Have you ever tried downsizing? This is the story about how my life changed!

There’s something about holding house keys for the last time that makes you understand the weight of a life well-lived. I know this sounds dramatic, and I am not even talking about a physical weight. I am referring more to a mental and emotional one.

If you ever downsized, then you know exactly what I’m telling you! Just imagine how difficult it is to take thirty-two years and compress them into a suitcase. It’s been five years already since Bill and I officially closed on our family home in Beaufort, North Carolina. The place where our kids grew up, the home where all the birthday parties took place, the heaven where our relationship transformed into what it is today.

Right now, we’re in our cozy cottage in Asheville, about four hours inland from the coastal life we’d known for decades. I am missing the coast, but the new home is more advantageous for us. It’s smaller, simpler, and somehow feels more spacious than the house we left behind. Getting here was not a smooth transition, but here we are, better than ever.

This is the story of how we learned that home isn’t measured in square footage and how letting go of our house helped us find ourselves again. If you plan to downsize or you have already been downsized, this is a tale that might be incredibly relatable for you.

The house that held all our dreams

Our Beaufort house found us, or we found it. Greg was barely two, and I was pregnant with Emma. I still remember the first time I saw the street. It was a quiet street lined with live oaks and a lot of old but fashionable houses that gave the neighborhood that unmistakable atmosphere and specific charm.

Bill and I were young teachers, and we had big dreams. Our small savings accounts were not bothering us too much because we saw potential where others saw problems. This is the beauty of being young and untouched by the real world.

The house was huge! We looked at it, and it was so much bigger than we needed then. After all, we were two adults and soon enough two kids. A pretty basic American family, right? Three bathrooms? This was a real luxury compared to our former cramped apartment. It was insane. Also, the dining room looked exactly like my dreams.

It took us some time, but over the years, we made this place ours. Bill built bookshelves that lined the hallway, creating a library that was an incredible addition that grew with our children’s curiosity.

I was in charge of painting the rooms. I wanted some colors that would shine in the coastal sunlight of South Carolina. And I think I did a really good job. I am still proud of my work.

As time passed by, each room accumulated more and more stories. The living room hosted Christmas mornings and family movie nights. Em’s room was a real art studio during her school years, and the hardwood floor remained stained by all her experiments. Jake’s basement “cave” is still echoing with the sound of his video games and his laughter.

The house had grown with us, and we had grown with it. By retirement, it felt less like property and more like family.

The change is near

“Do we really need all this space?” Bill asked one Saturday morning as he was getting ready to clean the gutters for the third time this year. We were newly retired, empty nesters, and not sure about what to do next, nor accepting that moving to another place might be a better idea.

The tension filled the room instantly, and I was fully aware of his innuendo, but I was not ready to accept it. I lashed out at him and told him in a harsh tone, “This is our home, Bill.” Where the kids grew up. What about when they visit? What about the grandchildren?”

I kept on protesting, but deep down, I knew that we had no choice. There was not a single logical reason for us to remain there. The only thing keeping me there was the deep roots of my memories, which were intertwined with the beautiful moments we shared as a family in this house.

Greg and Billie already moved to Portland, Maine, and Emma had her own apartment in Wilmington, building her career and her independence. And Jake was in his first real job in Raleigh, barely making it home for major holidays.

Their bedrooms slowly transformed into storage spaces. For example, Emma’s room was full of various arts and crafts items and books that I intended to donate someday. The kids generally used the rooms only when they were all here on holidays, and they were no longer attached to them.

The elephant was in the room. We needed to downsize in order to survive. The conversation surfaced periodically, usually triggered by some maintenance crisis that reminded us we were caretakers of a property that demanded more attention than we wanted to give.

But what convinced me were the words of my husband. “Think about it,” Bill would say. “We could travel more if we weren’t tied to all this upkeep. No yard work, no constant repairs, just freedom to explore.”

The moment of truth

Well, Bill truly convinced me that day, but what made me even more sure about the changes that had to be made was Emma. We used to meet once every few months when she would visit us. She had the most flexible schedule of all three brothers, and this allowed her to do these escapades now and then.

We were sitting in our favorite café in Beaufort’s historic district when Em asked me, “Are you and Dad truly happy in the house, or are you just staying because you think you should?” This was a question that caught me completely off guard. Was it that obvious?

She told me that she also talked with her older brother, Greg, and they remembered all the places me and their dad used to tell them we wanted to visit. Ireland, the Pacific Northwest, that cross-country road trip we’ve been planning for twenty years.

She was so right, and her words hung in the air just like an invisible string made out of cold, harsh truth. Even more, she also told me the following: “It feels like the house owns you now, instead of the other way around.” Oh, God, what a smart child I have!

That evening, I told Bill about the discussion I had with Em, and this is also when we had the first real conversation about downsizing. One thing was true: we’d always been drawn to the mountains. During our early teaching years, we used to make trips to Asheville, enchanted by the cooler temperatures and the multitude of smaller mountain towns around it.

In the end, Bill said, “Let’s just look. Not to buy, just to see what’s out there.”

