The Reality of Downsizing: What They Don't Tell You About Moving to a Smaller Home

We planned it for years. Once the kids were gone and we retired, we'd downsize. Simple, right? We'd be those zen minimalists sipping wine in our clutter-free haven, congratulating ourselves on our brilliant life choices.

Well, three years into our "smaller" home, I'm here to tell you the truth about downsizing—and it's messier, funnier, and way more complicated than those smug lifestyle blogs admit. Spoiler alert: I'm typing this while staring at unpacked boxes from 2021..

The House We Left Behind

Our family home wasn't a mansion by any stretch. Just under 2,400 square feet with five bedrooms (okay, four real bedrooms and one small room we generously called an office). Two ensuite bathrooms, a main bathroom, and a powder room on the main floor. During COVID, that little office became my fortress of solitude—a place where I could close the door and everyone knew "Mom's working, don't bother her unless someone's bleeding."

My kids were angels about respecting that boundary. Probably because they were terrified of me on conference calls.

But here's what we didn't have for 16 years: a basement bathroom.

Yes, you read that right. We finally installed one just as we were preparing to sell. It was beautiful. I barely got to use it. Such is life.

The Never-Ending Renovation Cycle (AKA My Personal Hell)

We bought our house when it was only two years old. "Oh, you're so lucky!" people would gush. "A new house—nothing to do!"

Laughs in perpetual renovation

Here's my superpower: I have an uncanny ability to buy houses from older women whose decorating tastes peaked somewhere between the Y2K panic and the first iPhone. This means even a "new" house comes pre-vintage. We spent 16 years updating that place, one exhausting, expensive project at a time.

The grand finale? Just before listing the house, we had to:

• Rip up the entire kitchen floor (nothing says "fun" like shattered tile at 7 AM)

• Move all our cabinets into the living room (ever tried cooking dinner with your kitchen in three rooms? Don't.)

• Retile everything while living in chaos

• Paint the cabinets (finally, goodbye golden oak!)

• Install new stone countertops

• Oh, and install that mythical basement bathroom I mentioned

The irony? The house finally looked exactly the way I'd always dreamed—right when we handed the keys to someone else. They probably repainted everything beige within a month.

Buying High, Selling High, and Learning Nothing Apparently

We bought and sold during that insane market when prices were stratospheric but just starting their descent. Yes, we overpaid. Massively. But we also sold high, so it balanced out... kind of... if you don't think about it too hard.

And guess what brilliant move we made next? We bought another new house from another older woman. Her taste? Frozen solid in 1999. I'm talking light oak cabinets - again, and laminate countertops that probably remember Seinfeld's final episode.

Those kitchen cabinets are screaming for paint. Nearly four years in, they're still waiting, sporting their original honey oak finish like a time capsule nobody asked for. But when you're juggling a fence installation, a basement finish, and a new patio, there's only so much time and money to go around.

The cabinets can wait. They've already waited 25 years. What's a few more months? (This is what I tell myself at 2 AM when I can't sleep because those cabinets are haunting me.)

The Three Stages of Purging (And Why You'll Never Actually Finish)

Downsizing means getting rid of stuff. Mountains of stuff. Everests of stuff you forgot you owned. We went through three distinct purge phases:

Phase One: Pre-listing Panic
The frantic scramble to declutter before strangers judge your life choices. Donation bags multiplied like rabbits. I threw out things I'd sworn were "sentimental" just days before.

Phase Two: Moving Day Reckoning
The brutal "WHY DO WE STILL HAVE THIS?" fights with your spouse while knee-deep in packing tape and bubble wrap. More bags to charity. Still somehow ended up with 47 boxes labeled "miscellaneous."

Phase Three: The Eternal Unpacking
Over three years later, we're still opening boxes and experiencing a mix of confusion and horror. "We packed twelve serving platters? For what occasion—the Second Coming?" There are still plenty to go through. I'm convinced those boxes are secretly reproducing in the storage room when we're not looking.

The Plot Twist: Two Houses (Because We're Gluttons for Punishment)

Part of our master plan involved building a summer house on the east coast where I'm from. Because clearly, what we needed while downsizing one house was to manage two properties simultaneously. Genius move, really.

This "simplified" our downsizing strategy in absolutely zero ways:

• Shipping "extra" and older furniture to the summer house (translation: the stuff too ugly for the new main house but too guilt-inducing to donate)

• Buying new pieces for the main house (there goes the downsizing budget)

• Playing a never-ending game of "Which House Does This Belong In?"

