We live in a big house on a council estate. We own our house. It took us two years to save a deposit and a further six years to have finished 80% of the renovations. We have scrimped, saved, learned and upcycled our way through some big DIY projects which include tiling a living room floor, overhauling a garden from a shingle nightmare to a green paradise and installing new walls in the kitchen. We stepped onto the property ladder and have found challenges at each step. Most have been fun, some have been tedious and others have seen me throw massive hissy fits and leave the room to calm down. 

There are memories ingrained in the very fabric of this place that call out to me, even in the short amount of years, this place is special. Our first home.

Without much DIY experience we have found each step so hard, but ultimately really rewarding. Mr W and I take on new projects together and I am so proud of the couple we are. 

We tackle things like tiling for the first time head on and keep each other going. I remember laying a wooden floor 2 months after moving in and thinking it was relatively easy. We started at 9am and after a brief break for tea, we didn’t stop until we finished at 9pm. That is, until Mr W said we needed to do the edging, he cut the small strips of wood while I glued them down. Half way through the job, I hit a snag, the walls were bowed and caused tension on the strips of wood. Once I put my hand on one end, the other would ping out of place. I end up like a freaky yoga goddess covered in glue with one foot reaching out to hold the left end of the strip in place while my hand held the right end in place. And PING it happened again. At 11:30pm, I cracked,  stormed upstairs, slammed the bathroom door behind me and sat in quiet and tired frustration. Ten minutes later, I opened the door and there he was. Sitting on the stairs, waiting for me. No words spoken, just a look to say let’s carry on.  Walking down those stairs felt easier knowing he was leading the way. We ended up finishing the project, hoovering and mopping the floor, moving all of the furniture back into the room and crawling into bed at 1am. The next day, the frustrations lifted as we came downstairs to the morning light flooding the floor for our first glance at our hard work. 

When visiting Pollensa, Majorca in 2019, we decided to stroll around the town and lose a few hours. And then, around a corner there appeared the Calvari Steps. All 365 of them. My flip flop wearing feet were feeling ambitious and my brain thought it knew better. The staircase is absolutely stunning. Lined by trees and hidden residences you don’t know until you reach the very top what is on offer to the achievers of the climb. After climbing up one third in flip flops, I decided the shiny, worn stone was too slippery for my meagre footwear and I took them off. The October sun warmed the stones enough that it was pleasant and did not burn my feet. As Mr W and I continued our walk, we took it slow and watched as other people passed us, glancing at my lack of footwear. I laughed at the thought that I looked like a pilgrim on some religious mission. Every so often, there would be a brief break in the stone strings of the stairs and we could step away into the trees and appreciate how far we had come. 365 stairs are by no means a vast number considering other staircases of the world but this place felt peaceful, unexpected and tiring all at once. Being unprepared footwear wise had made it more of a challenge, but adapting came easy. Mr W had gone from walking beside me to hold my hand to stop me from slipping, to staying beside me to take it all in. Just a few steps from the top, a man in a crisp shirt and hat sat in the shade playing his guitar. The music was soft and euphonic. It felt like we were on a film set, where was the director shouting ‘Action’? You don’t believe that scenes like that happen in real life. Once at the top we were greeted with the smallest church I have had the pleasure of stepping foot in and the single most sweeping view of the Majorcan landscape I am yet to see. The journey was hard, enlightening and I realised on our descent, my calves were going to thank me later! 

Today, I don’t feel the pain, I only have snapshots in my memory of a spontaneous moment that not only led somewhere beautiful but felt like a really special journey itself. 

Today, I felt really unhappy. We are in week one of the school holidays here in the UK and that means kids. A LOT of kids. I used to love seeing them out and about on our community green because all you hear today is how kids are glued to tvs, phones and iPads. And yet there they were, outside playing and laughing. Lately the scene has soured and there is litter everywhere, broken toys and various degrees of destruction taking place. It makes me want to close the blinds, play exceptionally loud music and pretend we have airlifted our home to a secluded area. I feel so sad because we take great pride in our home and have done since we moved in and when it comes to visitors the mess outside is the first thing they see. It feels like it’s a misrepresentation of us. It is embarrassing. I have tried hard over the years to ignore, ask for help and look at the bigger picture when I feel particularly stressed. Sometimes it works, sometimes, like today, it doesn’t. 

We have made the choice to move. There are several reasons and the above is one of them. Does it make living here today easier? Absolutely not. This house is my second ever home. Our first home as a couple. We grew here as a couple. Apart in the first year of stress. Together again as we prepared for our wedding. We became man and wife here. The walls here echo with the family who we have lost. The air still rings with laughter at private jokes and family game nights. 

Moving is a fair few years off yet. Do I feel forced out? Yes and no, if I were mentally stronger, I think living here wouldn’t bother me as much as it does but I also know there are other factors we aren’t happy with which means moving is the only option. Each step of accepting this being our future is hard. It feels like the staircase in Pollensa. By stripping it back, take all the feeling out of it leaving only logic. Clothing myself in the necessary memories and the fabric of our time here is making me slip on our decision. Sometimes, I can step aside and see this place for what it is, a beautiful singular chapter in our story.

I imagine over time, it will get easier to accept. 

It hurts now, like the first time DIY projects and the Spanish staircase did. Once it is over the pain will only be a memory, and thankfully it’ll be in a sea of memories that are absolutely stunning. Today, and the other difficult days like it, are part of a journey to something beautiful and unexpected.