided to break things up a bit!
Here we go, friends ~ the house story.
This is the story I used to know would gain instant attention when I told it at social gatherings and was always sure to help explain / defend why I ended up living where I do ~ in the middle of nowhere with no hope of ever getting broadband internet.
Time changed how I view my story, though. Now that the economy and housing market have changed so drastically, I am embarrassed by my story of good fortune and privilege. When I read many of the comments on
‘s thread months ago about how people were able to buy a house (I really wanted to link it here but can’t find it!), I was filled with so much envy and fury over the inequality in our country that honestly, I didn’t read her newsletter again for over a month because I was triggered by the privilege laid out in the comments by the paying subscribers.When I read those comments, I was feeling like a victim. So much generational wealth ~ how dare everyone else thrive when they were subsidized by their parents or an inheritance or a massively well-paying job when I have none of that!
However, I have had time to reflect on my feelings and to try to grapple with why the comments hit me so hard. I have realized that a lot of it is defensiveness over my own position and the fact that what I was able to do is not possible in today’s housing market in my area. I also realized that I don’t often recognize publicly that the reason I am a homeowner now is only because of my now-husband.
Here is the very efficient version of the house story that is needed for backstory for my future pieces:
My now-husband and I bought our current house together in 2004 at an auction (as-is!* that’s important) after finding out about it just days before. I was 23 years old.
The home has 4 bedrooms, living room, kitchen, dining room, entryway/laundry room, tiny bonus room, and an unfinished basement. And ONE teeny tiny bathroom.
We weren’t engaged or married yet. We had been living together for less than 2 years. We had no plans to buy a house, together or separate, at the time. J couldn’t get off work the day of the auction, so I went with our auction-experienced friend to bid on the house, an 1880’s farmhouse with a barn, three outbuildings and 40 acres of farmland and a little bit of woods (the extra 1.5 acres came later).
*As-is means you have to buy it no matter what, even if it doesn’t meet inspection. We had to close in 30 days. So we had to get a mortgage in that time period, having no idea of whether or not the house would pass an inspection. And if we couldn’t get a mortgage, we were on the hook for the purchase price anyway. BONKERS.
We managed to succeed at the house-auction-insanity only because my now-husband is 9 years older than I am and had been working a well-paying union job since high school ~ we were able to cash in some of his 401k to afford the cash earnest money due at sale. I contributed nothing financially at the time, but crucially, my name was on the title from day one. I had only graduated from college 2 years prior and was earning $32,000 annually and was buried (BURIED) in student loan and credit card debt.
We bought our house and 40 acres for $155,000. We will have it paid off in January of 2027 due to refinancing and amazing interest rates back in 2012. Our property taxes are less than $2000 annually.
In our local market with our current incomes there is absolutely no way we would be able to afford our current home or anything even remotely similar. We are constantly gawking at home and property prices of nearby properties for sale, and are so sad that the 40 acres adjacent to ours is out of reach financially even though we have first right of refusal if it ever sells.
Our house is old. We have updated almost nothing. We have one tiny bathroom for five people. I have a lot of complicated feelings about this, and my pride in home ownership at 23 has turned into some weird shame at 43 at not having a photo-ready home interior. This is another feeling that is triggered hard by social media and one of the things that helped push me off of my public instagram world. And do you know how many people have commented, “I can’t even IMAGINE living with only one bathroom” over the past twenty years? I hate writing about this. It feels so incredibly vulnerable, but it’s needed for the identity series!
Our property is zoned for farming and is located in a rural township that allows only one permanent dwelling per 40 acres unless an additional dwelling is for another member of the family and is related to farm management. That’s the gist of it ~ I just re-read the zoning regulations and they are super complicated!
As I delve into the identity pieces going forward, I’m really grappling with how my pride at being a property owner is tied with shame over living in an un-updated home as well as my conflicted feelings over property ownership in general. How can I espouse rage at our country’s inequality when I’m sitting in my cozy home on a hill on land enough to house so many more? How can I feel shame at only having one bathroom when I am sitting here creating generational wealth for my children? How can I live somewhere that I would never be able to afford if I were to try to buy it today? How can I be upset with zoning regulations that keep others from living in my beautiful region, but also like those same regulations because they protect farmland from being turned into subdivisions?
I need to end this now so that it can tie into the next piece, but just know that if I triggered rage and shame in anyone reading this, I am so sorry. I know how you feel because it’s how I felt reading AHP’s piece. She didn’t want me to feel that way and I don’t want you to feel this way. However, I truly believe that being open about and acknowledging privilege is one of the only ways to understand society and humanity, so I’m working through this bit by bit.
I hope my story spurs thought in my readers, even if you never share it with me. That’s always my goal.
And before I sign off for today, I want to encourage you to check out my piece from last summer:
Thanks for reading,
I love to hear from readers, so please do reach out to me with questions or feedback at mindfullibrarian@substack.com . If we aren’t already connected on Goodreads, I would love to see you there as well!
Oh wow, fascinating, thanks for sharing! Home ownership is such a complicated issue in so many ways and it's something incredibly warped by social media.
My now husband and I bought our first house in 2006 when I was 20 and he was 27. We bought a modest starter home when the market was incredibly different than it is now. We quickly found ourselves upside down on what was a traditionally safe investment. We were in that small home for much longer than planned, we essentially broke even when we sold in 2015 and acquired the home we have now at auction, as is (and it definitely had some issues), we'd never be where we are otherwise. We've dumped a lot of money and sweat equity into our home since we've owned it and I'm quite proud of our circumstances, but some real luck and privilege involved and we're incredibly grateful all around.
I think home ownership is treated... hmm... casually and expected for such a huge investment involving so many factors.
My husband and I bought our home in 2012, when the market was vastly different than it is today. But! Our lives, our family situation, and our incomes were also very different. We almost couldn’t afford this house then, the mortgage payment was daunting, and our job stability felt… tenuous. We took, what we deemed at the time, the risk anyway.
I’m so tired of feeling shame or guilt (or feeling like I should feel those things) for our luck. It didn’t feel like luck at the time, though it does now. In those moments 12 years ago, it felt impossible. It was hard. We almost walked away from the process.
I do empathize with folks looking to buy their first home now. We certainly can’t sell right now because we can’t afford today’s market—and I think that creates an inventory limitation that hurts all of us.
Our home’s value has increased 3x since we bought it. So I also ponder this: Would I sell at today’s market prices? Or would I sell for a price that feels like “enough” for me? In either case, I wouldn’t be able to afford something else. But in the latter case, it would create affordability for someone else. (Though I could never guarantee the buyer wouldn’t just flip it for their own profit.)
The market’s changed so much in 12 years that I can’t help but wonder where we’ll be in another 12. I know it’ll be different. I can only hope that different means better.