As someone who likes to plan pretty much everything to quite extreme detail and is a loyal friend of the spreadsheet, I don’t know where I got off thinking I’d just adapt to my new home in about six hours. I worked up in my mind like I’d just stroll through the front door and unpack (which I am yet to finish) and immediately be settled.
Moving was a long and stressful process (get info on the stuff I wish I knew more of as a first time buyer here) so I feel like I should have prepared myself more for the actual, physical and mental upheaval. I only moved last time just over a year ago and I remember standing with my head in my wardrobe getting tearful and feeling very strange as I packed up my stuff, so it’s not like I haven’t been hit with the moving emotions before. I think I had just spent so long trying to get my own place that I thought the only emotion I could feel towards it was love.
Of course the first initial week was more annoyance at not having a bed, stress at the amount there was to do and the amount of time I spent on hold and a strange feeling of immense responsibility, which is you know, a no-brainer when you buy a home. There wasn’t a great deal to do when we moved in (One day I will get round to taking photos of the weird and wonderful development in all its eco glory) as it was immaculately clean, has wooden floors and crisp white walls and so I thought ‘piece of cake’ and rocked up with my van of stuff and a bag of tangfastics.
By all means, we had a fairy easy time of moving, despite my joints and general body hating me immensely for joining in on the lifting (it turns out moving is far from an Ehlers Danlos-friendly activity) and it wasn’t until a week later that a deflated feeling of ‘what now?’ came sauntering along. Aren’t brains wonderful? They convince you that something is absolutely right and worth struggling for, then hit you with a nice dose of doubt and some sleepless nights.
I can safely say now as I sit on my sofa and look at a living room that doesn’t resemble the aftermath of a flatpack furniture club night that it has all been very much worth it and I’m so happy and so thankful and so on. The whole thing of making a house a home though is going to take some practice. Feeling ill with a massive resurgence of EDS symptoms hasn’t helped with settling in and the fatigue I get from that feels much worse when I constantly have stuff that needs doing, assembling or fixing. I did always know deep down that I’d be the sort of person who moves armed with 50 Pinterest boards and a box of newly purchased cushions, but it’s been much more about thinking and feeling than buying and styling.
Waking up on a Saturday and not hearing other people, being able to shower without locking up the bathroom, not worrying about someone using my cheese or stealing my last apple and being aware that stuff is where it is because it’s where I want it have been the things that have made it feel like home. They’ve also made it feel very strange, but I’m fully on board with my own bathroom and only having one person to point the finger at when food vanishes. Although I do still sometimes miss my Fulham house share and our post-work debriefs with wine at the weird medieval kitchen table, it must be said.
Home (with my parents and my dog and the kitchen door that doesn’t quite open properly) will always be home I think, just in a different way now. As much as moving in and scattering my belongings and all the stuff I’ve been so keen to buy for so long has been all of the fun, it’s definitely going to be little things (and feeling less like a zombie from pain and fatigue) that make this quirky little place feel like a home through and through.