Selling your home, especially when you have children, dogs, and the audacity to actually live in your own house.
There are certain experiences in life that nobody can adequately prepare you for.
Childbirth. Parenting teenagers. Putting together IKEA furniture with your spouse.
And apparently, trying to sell your house while you’re still living in it.
Because let me tell you something….
Selling a house while living in it is a special kind of torture.
Not the dramatic, life-altering kind of suffering. But the slow, daily unraveling of your sanity.
This comes from trying to convince complete strangers that your home is a peaceful, pristine, perfectly maintained sanctuary.
One where nobody actually eats, sleeps, sheds, spills, or uses the bathroom.
Which is especially entertaining when you have seven children.
And two dogs.
And a husband.
And a life.
Welcome to the House That Nobody Is Allowed to Live In
The first few days after listing your house are exciting.
You’ve cleaned every baseboard. Organized every closet. Scrubbed things you haven’t thought about since you moved in.
The pillows are fluffed. The countertops are spotless. The beds are made.
Your house looks like it belongs in a magazine.
You take one last look around and think, Wow. We should have done this a long time ago.
And then your children come home.
Someone needs a snack, someone takes their shoes off in the middle of the living room, someone spills something sticky on the freshly mopped floor, and most emotion causing, someone uses the bathroom you just cleaned.
And suddenly you find yourself saying things that no normal mother should ever have to say.
“DO NOT TOUCH THE PILLOWS.”
“WHY IS THERE A CUP ON THE COUNTER?”
“WHO USED THIS BATHROOM?”
“CAN EVERYONE PLEASE JUST STOP LIVING HERE FOR FIVE MINUTES?”
And my personal favorite:
“We need to make this house look like nobody lives here.”
While nine people are, in fact, living here. Okay eight on the daily but her #9’s stuff is still here.
The Showing Notification That Sends Everyone Into a Panic
There’s nothing quite like receiving a notification that someone wants to see your house.
At first, you’re excited.
This could be it! These could be our buyers!
And then you look around.
There’s laundry in the washer, dishes in the sink, a child making a sandwich, another child looking for shoes, and at least one dog doing something questionable.
You have an hour, maybe two.
I actually requested 4 hours, because if my house isn’t already clean, then I can’t get it show ready in less than that.
Remember eight people are daily making every mess they can think of.
Suddenly, you’re running through the house like a drill sergeant preparing for a military inspection.
Beds made.
Counters cleared.
Toilets scrubbed and flushed.
Trash emptied.
Dog hair vacuumed.
Lights on.
Blinds open.
And heaven help the person who decides this is the appropriate moment to cook bacon.
Then comes the next challenge.
Getting everyone out.
Because apparently, when someone wants to look at your house, the entire family has to evacuate like there’s been a chemical spill.
Seven children. Two dogs. Everyone’s shoes. Everyone’s belongings.
And nowhere particularly useful to go.
So you load everyone into the vehicle and drive around, hoping that the strangers walking through your home are falling in love with it.
Meanwhile, you’re spending money on gas, snacks, or another meal you didn’t plan on buying because you can’t actually be in your own kitchen.
We have actually gone to Chick-fil-a like 4 times now during a showing. The kids can play while we wait.
And Then There’s the Feedback
Oh, the feedback.
You spend hours making your house look perfect.
Rearrange your entire day.
Remove every sign of human existence.
You drag your children and dogs out of the house.
And then you wait.
Wait and wait some more.
And eventually, you hear something like:
“They loved the house, but it wasn’t quite what they were looking for.”
Wonderful.
I’m so glad we all participated in this exercise.
Or perhaps there’s no feedback at all.
Just silence.
Which somehow feels worse.
Because now you’re standing in your spotless kitchen wondering whether they hated the layout, the price, the paint color, or the fact that your family had the audacity to own furniture.
And despite knowing that buying a home is a huge decision and not every house is right for every family, it’s hard not to take it personally.
Because to them, it’s a property.
To you, it’s home.
The Emotional Roller Coaster Nobody Mentions
Here’s the part that isn’t quite as funny.
Selling a home can be incredibly emotional, especially when you’re not selling simply because you’re ready for something new.
