When I finalized my divorce, the agreement allowed me to remain in the home we had shared until my youngest daughter turned 18. After that, I was required to sell the house, split the proceeds, and find a new place to live.
At first, the idea of moving brought a surprising feeling: excitement. For the first time in years, I could go anywhere. Start fresh. Begin a new chapter. I was hopeful that this would be a good change.
But when the time came, the excitement quickly turned to fear. I still had two kids at home. I couldn’t just move anywhere—I had to stay in the area for their schools and stability. And I couldn’t make any decisions until the house sold, which took a couple of months. Once it did, I had just three weeks to find something.
We searched for houses, condos, townhomes—anything within my budget—but nothing seemed to work. As the days passed, panic crept in. We had nowhere to go, no family nearby to stay with, and no backup plan.
Eventually, we found a condo that checked the boxes. I prayed about it, and after a few days, I felt peace. My lender worked quickly, and my realtor convinced the owners to let us move in a few days early while we waited to close. I remember getting the keys, standing alone in that condo, and crying. It wasn’t where I hoped to be—but it was a start. I could do this.
But the closing day came and went. Then I got the call: the lender discovered some concerning issues with the condo, and the loan wouldn’t go through.
At the time, I felt crushed. I thought we were going to be homeless. Looking back now, I can see that was a blessing in disguise—but in the moment, I was terrified. Thankfully, we were allowed to stay in the condo a little longer, though we had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
We kept searching, praying, hoping. Every time I asked, I felt the same answer: “Keep trying. You are not alone.” So I did.
We tried to rent an apartment. I didn’t make enough to qualify. Even when a manager found a potential workaround, we were ultimately denied due to income limits. Again, we were left with no options.
Then my realtor found a homeowner who was renovating a property and allowed us to live there temporarily. We moved in—again—with only the essentials, unsure how long she would let us stay.
This change I had once been excited about now felt like a never-ending trial. Every plan fell through. But I clung to the faith that God was with me.
Four months later, after countless setbacks, we pulled into the driveway of a small house. I looked around and asked my realtor, “Where even are we?” But the moment I stepped inside, I knew: This was it.
Everything fell into place quickly. We had a home. We weren’t homeless anymore.
That time in my life was one of the most stressful and faith-testing seasons I’ve ever experienced. But now, I can see how every step served a purpose. My work commute shrank from 1-2 hours to just 10 minutes. My kids were closer to school and college. We landed in a safe, quiet neighborhood. Blessings I never could have planned on my own.
Looking back, I realize that what felt like detours was actually the path. Each closed door, each sudden shift, was part of a bigger transformation—not just in my living situation, but in me. Change, I’ve learned, doesn’t always arrive with clarity or comfort. Sometimes it comes through uncertainty, disappointment, and being stretched in ways you never asked for.
But change also brings growth. It taught me resilience, deepened my faith, and reminded me that even when nothing feels secure, I can still move forward. I wouldn’t have chosen the struggle, but I wouldn’t trade the strength it gave me.
Sometimes, starting over doesn’t look like a fresh slate. Sometimes, it looks like standing in a home you never imagined, in a life you never planned, and realizing: this change—hard as it was—brought you exactly where you needed to be and perhaps the most incredible part is that you’re no longer the person who began the journey.
xoxo
Tiffanee
