The Realized American Dream

We landed our dream home at the height of my husband’s career in real estate appraisals. We fixed up our house by faux finishing each room, installing new carpet and completely upgrading the kitchen. We bought a home entertainment system and converted the room over the garage into a movie room complete with seating for 12 people.

I loved that house. I loved every room in it. We had achieved the American Dream – or so I thought.

Almost everyone who came inside would tell us how warm and cozy it felt. We would host parties and movie nights and have friends stay until the early hours of the morning. We even decided to get two dogs because the backyard was nice and had a fence – white picket nonetheless.

Everything was going great until the market dropped. We were upside down in our mortgage and our interest rate reset causing our payment to go up. We couldn’t refinance because of the drop in price and at the same time, my husband lost his job due to lack of work. It was the perfect real estate storm. We weren’t the only ones facing this battle, and turning to the news or presidential directives wasn’t helping.

When the collection agency started calling, I began to doubt myself. I suddenly didn’t know if I had the ability to manage money. I didn’t know if I was capable of handing a mortgage. I eventually came to the conclusion I was a failure.

However, there was something very important I overlooked. My house didn’t define me. Paying my mortgage on time didn’t equate to financial stability and keeping up with home owner’s association dues didn’t make me a good neighbor.

When it came time to let go, it was hard. So much of my identity was wrapped up in succeeding in things like finances, work and keeping up with the Jones’. I had always bragged that those things didn’t matter to me, but when it came time to admit I was losing my house, I was ashamed.

At the last minute I turned to a real estate pit bull who offered to help me try a short sale. I didn’t hold out much hope, be she said she would try and work her magic. One month turned into two and then two months into three. We were facing foreclosure and packing up to move out. Even though we had an offer on the house, the bank didn’t want it.

Eventually, our short sale was accepted. But, it was a long road to get there. However, the longer road was within me. It took nearly three years to overcome the feelings of regret, shame and hopelessness. It also took that long to let go of what I thought was the American Dream.

Now I realize, I was – and am – already living the American Dream. I am surrounded by people I love, I do the work I enjoy and I am not ruled by a bank statement or a income bracket. There’s no amount of money that can take away my happiness. That depends on me, and not a dollar bill.

Staci Dennis is a freelance writer and blogger for Nexxt. She uses her job skills and life experience to formulate unique and clever blogs and stories.

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