Reflections by Ottawa writer Tessa Marlowe on how to let go of a home, process the grief and move forward with faith through practical steps and personal reflection.
Sometimes, it isn’t just a house. It’s the creaky step in the hallway. It’s where the sun hits the kitchen table in the morning. It’s where your baby says their first word.
When the time comes, no one really teaches you how to let go of a home. You’re expected to pack, clean, sign papers, smile and somehow not fall apart. But the heart doesn’t move on by a checklist. It moves in slow, aching steps.
If you grew up in a faith tradition, you’ve probably heard stories of people who had to move forward without clear answers.
People who trusted without maps. Abraham left his home with only a promise. The Israelites wandered with no end date.
Faith isn’t the opposite of grief. Sometimes, it’s what keeps you walking while you cry.
So before you go, take a moment. Walk through the rooms. Say “Thank you,” even if you’re alone. Pray in the doorway. Sit on the floor one last time. These things matter, especially for your mental health.
Practical help for an emotional exit
It’s easier to feel overwhelmed when your emotions and your to-do list pile up at the same time. That’s why doing small things with care can help you make peace with the change.
Here are a few ideas:
- Label a few boxes not just by contents but by memory: “Books I read when I was sad,” “Dishes from Sunday brunch.”
- Take photos – not of how the house looked on the real estate site, but how it looked lived in.
- Write a short letter to the house and leave it inside a drawer or behind a cabinet. You don’t need to explain it to anyone. It’s for you.
And if you’re planning a long-distance move, getting the logistics figured out early can give your brain space to grieve, not just stress. You don’t need extra chaos when your heart’s already full.
There’s this line in Hebrews that says, “We have here no lasting city.” It's comforting and frustrating. We want permanence. We want roots. But sometimes faith means learning to live with tents, not castles.
If this move wasn’t your choice – like a loss, a breakup, or a job you didn’t want to take – it’s okay to admit that. Faith doesn’t ask you to pretend. It asks you to hope you’ll feel joy. There’s a big difference.
Spend some time with that. Light a candle. Open your Bible. Sit still and ask what’s next. Let your grief talk, but don’t let it steer.
Making room for the new
To let go of a home while still holding onto your beliefs takes patience. It’s not about flipping a switch. It’s about trusting that forward can still be sacred.
You’ll catch yourself comparing things. “That old window let in a better light.” “The neighbors used to wave more.” That’s normal. You’re not ungrateful. You’re adjusting.
Give your new place time. Build little habits that make it feel yours. Put a rug in the entryway. Cook a familiar meal. Play music from your old mornings.
You don’t have to forget to let go of a home. You can remember and still build something new.
Some objects hit harder than others. The chipped mug you use every morning. The lamp your grandmother gave you. That hoodie with paint stains from your first DIY project. These aren’t just “things.” They hold pieces of your life. So here’s a simple rule – if something makes you feel more grounded than sad, keep it. If it makes your chest tighten, take a photo and let it go.
Don’t pressure yourself to throw out everything or keep it all. Letting your gut guide you is a great way to cope with the stress of moving.
Set up three boxes – keep, let go, undecided. The undecided pile is key. Revisit it later when your emotions settle. And it’s okay if you carry more than you planned. What matters is that it helps you let go of a home without feeling like you’re erasing your life.
Make your new space feel like home – fast
The first few days in a new place are weird. You wake up and forget where the bathroom is. The fridge hums differently. It’s easy to feel unsettled.
It helps to set up your comfort zones quickly. Make your bed first. Then, stock your fridge with your go-to snacks. Hang one familiar photo, even if the rest stay boxed. These small wins calm your nervous system.
Unpack a little each day, but don’t treat the first week like a race. Go for a walk. Learn the sounds of the neighborhood. Play music in the background. Light a candle you’ve used before. All of this tells your brain: “Hey, we’re safe here now.”
The sooner you create a sense of rhythm, the easier it gets to fully let go of a home and start feeling like yourself again.
You don’t stop loving a place because you moved. You carry it in your stories, in your photographs. To let go of a home is not to erase it. It’s to express thanks for it. Then live. And maybe – just maybe – trust that what’s ahead could be good, too.