• Having the slow, dawning realization that we hadn't downsized—we'd just distributed our clutter across two postal codes

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

The Time Crunch No One Warns You About (Thanks for Nothing, HGTV)

Here's what those glossy downsizing blogs conveniently forget to mention: going back to work changes everything. When we planned this downsizing adventure, we envisioned leisurely Saturday mornings organizing closets, thoughtfully curating our belongings while sipping artisanal coffee and discussing which throw pillows spark joy.

Reality? Work resumed. Life got busy. Weekends disappeared into errands and exhaustion. Those boxes? Still sitting there, judging me every time I walk past. The house projects? Happening at the speed of continental drift.

Turns out Marie Kondo doesn't make house calls, and nobody warned me that downsizing with a full-time job is basically a part-time job you're not getting paid for.

Practical Tips They Don't Put in the Pinterest Guides

Alright, enough therapy. Here's what actually helps when you're drowning in boxes and outdated cabinetry:

1. The One-Year Rule is a Lie
You know that advice: "If you haven't used it in a year, donate it"? Adorable. Here's the truth: you'll open a box three years later, find your grandmother's casserole dish, and cry because you thought you'd donated it. Give yourself permission to keep some stuff "just because." We're downsizing, not entering a monastery.

2. Take Before Photos (For Your Sanity)
Document your old house before you renovate it to perfection and then leave. Why? Because in your new place, when you're staring at those 1999 cabinets at 11 PM, you can look back and remember: "Oh right, we survived worse." It's oddly comforting.

3. The Box Labeling System Everyone Ignores
Label boxes by room AND by priority. "Kitchen—Daily Use" vs. "Kitchen—Serve-ware for That Dinner Party We'll Never Host." Three years later, you'll know exactly which boxes can stay sealed forever. (It's the second category. It's always the second category.)

4. Budget 50% More Than You Think
Whatever you think renovations will cost, multiply by 1.5. Minimum. Those kitchen cabinets you thought you'd paint for $200? Try $800 once you factor in primer, good paint, hardware, your time, and the inevitable second coat because the first one looked "blotchy."

5. Make Friends with Your Local Donation Center
You'll be there weekly. Monthly if you're lazy like me. The workers will know your name. Embrace it. You're keeping someone employed with your clutter.

6. Don't Renovate Everything Before You Sell
This one hurts, but it's true. We installed that beautiful basement bathroom right before we left. The new owners probably think we're idiots (they're right). Save the big projects for YOUR house, not the next person's.

7. Give Yourself Five Years, Not Two
Everyone says downsizing takes two years to "settle in." They're lying. Give yourself five. Maybe seven. The boxes will still be there. The cabinets will still need painting. That's just life now.

8. The Storage Unit is Not a Solution
It's a very expensive way to avoid making decisions. If you're paying monthly to store things you haven't thought about in a year, just donate them. Rip the bandaid off. Your bank account will thank you.

9. One Project at a Time (Even If It Kills You)
Trying to do the fence, the basement, AND the patio simultaneously will end in tears and marital strife. Pick one. Finish it. Then start the next. Revolutionary concept, I know.

10. Lower Your Standards (Just a Little)
That Instagram-perfect home? Not happening while you're working full-time and still unpacking. And that's okay. A lived-in house beats a perfect house every single time. Those honey oak cabinets can wait another six months. Or a year. Who's counting?

What I've Learned So Far (Besides Humility)

Three-plus years into downsizing, here's my brutally honest takeaway:

• Downsizing isn't a one-time event—it's a lifestyle you didn't ask for

• Your timeline will expand—double it, then add six months for good measure

• Renovations follow you—like a really persistent ex, they never truly leave

• Perfect timing doesn't exist—we still haven't painted those damn cabinets

• It's worth it anyway—even imperfect, incomplete, and slightly chaotic

Our house isn't magazine-ready. We're still opening boxes marked "2021" (I'm afraid to know what's in them). The kitchen cabinets are still sporting their Y2K aesthetic. There's a fence that needs staining, a basement that's half-finished, and approximately 47 throw pillows that I swear I purged but somehow reappeared.

But you know what? We're building our life here, one unfinished project at a time, one mysterious box at a time, one "we'll get to it eventually" at a time.

And someday—probably right before we sell again and move into an even smaller place with even more outdated fixtures—those cabinets will finally get painted.

I'm giving it another two years. Maybe three. Definitely by 2030.