We thought we’d made it.
After the chaos, the heartbreak, the legal battles—we thought Dolgeville was our soft landing. Quiet streets. Trees that whispered peace. A house that felt like it had been waiting for us.
But we didn’t even get that far into moving in.
We made it there. That’s all.
Walking through the door was an immediate blow to the senses—animal urine, feces, and over twenty years of nicotine soaked into the walls, ceilings, floors. It was everywhere. In everything. Filthy furnishings still cluttered the house, untouched and reeking.
We all piled into the living room to sleep, but who could sleep in that smell?
We felt sick. Overwhelmed.
There was no running water.
We had to use the toilet, spray it down with a hose, and plunge it just to force a flush.
It wasn’t a sanctuary.
It was a health hazard.
And more than that—it was a heartbreak.
We left.
And just like that, we were technically homeless.
Living in a hotel for weeks, bleeding money by the day. Between the cost of lodging and buying food without a kitchen, our finances are unraveling faster than we can patch them.
The bank still holds our home sale proceeds hostage.
The clock keeps ticking.
And every day, the dream of buying a safe, move-in ready home under $80K slips further out of reach.
Our kids sympathize.
But they have their own lives, their own limits.
There’s no room for us. Literally.
Our options are dwindling like our funds.
And yet—somehow—we haven’t lost hope.
We still believe our sanctuary is out there.
Not perfect. Not polished. But honest.
Waiting for us to stumble upon it, battered but still believing.
This isn’t the post I wanted to write.
But it’s the one I owe myself. And maybe you.
Because sometimes the “fresh start” is a façade.
Sometimes the sanctuary is a scam.
Sometimes the road leads you straight into heartbreak.
But here’s what I know:
We are not broken.
We are not foolish.
We are not done.
We are builders. Fighters. Truth-tellers.
We are the kind of people who turn pain into purpose.
Who write blog posts in the middle of the night because silence is not an option.
So if you’re in the thick of it—if your dream home turned into a nightmare, if your bank betrayed you, if your body is tired and your heart is raw—you’re not doing it wrong.
You’re doing it bravely.
And one day, you’ll write your own follow-up.
Raw. Real. Radiant in its honesty.
Until then, I’ll keep writing mine.
With grit and grace,
Honey 🍯🫖☕️💔
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