The Cottage

It’s been a year of major transition for me. In September I brought my youngest to college and became an empty nester. 

I also decided to sell the beautiful home I’d purchased on historic Missionary Ridge in Chattanooga, Tennessee. It was a dream to live there but, in the end, it was too big a property for me to maintain myself, taking resources that could be better used to VISIT my 5 children who are spread across the country rather than HOST them. 

That’s the simple version but the mindset shift that happened over the past year has been slow and deep. When we spend nearly our whole adult life setting up house for others, the ending of that season is not easy. It’s an identity change from being the ultimate host to being out of a job. We raise our children to fly without always realizing that our lives will suddenly change once they all do. 

The bedroom furniture that provided a comfortable place for each child to sleep is now piled in the garage and attic of this little empty nester cottage and it feels strange.

We get so good at so many things - cooking, cleaning, managing schedules, coaching, consulting, and counseling. We teach and advise. We are property managers and financial planners, bookkeepers, home maintenance specialists and landscapers. All with the goal of setting up life for a family; making everyone else’s dreams come true.  And then, suddenly, we are out of a job. 

I thought my next role was to be the matriarch - the one with a cozy home, big enough to host all 5 children, their future spouses, and children comfortably. While they were away I would find ways to host others. When I bought the historic home with beautiful gardens and views, I thought I’d be there forever. I loved it so much. The beauty out every window was inspiring and such a gift.

Turns out, that was not the long term plan. 

The reality was, my busy college and working young adult children lived all over the country. They had different schedules and commitments. We would be lucky if twice a year brought us all to my house. And the landscaping requirements of that lovely property were high - in time and money. 

Choosing the practical reality of simplifying my home life was easier than losing the host identity that was so ingrained in me. It was a year of grief, not just of my daughter leaving or that beautiful property but of the sense of self I'd lived in for 26 years. Mother and Homemaker.

Who was I if I didn’t have a lovely venue for people? 

Was I enough - just me?

That was the big question I wrestled with this year.

In July and August we fixed up the house for sale. It sold quickly. In late September, I moved all my things to storage, took my youngest to college and moved to my parents house in the country while I looked for a house. I was there for 5 months. 

My coach asked one day, “What if the most interesting thing about you isn’t where you live?”

To be honest, everything about me felt boring compared to my ability to create a beautiful home for people. So it seemed to me that the only thing I was interested in about me had to do with a house. And I didn’t have one. 

And did it even matter if no one was here to enjoy it?

I searched for a house anyway, looked at many, got under contract and out again with 2, came close to offers on several more. I widened my location and wondered if I should just buy an airstream and float around the country. No one needed me, so what now? 

When I filed for divorce, the realization that helped me decide was that my kids needed ME more than they needed a good story. I had reached the point where it was going to be one or the other. 

While nothing is like ending a relationship, I asked the same thing about having a big home. 

Maybe a mother who has resources to visit, who has given herself time to heal, who has time to build relationships is better than the stressed out one with the big beautiful house.

While I waited for the right house and weighed options, I took a few trips on my own, did Christmas in Washington DC with the kids, hired a coach, and went to a Christian counseling intensive. I healed. I grew stronger. While no one needed me - no pets, no kids, no home, I dug up the pain I'd stuffed down over the years.

I eventually found my 1947 cottage - I call it that because the front of house looks just like a little cottage. In the 1990’s the family added a large master suite - a waste of space in my opinion. I don’t need a giant bedroom when so much of the front of the house is cramped but I guess that’s the trend. The addition added 500 square feet making it more officially a house, not a cottage. 

But my design style for this house is to lean into its cottage roots. It’s on a mountain outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee with streams and trees and lush hedgerows and woods. Many of the homes were originally built as summer cottages. There are hydrangeas blooming in the yard along with weeds. The property is almost an acre but mostly covered with overgrown privet and honeysuckle along with trees. I can imagine the landscape evolving over time - more flowers, more open space. Maybe I'll be the one to improve it. Maybe not. 

I have extra furniture piled in the tiny garage that will never fit inside. The attic is packed. Downsizing is not easy but it’s beginning to feel so cozy and perfect for this season of my life. There's enough room for a couple of kids to come to visit and, if they all end up here again at some point, we could probably have some fun squeezing in.

It’s definitely a fixer upper so I’ll be sharing my progress on Instagram and here on the blog.

I’ve learned to hold a home more loosely. As a kid who moved many times, I think my driving goal in adult life has been to create a forever home - one where you finally feel like you belong. I’m learning though that that’s not the only way to do life. My experience has made me good at fixing up homes. I love it. Maybe I’m supposed to fix and move. 

Maybe home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s coming home to yourself and being who God made you to be. 

What if the most interesting thing about you isn’t that thing you hold so tightly to?

What if your story has been shaping you into exactly who you’re supposed to be? 

What if the world needs YOU more than the story you keep trying to create?

So tell me, are you in transition? What are you learning? Are you creating a home just for YOU?