When I bought my first home back in July, it was a very emotional time. After decades of renting, circumstances became such that my choices were to either bite the bullet and consider buying a home or crawl into a deep, dark hole of fear and shame. Yes, that sounds very, very dramatic — but […]

When I bought my first home back in July, it was a very emotional time. After decades of renting, circumstances became such that my choices were to either bite the bullet and consider buying a home or crawl into a deep, dark hole of fear and shame. Yes, that sounds very, very dramatic — but it was truly a huge emotional issue for me. I grew up in the projects and my single mom never had the luxury of owning a home. I was 48 years old and had become comfortable citing my years in NYC as a certificate that made it okay to be a lifelong renter while everyone in my small town over the age of 30 mowed the lawns of the homes they actually owned. Honestly, I never thought I would be able to buy a home despite the fact I’ve always made a comfortable living. It just wasn’t something I had a model for. The idea of someone scrutinizing my finances threw me right back to childhood and I’d re-experience my mom’s shame and pain for not having all the things (like a house) that my classmates did. I was on the free lunch program and was one of the kids given a free ride at the Catholic school I attended. Facing what, in fact, I could do, could afford and s...