Going Once, Going Twice, Gone (And Then the Reality Hit)

Going Once, Going Twice, Gone (The Cleaning, the Chaos, and Then the Crying)

Making the decision to sell wasn't just about putting a property on the market. This was our home. More than that, it was my husband's childhood home. Every room held layers of memory — his, and now ours. The emotions ran deep in a way I hadn't fully anticipated when we first started talking about it.

Finding the Right Agent (Or: The World's Most Stressful Speed Dating)

The administrative side — finding an agent, sorting a solicitor — sounds straightforward on paper. In reality? I could write an entire blog just about interviewing agents. It's bizarre and exhausting, like speed dating except the stakes are your actual house and life savings.

I needed someone whose personality matched mine. Someone I could trust with one of the biggest decisions I'd ever make. I ended up going with the first agent I met — I just kept coming back to feeling the most comfortable with her. When you know, you know.

The Thing That Actually Keeps You Sane: Communication

Despite working on the fringes of real estate in Corporate Relocation, I don't know much about buying and selling property. I needed someone to communicate with me simply and effectively so I would always be informed. No industry jargon, no making me feel stupid for asking questions — just straight talk about what was happening and what our options were.

And there were decisions. So many decisions. What level of marketing should we do? Could we handle the stress of an auction, or should we go private treaty?

Without proper communication from my agent, I wouldn't have navigated any of it as smoothly as I did. She became part therapist, part strategist — and I'm not exaggerating when I say that relationship mattered more than anything else in the process.

Inspection Day: The Performance Nobody Tells You About

Nothing prepared me for the stress of inspections. We have two kids under six — our house is constantly covered in toys, drawings, and the general chaos of small children being small children. And suddenly I had to transform this lived-in family home into some pristine, child-free, decluttered showroom. Multiple times a week.

I found myself cleaning at ridiculous hours of the morning, hiding every trace of our actual lives. Toys shoved in cupboards, photos packed away, everything neutral and perfect. And then there was the whole cookie thing — should I bake them? Just burn a cookie-scented candle? (I went with the candle. Easier, and less chance of burning the house down while already stressed.)

It was exhausting. Every inspection felt like judgment day, and I was constantly anxious about whether the house looked good enough, whether people could see past our lives to imagine their own.

The Week Before Auction: The What-Ifs Take Over

The week before the auction, I was a mess. The butterflies, the constant what-ifs. What if nobody shows up? What if it's a complete flop? What if it gets passed in and we're back to square one?

And if it did sell, would it actually hit the price we'd been prepared for, or would we fall short? Every scenario is played on loop. I couldn't sleep properly. I kept checking the weather forecast like that would somehow change the outcome.

Auction Day: Controlled Chaos

The morning of auction day, I was spiralling. Is the house clean enough? Did we pick the right time? What if the auctioneer's awful?

My husband dealt with it differently — by sitting in the back of my dad's ute while the auction started. I'm not joking. There he was, bowl of fried rice on his lap, Master 7 mirroring his dad, while inside our house, people were bidding on our entire lives.

The auction gained traction. People kept bidding. The butterflies inside me are morphing into swooping magpies. And then — sold.

I don't think I breathed properly until that moment.

Settlement: The Liminal Bit Nobody Prepares You For

After the auction high wore off, there was a settlement to get through. Weeks of waiting, paperwork, final checks, and wondering if something would fall through at the last minute. You'd think the hard part was over — but settlement has its own particular brand of anxiety. This liminal space where the house isn't quite yours anymore, but isn't quite theirs yet either. It's a strange place, mixed with sadness and doubt.

We were deep into the buying process, trying to coordinate timing, figure out where we'd go next, and hold it all together. The selling was done. But the real chaos? That was just the beginning.

Selling my husband's childhood home was never just a transaction. It was the end of something that couldn't be replaced — and the beginning of something we hadn't quite figured out yet. That's the part nobody warns you about. Not the paperwork, not the inspections, not even the auction nerves. It's the quiet moment after, when the sold sticker goes up, and you realise you're actually doing this.