After Divorce, Buying a House on My Own

More terrifying than the divorce itself

I finally get to buy a home.

Finally.

You’re not really separated unless you’re physically away from your ex-spouse. Many milestones are psychologically important when beginning the divorce process but the actual act of displacing yourself…that’s a whole other ball game.

Maybe it’s different for others because they have family they can live with. I have no family here and none of my friends live in palatial castles that can house me and my two kids.

And so going on what feels eons (aka, year two), I can physically get space between myself and my soon-to-be ex-husband. Problem is, there is next to nothing on the market.

My bar is low. A detached home in one of six cities. Three bedrooms. Can’t be a former crack house. A condo isn’t an option because when the math is calculated, the homeowner’s association fees make the monthly price the same as a home loan for a detached house. Renting also isn’t an option because it’s $1000 more per month for an apartment than a mortgage.

After seeing a cockroach-infested place (which falls under the “former crack house” category in my books), I told my real estate agent Adam to up the search query by $50,000. We’re in desperate times here folks.

I went to an open house this weekend for a beautiful little home, remodeled, with a fantastic backyard. Only problem? The living room is too tiny for a couch. And one of the bedrooms is too small for a bed. Having a place to sit and sleep take priority over cuteness.

This morning, Adam and I went to see three more homes. They’re on the max end of my price point. I knew to keep my expectations low. This is Southern California; if it has four walls and no cockroaches, be happy.

The first house was great but I wasn’t stoked with the water heater relocated to the hall closet. A pro tip from someone who has owned a bunch of homes: keep the water heater in the garage because if it leaks, you’ll be SOL with your indoor flooring. The washer and dryer were also in the hall closet; it could barely close given the size of today’s laundry appliances.

For the price point, I’m not risking the flooring with a water leak or not having room for a dryer.

The next house was absurdly overpriced for the quality. Adam agreed that it needed too much work for the price. I don’t even remember the final house, other than a fridge partially located in the hall closet and cracked, mismatched floor tiles.

All for almost one million dollars.

Sigh.

I’m trying not to get discouraged. I knew this would be brutal. But to see the brutality in stucco and cracked tile format is a whole other ball game.

Still, I continue through the remaining homes.

One home was promising except it had the kids’ bedrooms in the main living area. It’s not realistic to think my kids can sleep with shared walls to the kitchen and the TV. Plus for 1300 sq ft, a good chunk was lost to a weird, unusable square area.

Another home seemed great except they took an offer while we were driving there to look. If you don’t see a home within minutes of posting, it’ll get snatched up.

Finally, I saw a promising home. Moderately ghetto but most the changes I could live with or change. The puke-green granite countertops were something I could live with.

The problem? There are train tracks behind the house. I put an offer anyway, figuring it can’t be that bad if they’re still selling the house for $900k. Plus, by law, they’re required to disclose if there are any crazy noise situations.

Our definition of “crazy noise” was not the same.

Through a fluke, I had an appointment nearby the next day. In the waiting room, with people talking and dentist machines buzzing, I heard the train go by.

“Is it always this loud?” I asked the receptionists. All three of them looked at me in horror, explaining how it’s very loud when a train goes by.

Fuck that. I texted Adam and told him to rescind the offer. Even if I could get used to the noise, it would lower my property value. Also, I am highly irritated by sounds (probably an autistic thing) to the point that I fixate on them and my blood boils.

A train doesn’t fall under any of the three criteria that I had for a house but certain conditions go without saying.

So where does that leave me?

Nowhere. I’ve seen every single available detached house under $900k within six cities that are in moderate proximity to my kids’ school and work. The number of homes that fell in that category can be counted on one hand. Now I’m waiting day-by-day for anything new to pop up.

I’m more upset than I’ll openly admit about the train house. My offer was better than others; they needed over sixty days to move out and none would allow that other than mine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to get by for a few years.

At this point, I even considered increasing my home buying price to widen the filter. But it’s ridiculous for a single mother on one income to buy a million-dollar home. That’s the price I paid with my soon-to-be ex-husband for the giant home I’m squatting in now (since I’m off the loan and all).

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I know I’m supposed to believe the right house will come along. It just feels like every step of this fucking divorce has been a climb up a mountain. I’m so fucking tired.

I’m tired from begging for the divorce. I’m tired from all the side jobs I did to pay for the divorce. I’m tired of the tiptoeing I’ve done during the divorce. I’m tired from the paperwork and filing for the divorce. I’m tired from the mediation for the divorce. I’m tired of trying to make money to survive after the divorce.

And now I’m tired of trying to move out and start my own life after divorce.