I Can't Afford To Buy A House—And I Think That's Okay

A staggering number of millennials have no pathway to affordable homeownership—is it time to consider that the alternative is not only preferable but liberating?

I recently finished moving for the second time in six months, into what I hope will be a more longterm solution to my recent housing woes. The woes are nothing new to anyone who lives in a place like Bellingham, WA, which is in the midst of a housing crisis—my longterm rental was sold last summer and the spot I just moved out of was 1400 sq ft with four total occupants (in other words, quite crowded). My new spot is an above-ground basement studio where my bedroom, living room, office, dining room and kitchen are all the same room. Yet since moving in three days ago, I’ve reveled in the opportunity to have my own living space for the first time in my adult life; the pictures on the fridge, the pantry space, the storage space—all mine! This is a luxury beyond words after living with roommates for the last 15 years.

The housing market is dire where I am, and I harbor no fantasies that it will improve. Right now, livable 800 sq ft 2 bed 1 baths are going for around $550,000, or about $3600/month with a 10 percent down payment and mortgage insurance. (If you’re here to tell me that California prices are worse, kindly buzz off.) Rather than resisting the likely reality that prices will continue to increase and interest may never be low enough for me to afford houses at those increased prices, I’m trying instead to reconcile my feelings of “lacking” for not having a house at 33 years old, while considering all the ways that a mortgage wouldn’t actually suit me at this stage in my life.

It’s taken some serious mental gymnastics to get here, mostly because I grew up with an unspoken understanding that few people still rent in their 30s (a result of growing up in a rural area where cheap housing was plentiful in the 90s/00s) while also coming from a culture where buying a home didn’t seem like a big deal, it was just something you did when you needed one. And there were almost always affordable homes to choose from—up until about 2018 you could still get a house in my hometown for less than 100k, and that number was about 30k in the late 90s. I carried this mindset with me when I moved out West in 2017, so imagine my surprise when I found that real estate here was a little more of a crapshoot, and a whole lot more expensive. Friends were buying houses for 300k back then, houses that could now be sold for 600k. We all know what happened for the last six-ish years so I won’t slog through that backstory here, but let’s just say I wasn’t in a position to purchase a house in 2018-2022, and I’ve been grumpy about it ever since.

Rough time to be a first-time homebuyer.

I have to imagine that most millennials who missed the boat on 2% interest rates harbor some level of resentment about it—I know I do. The reality is that people with 2% interest rates aren’t selling anytime soon (short of divorce, death or work relocation, which isn’t really happening that much anymore), which exacerbates the already massive shortfall of starter homes in my area and, likely, yours too. I nonetheless check Zillow daily despite not even being approved for a loan, because I have already spoken to a lender and know roughly the amount they would approve me for. In Bellingham, the number they gave me will get you one of three things: a double wide (honestly looking pretty appealing at this point); a tear down; an un-renovated former meth house that needs a new roof and drywall and probably an exorcism; or a ground-level condo with $600 in monthly HOA fees that make it about as affordable as an actual house that’s 100k more expensive. Beyond the less than ideal options, buying a house right now would also mean my life would solely revolve around making money—and I often wonder what I’d be sacrificing for my life to look like that.

This has gotten me thinking about all the things I would have to give up in order to buy right now. The list is ever growing, but this is primarily what I’ve been telling myself for the last six months:

1. The freedom to write. There’s no getting around the fact that owning a home/condo for me right now—even if vaguely feasible from a financial standpoint—would take away my time and ability to write freely and creatively, not solely for money. My income as a freelancer is sporadic at best, so while I had my highest income ever last year, my relative lack of income so far this year would almost require me to get a full-time job to apply for a mortgage. Full-time employment that would provide the necessary income to be approved for even a $375k house right now is not super easy to find, and if I did manage to find one, I would probably lose the ability to go on reporting trips, or on random mid-week hikes for inspiration, or to allow myself the time and space to do creative work outside of the need to make money. My lifestyle right now affords me an exceptional amount of freedom, and I’ve been terrified to give any of it up—it may appear from the outside as a sort of female Peter Pan Syndrome, but in reality it’s been a conscious, daily act to preserve time to write, to be creative and to keeps things as uncomplicated as possible in pursuit of my creative goals. This has meant that I’ve never had a full time job, have always lived with roommates and that I drive a beater, but it also means that I’ve been able to pursue opportunities and trips and experiences that would simply not be possible with the weight of a mortgage (or expensive car loans, for that matter). I know that getting a house would require a wholesale commitment to working, probably in a job I don’t love, which frankly feels like a huge sacrifice for me at this point in my writing career.

