Awesome Disabled

You may have heard the scuttlebutt: Amy bought a house! After two years of working and saving, I had enough money saved up to start looking for a place. Some good luck with a market downturn and a motivated seller meant that I could swoop in and pick up an amazing townhome for a good price.

Ironically, it’s only half a block away from my old apartment– the apartment that I moved into after my marriage ended. The apartment where I started fitting the shattered pieces of my soul back together.

It was a safe place for me to live and breathe and heal, but it was much too small. At 800 square feet, it was a tight squeeze for all three of us, with my two kids sharing a room. My building had a shared washer and dryer, because there was no room for in-suite laundry.

In the four years I lived there, my nervous system settled and I got to know myself. It wasn’t perfect, but it was time and space I needed. And I could afford the rent on my own. I’m thankful for that apartment, but it was painful and exhausting to be that cramped all the time. Not only for the humans, but for the stuff. It’s depleting to have to have every square inch of space be used for seven different things, with each thing going back into storage afterwards. It also made me doubt my ability to manage space; try as I may, I couldn’t get things organized to my liking. I was constantly losing track of things that my kids would ask me for, and I felt like a failure.

The start of this school year didn’t feel triumphant– no beginnings ever do. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I felt wobbly and unsure. I knew my numbers, and I knew that I was in good shape, but it didn’t change my feelings.

I dragged my feet until my realtor sent me an email saying, “Hey– you still around? Wanna see some houses, or what?” (It wasn’t quite like this, but that was the gist.) I took a look at some of the listings she attached, and got excited about a couple of them. Two townhomes in the same complex, in a perfect location. I threw in a third townhome as a comparison, and we were off to the races. I took Cleo with me while Lis was at badminton practice. I knew Lis was not interested in looking, so it worked out perfectly.

Cleo and I loved the two super-cute townhomes, but they needed a lot of renos before we could move in. I’m as tough as the next broad, but I knew that it would be expensive in money, time, and energy.

Then we saw the third, comparison unit. I was tired, and I suggested cancelling the viewing, but the realtor insisted, so off we went. It was more spacious than the other two, and more move-in ready. Only thing that needed doing was replacing the carpets, because it looked like someone had been murdered in one of the bedrooms. There was what looked like a blood stain, although I’m sure it was just rust or kool-aid, or something.

We liked it, and I percolated on my options the next day. The third townhome kept floating around in my mind. After work, I walked there to get a sense of the location. To my surprise, it was actually in the place I had always dreamed of owning– a row of townhomes that backed onto a beautiful walking path and dog park. I’d walked along that path, dreaming of sitting in one of those backyards, drinking coffee, and watching the birds and squirrels. I had been disoriented by the darkness of night, and was worried about being late for the realtor, so I didn’t pay attention to the location.

Seeing that this was in my perfect place made the decision easier.

Put the offer in, I texted the realtor. I’m ready.

The next two days passed in a whirlwind– offers, counteroffers, contingencies, and timelines. I jumped every time I felt my phone vibrate. Eventually, we agreed on a price and a timeline– a short one. It was the butt-worst time of the school year to be buying a house on a short timeline, but I told myself in for a penny, in for a pound. May as well do all the really stressful things at once.

In retrospect, of course this was a terrible plan, but I really didn’t have any options. Only other option would be to pass on my dream townhome, and once I knew that this one was up for grabs, I couldn’t let it go. And it was 10% less than other similar townhomes.

The accepted offer set off a whirlwind of phone calls, emails, virtual signatures, and trying to learn a million new digital platforms. Last time I bought a house, we did everything on paper. I would send faxes from my school’s office sneakily after everyone had left, and apologized profusely when a fax would come in for me during business hours. Do what you gotta do, man.

But it’s 2025 now, and everything is online. I constantly had to fight with my computer’s VPN and malware detection software, because, surprisingly enough, my computer’s security software didn’t like programs built to shunt tens of thousands of dollars out of my bank account. Which is great ordinarily, except when I need to move tens of thousands of dollars quickly.

Then the insurance, utilities, and all the other i’s that need to be dotted and t’s that need to be crossed. Things got dicey for a while, but eventually, everything straightened out. Possession date came, and I began the slog. Put the shit in a box, pack it up, put it into my car, bring it to the new place, and unpack it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Eventually, I hit a critical mass of stuff, and was able to move in to the new place. If packing my stuff up at the old place was stressful, unpacking it in the new place was infinitely more stressful. But we must carry on, so that’s what I did.

Now things are feeling more familiar. I have returned the keys to my old apartment, and my driver’s license has my new address. My computer autofill now fills in my new address, and I’ve received a handful of Amazon deliveries here. The “something new” is becoming more worn, which is what I want.

Something new is becoming something comfortable. And it’s time, isn’t it? Time to feel comfortable and at home. I have space– to live and breathe and grow. Space that is mine. It feels nice. It feels like home.