Personal experience shapes so much of how we treat and interact with people, from friends to clients. I’d like to share a very personal experience, one that changed my life and continues to shape my business.
I became a wife and homeowner at the age of 24. It was 2003, and my mother owned a three-family home (the home that I grew up in). She offered to convert to condos and sell me one so I would have equity. I quickly found a mortgage broker and started the process. I knew nothing, and I didn’t have, want or need an agent. I just bought my condo! In 2006, my husband decided to go back to school. Money was tight and we decided to move two floors down to my mother’s unit. She had three bedrooms and an in-law apartment. It was too big for her and just enough space for us. We became landlords and rented our condo. One month after we decided to move, I learned that we were expecting our first daughter!
We welcomed Emily into the world on March 13, 2007. We brought her home to the same house that I had been brought home to on the day that I was born. It was that home where I had found stability in my very unstable childhood -- the place which, for years, was the meeting spot for friends and family. It was my safe place.
For five years, we lived peacefully. We collected rent and enjoyed our baby, Em. My husband graduated in 2010 and, with student loans about to kick in for payment, we decided we would stay put. We thought about renting the first floor and buying a single, or selling and buying something else, but the house had memories and I wasn’t ready to give that up. We chose to make some renovations. The first step was to create a backyard space which, at the time, was concrete and a defunct in-ground pool. After meeting with the developer, the estimated cost was $5,000, so we started saving.
On April 10, 2011, we had all of the money saved (and a little extra for incidentals). The developer came out and we discussed design. I was so excited! It was a beautiful spring day -- the first beautiful day since that snowy winter, which had kept us all inside! My husband and I decided to take our four year old daughter to the park. We met a friend and her daughter and we all enjoyed a few hours out at the park. Then my phone rang… My mother kept telling me to come home, that there was a fire. My immediate thought was that it was a small stove fire and it would be fine. Our friend offered to take Emily to her house and my husband and I jumped in the car to drive the five minutes home from the park. That drive changed my life.
Driving up the hill, I started seeing the black smoke billow from our neighborhood. I could smell it. We pulled up to the house, which was situated on a corner lot. There were people everywhere. Friends, neighbors, strangers. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. I didn’t know what to do. I could only stand there, screaming. I saw strangers pointing and and taking pictures. I felt like Brittany Spears about to rip the camera out of the paparazzi’s hand and smash it. A neighbor pulled me into her home, but what about my mother, our dog, Oompah, and our other tenants? Was everyone out? Was everyone safe? I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, but they all remembered the address and came out right away. My mind went into Go-Mode. I called my supervisor (who is also a friend and a previous tenant) and told her that I would not be in to work on Monday. She and her husband came over right away. I called my friend, who was about to get married and her wedding dress was in my basement. How could I replace the gown that she loved? I checked Facebook and let everyone know that we were all OK (physically, anyway).
I sat there for hours watching the fireman from our city and four other cities try to extinguish the flames. Friends and family sat with us. They cried with us. This house wasn’t just a safe haven for me, but for everyone. It’s where we gathered in grade school, in high school and beyond. It’s where we mourned our friend who passed in 1999 in an accident. It was where she and I grew up. I realized that the date that our home caught fire was on the 24th anniversary of the day we buried my father, and then quickly realized what this must feel like for my mother, who would have to start over at 68 years old. There were about eighty friends and family members who sat there with us -- hugged us, cried with us, bought us pizza and reminisced with us.
Our friends and family stayed by our side in the days and weeks that passed. I wasn’t “OK” for a while. As the fire was happening, it was overheard from one fireman to another that they had never seen a show of support like that.
As things began to settle, we went back and forth on whether to sell the land or to rebuild on the lot. We decided to sell the land and we started looking for a new home for our family. Our agent (a close friend and my mentor in Real Estate), must have showed us over one hundred properties. We were all over the place and no one could decide on anything. Nothing seemed right. After awhile, we decided to keep renting and apartment and my mother bought a condo for herself. It just made the most sense to do it that way. Now, my mother was the one being difficult. But hindsight is 20/20 and, looking back, this was much more difficult for her than it was for us. My husband and I had each other. She was starting over at 68 years old.
You don’t realize how a house fire can affect your life until it does. You feel shaken, lost, displaced and scared, to say the very least. The insurance process is such a hassle! You have no ground -- no home base. The old adage of “Going home again…” doesn’t apply anymore. In one instance, everything is just... gone. It’s overwhelming, and the barrage of people who all mean well, are telling you that “at least you are ok…” The guilt comes next because yes, you are physically “Ok”, but mentally, you are freaking out because technically, you are homeless with a four year old -- that four year old whom you had to take to say goodbye to everything she had known to that point. You are crying yourself to sleep at the Red Roof Inn because even though you’ve worked hard all your life, this is where you live now. You are wearing someone else’s clothes and nothing seems like you any more. Nothing feels real. And you still feel guilty because you should just feel grateful that you are so loved, which you do.
When my agent friend, told me real estate would be a good fit for me, I liked the idea. I mean, hey, I knew all about the process after seeing over one hundred houses, but I couldn’t make the switch and I didn’t want to start a business on the side, risking the loss of more time with the little ones (we had a second daughter in December of 2012). In November of 2014, I lost my job. There was a Groupon discount for the class and I said, “What the heck!” I signed up and called my friend. I was licensed in May of 2015. My experience has taught me the following two things:
Real estate can be a very emotional process to undertake. Going out of your way for clients who are dealing with heavy emotions tied to the transaction is a very necessary part of the process.
Treat others the way you want to be treated! In the wake of a tragic event, seeing the way they treat you makes it a little easier to go on.
Five years later, we are still trying to rebuild our lives and search for our new home. But, I’ve found comfort and stability in the amazing network and community I have spent my life building. I have found great peace utilizing my job as a Realtor, to help others feel good about their real estate choices and welcoming them to the next phase of their life.
I feel pretty confident saying that home is definitely where your heart is, and I plan to put a piece of my heart into every transaction.
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