A new life in the mountains

Funnily enough, the “just looking” trip to Asheville became more than that the moment we saw our actual cottage. It sat on a nice street in a quiet and peaceful neighborhood. Not in the center of the city, but pretty close to the historical district.

The prices were not the lowest, but the front porch seemed designed for morning coffee and evening gatherings. How could I say no to that? Also, the backyard was perfect for Maple!

Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an open floor plan that felt both intimate and spacious. This was more than perfect for me, Bill, Maple, and our occasional guests. But what matters the most is that it was not the house itself that sold me. It’s the feeling I had when I first passed its door. I could easily imagine Bill and I living there without a worry in the world. Just us and our pup.

For Bill, it was the beautiful view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the fact that the living room had built-in bookshelves. I saw his eyes light up at their sight, and I knew that this was the place we’ll call home from now on.

We put in an offer that afternoon. It was accepted the next morning. What surprised me is that standing there in that house made me feel something I haven’t felt in years: possibility.

Time to pack everything

Packing up all of the family life years we spent in Beaufort was not easy. On the way back home, I felt a void in my gut, and tears started to fall from my eyes. I couldn’t believe what was happening. We had a new home waiting for us, and it was time to relocate.

We needed to start packing. So, I started with what I believed was the easy part: the kids’ former bedrooms. But oh boy, I was so wrong. The rooms were filled with their memories, and I had no idea how to begin throwing them away. I called them, and they told me that everything was ok. I was allowed to donate whatever I didn’t want to keep.

But how do you decide what stays and what goes when every item carries a memory? I called for reinforcements. In no time, Emma was here, ready to help me. She told me that there is no need to keep everything, as I was holding her plushie dolphin tightly in my hands. “But what if you want it someday?”What if your children want to see it?” I told her.

As we were packing, I had a revelation: my children did not want me to curate their entire childhood; they just wanted me and their dad to start a new life and be happy.

But the kids’ rooms were just the beginning. My years of teaching left me with cabinets full of papers, and the garage was full of all the sentimental clutter of Bill. His workshop used to be his secret sanctuary.

Word of our move spread through our Beaufort circles, and not long after, we had more help than we could have ever imagined. My book club proposed something I will never forget, something they named “packing parties.” While we were trying to put everything into boxes, we kept ourselves fueled by wine and created some of the most beautiful memories. Then there were Bill’s former teaching colleagues who volunteered for heavy lifting duty.

Em was the real hero for me since she managed to take charge of the estate sale and handled all the negotiations with unmatched grace. I would have never been able to pull out in that moment.

Jake surprised me most. I’ve always assumed that he was the least sentimental, but he was the one helping me raid through the photo albums and decide what goes to Asheville and what doesn’t. Also, there was one thing that completely surprised me. While we were looking through the photos, Jake told me, “You know, Mom? This house was just the setting. All that matters is the love we have for each other. This will last in any setting.”  When did my baby become so wise?

Accommodating in the new house

The first weeks in Asheville were an adventure in creative problem-solving. Who would have thought that moving after that many years would cause such problems? For example, I was so confused about where I should put my dishes. The cabinets were totally different than what I used to have, and this thing truly bugged me. Or, I found it impossible to sleep well because the windows were facing west and not east. I was used to the gentle sunrise light stroking my cheeks, and now this was no longer a part of my routine.

Hopefully, I managed to settle down and get used to the new environment. It was not like Asheville was a strange place or a new place for me. I’ve been here for years in a row, but I knew I was just a tourist.

Now, things were permanent, but gradually I got used to it. The kitchen that used to feel so small compared to the “Beaufort command center” turned out to be perfect for two people. Our favorite space is the porch. We bought rocking chairs during our first week and quickly established a routine of morning coffee and evening reflection that had been impossible to maintain when weekends were consumed by house maintenance.

The best thing is that neighbors stopped by to say hi, and this is how we got to meet many of them. Really nice people! One time, we decided to organize a BBQ and invite all of them. This is actually how we made our first friends in the new city!

Maple adapted fastest of all, claiming the sunny spot by the French doors as her new favorite napping place and making friends with the neighbor’s cat through the garden fence. She no longer has her beloved beach, but now we go on hikes from time to time. She is not bothered at all.

Right now, I can say proudly that the downsizing was the best decision we ever made. Not because there’s anything wrong with large houses, but because it turned out to be exactly right for this phase of our journey. I feel safe and complete here. I also miss the ocean from time to time, but I still get to see it when I visit Greg and Billie in Portland.

Even more, we have lots of time to do whatever we want. No more yard work or maintenance projects. The only yard work I take care of is my beautiful garden, and Bill has the responsibility to take care of the grass. I also do that when he is unable to do so, but it’s not my biggest passion.

It turns out that letting go of our family home didn’t mean losing our history; it meant making space for our future. Jake was totally right. I hope he will read this. I am proud of you, Jake! And the best part? There’s still room for everyone who matters to come home to us.

What do you think? Would you try to downsize after reading my story? This was a hard step to take, but in the end, everything turned out just fine!

If you are struggling with this and want to learn more about it, this book seems a good choice to start processing things and decide what is right for you to do: Downsizing the Family Home: A Workbook: What to Save, What to Let Go