After 11 years of living in our own house in New Hampshire, my family has moved back to Massachusetts to live on the upper floor of my parents’ place.
Why? Well, we’ve amassed $30,647 in credit card debt, we can’t afford our mortgage anymore, and we want a brighter future for our kids and ourselves than the crushing debt allowed for. Than continuing to work as educators—doing “what we love”—allows for, at least without help.
I’ve said before that artists shouldn’t buy houses. I’ll just go ahead now and say that teachers shouldn’t either.
At any rate, I’m glad that we finally did something about what my friends have listened to me complain about for damn near a decade. And while I’ll miss the place where we raised our kids for the earliest part of their lives, I’m happy to be back in the house where I grew up, a place they have grown to love themselves.
Chelmsford is the only place that’s ever really felt like home to me, and while I battle with crushing anxiety and depression this summer, it’s comforting to be waging that war against my inner demons on turf that I know and love.
More soon on all of this. I have lots more to say about this move, lots more to get off my chest.