Sometimes you’re selling because life has changed.
Because circumstances have shifted.
The plans you made no longer fit the reality you’re living.
And when a house sits on the market longer than you expected, the uncertainty starts wearing on you.
Every notification makes your heart jump.
Every showing brings a little hope.
Every day without an offer brings another round of questions.
Should we lower the price?
Is something wrong with the house?
Why isn’t anyone buying it?
How much longer can we keep doing this?
You start checking listing views and saves like you’re monitoring the stock market.
Someone saved the house!
What does that mean?
Are they interested?
Are they coming to see it?
Are they going to make an offer?
Or are they just collecting pictures of kitchens they like?
And then there’s the financial side of it all. The expenses that don’t stop just because you’ve mentally moved on. The plans you can’t make because you don’t know when or where you’ll be moving.
It’s exhausting living in a constant state of almost.
Almost sold.
Almost moving.
Almost starting the next chapter.
But not quite.
You Can’t Relax in Your Own Home
I think this might be the most frustrating part.
Home is supposed to be the place where you exhale.
Where you kick off your shoes, leave a blanket on the couch, cook dinner, make memories, and occasionally ignore the laundry.
But when your house is on the market, it stops feeling entirely like yours.
You hesitate before starting a project.
You think twice before making a big meal.
You don’t want the kids dragging out toys.
You can’t leave dishes until morning.
You find yourself constantly cleaning things that are already clean, just in case someone wants to come look.
And if you’re a mother who already spends a significant portion of her life picking up after other people, this particular season might just push you over the edge.
Because somehow, in addition to everything else you’re responsible for, you’ve become the unpaid housekeeping staff for a house that strangers might want to walk through at any given moment.
And the cruel irony?
The cleaner you keep it, the more determined everyone else seems to be to make a mess.
Trying to Be Grateful While Also Losing Your Mind
I know having a home to sell is a blessing.
I know there are people who would love to have the problems I’m complaining about.
I know that eventually, this season will end.
But I also think we’re allowed to acknowledge that something can be a blessing and still be incredibly difficult.
We can be grateful for the roof over our heads while being completely exhausted by the process of selling it.
We can trust God with the outcome while still wishing He’d send a buyer sometime before we lose our minds.
We can believe there’s something good ahead without pretending that waiting is easy.
And maybe that’s where I find myself right now.
Somewhere between trusting God’s timing and asking Him if He might consider speeding things up just a little.
Because, Lord, I am tired.
And I’d really like to leave a coffee cup on the counter without feeling like I’ve committed a crime.
One Day, This Will Be Someone Else’s Home
It’s a strange thing, preparing to leave a place while you’re still living in it.
You’re cleaning away the evidence of a life that has been lived there.
The fingerprints on the glass.
The shoes by the door.
The blankets on the couch.
The little things that make a house feel like home.
All the things you’re frantically trying to hide are the very things that made the house yours.
And one day, another family may walk through the front door and begin filling these rooms with their own noise, their own messes, and their own memories.
They’ll put cups on the countertops.
Their children will leave shoes in the hallway.
Someone will spill something on the floor.
And nobody will care whether the pillows are perfectly fluffed.
Because they’ll be home.
And hopefully, by then, we will be too.
In the meantime, I’ll be over here vacuuming crumbs for the third time today, reminding my children not to touch anything, and praying that the next showing comes with an offer.
Preferably a good one.
And if you’re selling your house while still living in it, just know that I see you.
I see the laundry you’re hiding in the dryer.
I see the dishes you shoved into the dishwasher five minutes before the showing.
I see you driving around with your entire family and wondering how much longer you can keep doing this.
May your showings be plentiful, your offers be reasonable, and your children refrain from using the freshly cleaned bathroom for at least twenty minutes.
And may we all get to live in our houses again someday.
Until then, please don’t touch the throw pillows or blankets.
Let’s talk: Have you ever tried to sell your home while living in it?
Tell me your funniest showing disaster or the most ridiculous thing you’ve done to get your house ready. I could use a good laugh—and the reassurance that I’m not the only one losing my mind.
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