2. Quality time with my family. Most of my family lives in Michigan, including my four sisters who are all in their teens and early 20s. Being able to see them for 3-4 weeks a year is something I value deeply and refuse to give up. Getting the type of employment and/or lifestyle that would support a mortgage right now would all but force me to significantly shorten these trips or forego them entirely for at least a year or two. With my two youngest sisters still in high school—one graduates this year, the other in 2026—I want to continue to get home for sporting events, graduations and summer breaks, and this is something I can definitively say I value more than a janky condo right now.

3. The ability to save money. For the last year, I’ve been able to save a more money than ever before while running a one-woman communications agency. I’m immensely grateful for that. And while I know that I would in effect be “saving” by investing in a house if I had one, I still can’t stomach the idea of dumping huge amounts of cash into house upgrades or water heater replacements or emergency plumbing fixes. My homeowner friends are often lamenting the unrelenting pile-on of house stuff they have to do, so while I can occasionally get jealous that they have homes to fix, I do also take this as an opportunity to change my own perspective on what houses actually require. This obviously isn’t news to anyone—that owning a home requires significantly more time and cash-on-hand for random fixes, which is a pretty solid addition to the “pros” list for renting—but it is no less a major deciding factor when I’d be spending 1/3 my income on a mortgage as it is.

What I’d look like if I had a mortgage, probably.

The root of what I’m getting at is that the future we were sold is not the reality we have, and that we have to work within the systems we’ve inherited (whether we like them or not) and perhaps detach ourselves from the idea of home ownership as the end-all-be-all of financial success and stability. Can we seek stability in our community, in our investments, in a job/project/creative pursuit or in ourselves rather than solely through owning a home? Can we actually build more community as renters than if we were to take out a wildly expensive mortgage right now? Can we invest more into retirement or other accounts because we aren’t spending thousands of dollars a month on a mortgage? This doesn’t really apply to you if you have expensive rent, but if you’re renting a room for $900 (about the average in Bellingham for a room right now) rather than splurging on a $3000 mortgage, imagine all that money going to savings for a year or two?

What I know for sure is that not having a mortgage allows me to have more time to go on long walks/bike rides on weekday afternoons, to travel, to spend time with my loved ones, to support organizations I believe in and to have the bandwidth and time to be a creative, a business owner, a community member, a friend and a partner. I still mire myself in busyness, but it’s chosen busyness—not busyness necessitated by a fear of foreclosure.

Stock photo options for “housing crisis” are actually hilarious?

Also—none of this is meant to be disparaging if you have the means to own a home or even to buy one in the current market (although if you’re a woman buying alone, I do have some questions). I still think about wanting a home about 14 times a day, often daydreaming about a writing nook, how I’d paint the walls and display art, what I’d plant in a garden, how I’d have an organized garage where I could do woodworking projects (but would I even have time for gardening or woodworking!?) I don’t think those desires will ever go away. But at least for now, I know it’s futile—and aggravating, even borderline psychosis-inducing—to think too much about what I don’t have rather than considering what I do have: an amazing group of friends that I have the ability to spend time with 3-4 days a week, a long-distance partner who I can visit regularly without asking for time off or being worried that I can’t afford to take time off, family that I have the means of visiting 1-2 times a year, very little debt, freedom to write and roam as I please, and despite my frequent faltering, the perspective that buying a home right now may not be all it’s cracked up to be.