Saying Goodbye to my Family Home

Thursday, 19 January 2017

I'm going to apologise in advance for how bloody miserable I've been as of late. The past few months have been so strange, with lots of changes and I'm absolutely useless at adjusting to new things.

I don't know whether you can 'suffer' with nostalgia, but if that's a thing, then I'm definitely a victim of it. So, the fact that it has been confirmed that my Mum will be selling my family home this year, has hit me a lot harder than I thought it would.

Now, I know that it's not necessarily a big deal to other people and those who I have spoken about it to have sort of missed the significance of this event for me.
For me, the house symbolises the last remaining factor of my childhood... I can't say that the memories of growing up in the house are necessarily all fond ones, but they are memories nonetheless.

My Dad, who is now 67, was brought up by his adoptive parents in the very same house, my bedroom growing up had been my father's when he was growing up. In a world where things are so disposable, we pack and we leave, we move around, I found this to be an incredibly rare, and unique thing.

I'm in a very bizarre position, and I haven't quite recognised my emotions yet.

Growing up, the longest I was ever not living in the house was when my Mum and Dad separated just before my sixteenth birthday, and even then, the hardest thing was being separated from my younger sister, I never really considered the house to be of much value to me emotionally.

My Mum and I shared a two-bedroom flat for just under a year before she made an agreement with my Dad to buy him out of the house and move back in. I continued to live there until almost two years ago, when I moved into my own flat with my boyfriend.

If you have been in one house your whole life then you can totally appreciate how weird it is to think about it not being there anymore.

My emotional connections are that when things have been going wrong around me, I have always had that house, I have always been able to go home. And although over the years I have recognised it more as a building with rooms in which bad things have happened or bad news has been announced, I have always felt a form of comfort being there.

I feel like someone is taking away my safety net, which is pretty daunting, especially with everything else I'm feeling at the moment.

Of course, the next house that my Mum and her new husband move into is going to be my home, anywhere they go will be my home, and a house is just bricks and mortar. But there have been a lot of changes happening over the last couple of years, all very quickly, it almost seems all at once, and it's taking me longer to adjust.

Don't get me wrong, I am so incredibly happy for my Mum in this new stage in her life, as you may have seen from a previous blog post she wasn't very well a couple of years ago, and for a little while the future was a terrifying thing, so for her to be happily married and planning the most wonderful, little life is really amazing.

I don't know what the point in this post is other than to just sort of 'get it off my chest' - I think it's one of those things that is difficult to comprehend unless you have been in a similar position.

It is just another element in a long list of things that are making me question my place in the world at the moment, what I want and need to do, and where I should go from here.

Elly xo

1 comment

  1. I can totally get this feeling sweetie - my Dad said he felt the exact same when my grandparents sold the home he grew up in - and he was 42 when they moved!!! Hope you take all the lovely memories and create even lovelier ones in the new place <3 <3 xxx


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