Illustration by Catherine Chan
First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
I tiptoe through my house, barely breathing, afraid to touch anything. As I roam, I keep a sharp eye out for a pillow cocked at the wrong angle, a misfolded towel or a sneaky speck of dust trying to give me the slip. Even the insides of my cupboards and fridge are aligned as precisely as soldiers standing in formation. My house is for sale, and I need everything to be “just right” for the next showing.
My family has been living on eggshells for weeks now. Not one of us has dared to sit even once on our staged living room sofa for fear of not being able to recreate the perfectly “chopped” pillows the design professional left behind. In this slow real estate market, every showing is precious: I may not have command over the buyers, but at least I can control the presentation of my house.
Initially, we were excited about having our house listed. At that point, with optimism still surging through our veins, staging the house for each viewing was a novel and nerve-wracking process of trying to restore the tableau the stager had custom-created through the marriage of my furniture with her flourishes.
Now, having staged and unstaged the house numerous times, it has become routine and, dare I say it, tedious. Plus there are the continuing demands of dusting the furniture, cleaning the counters, sinks and toilets, and clearing leaves off the patio. Our Roomba has been in almost constant motion and is demanding overtime pay.
This anxious waiting game has followed months of fervid activity. It started with the dreaded “D word” – decluttering. Upon securing nearby self-storage, the emptying of the basement of all its bookshelves and contents, including dozens of bulky old-fashioned photo albums, commenced. Then the home gym had to be dismantled. Our son’s immense collection of assembled Lego sets needed to be rehoused. Finally, the beloved old rec room sofa (what stories it could tell!) was gifted along. At long last, new flooring could be installed to replace the pink carpet that was likely incubating its own ecosystem. The basement, which has remained deliberately unstaged (a “blank slate” as our realtor calls it), now has a resounding echo.
How to declutter family heirlooms without guilt
Next came new carpet runners for the stairs, installed by a man everyone simply referred to as “The Carpet Guy.” And then the painting began and seemed to go on forever … and forever. In reality it was only six days, but the chaos of displaced furniture, drywall dust, paint fumes and invasion of kindly strangers felt endless.
Thereafter, the steam cleaners and deep cleaners descended on our house to magically eradicate all incriminating evidence of the recent upgrades. Meanwhile, I cleaned and culled every closet, medicine cabinet, vanity and shelf in the house. Finally, the stager appeared with all her abstract art and mirrors, throws and throw cushions, carpets and bed covers, plants and candles, just in time for the real estate photographer to capture our house’s glow up.
The younger of our two sons, away at university, came home to a different house and bedroom every time he visited. I watched him go through the five stages of death and dying each time. The angry stage seemed to last an especially long time. An uneasy acceptance seems to have been achieved, but I wonder if we will run the gauntlet again once the house actually sells. Of course, I too will have to deal with my own grieving process as I finish packing up our beloved home of the past ten years.
First Person: The house I see with my eyes closed was turned into a McMansion
Now, as I lie awake at night, I worry about when the house will sell, dreading the prospect of bridge financing. To divert my midnight musings, visions of candles, cushions and carpets dance in my head, as I attempt to curate our next home with the elan of an imitation stager.
In the meantime, living with less has been instructive. Unbelievably, our self-storage locker is filled to bursting. Yes, there are times when I want something that is lost somewhere in that space, but, for the most part, I haven’t missed much of it and what is needed can often be easily replaced. I am dreading the unpacking process just to be faced anew by all the things I don’t need, want or know how to get rid of – death by a thousand decisions.
So, as I straighten, fluff and clean in anticipation of another showing, I vow once again to get ruthless with my earthly possessions so that my kids won’t have to suffer the way I have. And I swear to myself that I will always keep my new house as tidy and decluttered as the current one has been for the past few weeks.
But first things first – to sell our current house. As I lock the front door, the realtor’s lockbox dangling from the doorknob, I pray that this showing will finally be the one that leads to an offer. Until then, my family and I will hide our dirty laundry and eat our meals out.
Marina Boehm lives in Orillia, Ont.