Labor of Love

Getting a house ready to sell is hard/heart work. 

Yesterday was my day off, with rain in the forecast. Having completed curbside appeal chores the day before (I have the blisters and sore muscles to prove it), I decided it would be the perfect day to spend in the basement, compiling take or toss piles. I ended up doing all the dump runs, too, schlepping barrel loads of 'stuff' up the stairs and throwing it into the back of my truck. 

No one tells you when you buy a house that it would be a good idea to not hoard things in case you ever decide to sell. They should hand out new homeowners manual with hints like that. 

Maybe I'll write one - I'll have time when I'm nestled in a nook in my new house in the mountains. 

I thought it would be more emotional than it was, but I forced myself to overlook the boxes of baby blankets, photo albums, and grade school art and pottery. I sorted them methodically, refusing to allow myself any time to ponder them, shutting myself off to the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over at any moment. I labeled, packed, and stacked tubs of memories with the promise that in the new house, I would allow myself feelings, but that for now, I didn't have the luxury of time. Sweating, muscles aching, I started on one end of the basement and worked to the other, my 80's hairband playlist blaring, laundry going, trying very hard not to pack my cats that naturally decided every empty box was for them.

I dragged the old artificial Christmas tree up the stairs in its oversized body bag. I loaded up barrels with broken toys, furniture odds and ends, all the missing socks from under the washing machine, and an assortment of knick-knacks that at some time or another I thought were in fashion (but honestly, never were). I shop-vac'd cobwebs and years of dust from the beams and compiled a massive pile of dryer lint I am grateful never caught fire. I threatened spiders the size of my hand (hyperbole, sue me) back in their corners and I ran the dehumidifier, trying to dry out some of the humidity until I realized I was just me, sweating. Slowly, but surely, the basement floor revealed itself, and all that was left were piles of things my husband will have to sort through, making his own take or toss piles until all that will remain will be things we need to store. 

It took 6 hours to sort 25 years of our lives. I don't know if I should laugh, or cry.

Selling a house is hard. Physically AND emotionally. It takes its toll on a soul, and I understand why some people prefer to just pay someone to do the dirty work for them. I'm exhausted, and we still have so much more to do. I've begun emotionally detaching myself from the house, trying to see it from a buyer's perspective now. I've spent some money on 'staging' items, to make it more appealing to someone else, rather than making it feel like our home. I've stopped touching the door that holds the line marks of our children as they grew taller. I've stopped trying to capture memory snapshots, storing the ones I do have in a safe space to unpack at a later day. I've begun packing away photos and personal items, and the house has grown a soft echo with the emptying as if she already knows she is now in a holding pattern until the next family moves in to fill her up again with new things, new sounds, new love.

Selling a house is a labor of love. It requires the strength to let go, to move on, to set things free, and it's not for the faint of heart. You have to shut off the outside thoughts, the inner dialogue, the regrets, the doubts, the fears and dig deep into reserves of strength you didn't know you possessed. You need to erect some walls, impenetrable force fields, against the constant barrage of emotions. You have to become stoic. When you wear your emotions on your sleeve, this can be the hardest part. Shutting down to move on. 

The day I close the front door for the last time, and I hear that soft click of the lock, I will allow myself to feel it all, but until then, it will be all labor and no love. 

PS: Also, I cried myself to sleep last night, so if you figure out a way to shut it all down, turn it all off, let me know because I haven't yet. 

CURRENT MOOD: Exhausted

LISTENING TO: Moonlit Sea, Michael Brant DeMaria

QUOTE OF THE DAY: If your home is a ministry, shouldn't that ministry become a passion? Shouldn't your feelings and emotions be involved when it comes to the people and place you love? And shouldn't our work be done passionately? Your labor should be labors of love! - Elizabeth George