When people buy or sell a home, we often imagine the experience as exciting and nerve-wracking in the best way—full of hope, new beginnings, and possibility. In my experience, that isn’t always the case.
My work brings couples together and sometimes helps them find a new normal when marriages end. Yes, I’m a realtor, but I’m also an unofficial psychologist, mediator, listener, encourager, and professional pep-talk giver. This work requires deep empathy and presence, especially in moments when emotions are raw and the future feels uncertain.
One of the first questions I ask when someone calls me to evaluate is the reason they are selling. That question is often met with hesitation, embarrassment, or a quiet sense of failure. My first response is always care and understanding, without judgment. You don’t know their pain. You don’t know their journey. Yet you are being invited into something deeply personal at one of the most vulnerable moments in their lives.
Many times, one person does not want to sell, and that alone can make the process incredibly challenging. My role is to help both parties navigate the sale of their home while giving equal representation—listening to each person, honoring their perspective, and never casting judgment. I carry a deep sense of duty to ensure the home is sold, even if there are no celebratory wine glasses or hugs at the end. The mission may be accomplished, but the emotions often remain complicated.
When I walk into a home where divorce is present, the house itself is often forgotten. People are living in fight or flight, and the home becomes the least of their concerns. This is where I move carefully, meeting sellers exactly where they are. Suggestions to clean, declutter, or stage the home are often met with hesitation because of the time, cost, and emotional energy required. I gently explain the pros and cons, knowing my responsibility is to help them achieve the highest possible price—because when they leave this home, both parties will need every resource they can to build a new normal. The public hires me to sell homes, yes. But I am also called to meet people where they are and offer the best guidance I can during moments of vulnerability and pain. I have held people I barely knew, wiped their tears, and promised to walk alongside them. I have sat at kitchen tables where words cut deep and tension filled the room. I have left homes in the middle of arguments to give people space to breathe, returning later when emotions had softened. Sometimes, giving people room to work through their pain matters more than advice about selling a house.
A few years ago, I walked into a home prepared to list it. My paperwork and marketing plan were ready. As the homeowner showed me around, I asked why they were selling. He opened his heart and told me he believed buying a bigger, more beautiful home might save his marriage. The blinds were closed, his voice heavy, his pain unmistakable. In that moment, I knew my role was not to sell a house, but to listen. For an hour, my listing folder stayed closed. When I left, I took my paperwork with me and gently pointed him toward professionals who could help him through his pain. No home was listed that day, and I left with deep gratitude.
Sometimes our job isn’t about listing or selling homes. Sometimes it’s about caring, listening, and remembering that humanity is a big part of real estate.
