Why You Should Think Twice Before Downsizing
Two decades ago, I arrived in Hawaii with four suitcases. I had given away 99.9% of my possessions to live in the South of France for three years.
Letting go of my countless baskets, half-used planners, and non-descript kitchenware felt easy. I mourned my books, but not for long.
The passion I felt for the life that awaited me overshadowed all else.
I know about downsizing from that radical act of letting go, reaccumulating, and letting go again more than once. Paring down to essentials has upsides but can also have downsides to consider.
More than anything, I’ve learned that you must know yourself, your needs, and your preferences so downsizing doesn’t go wrong.
The Joy of His and Her Floors
I hopscotched over two oceans and continents to meet my unexpected destiny in Hawaii. I came to paradise to rest and recuperate.
After a month, my then-partner asked, “Do you want to stay?”
“Yes!” I responded without a moment’s hesitation.
Impulsive decisions—wise or foolhardy? I only felt joy initially. The bumpy bits came later. Pele, the goddess of volcanos, tests almost everyone who dares to land and stay on the Big Island’s shores.
Within months, we purchased our first home.
With its steep Tahoe-style roof, it looked out of place in Hawaii. The side walls curved like the inside of an old boat. The once popular post-and-pier style meant you reached the first floor after climbing twenty narrow stairs.
My partner practically lived on our private lanai (deck), which looked out on a tropical backyard garden of rising bamboo, flowering ginger, and exotic heliconia. An exquisite monkey pod tree reached higher than our topmost floor.
I resided primarily on the second level (or third, depending on how you count) in a peachy-pink-walled bedroom that felt like sitting in a treehouse each morning as I meditated. My office was on the opposite side of the house, across the landing.
What could be more ideal than his and her floors?
My Downsizing Nightmare
I foolishly thought I’d spend the rest of my years in that house. Around two years in, however, my partner got the itch for something else.
“This house is too big for us,” he’d say.
“No, it’s not,” I’d retort.
At 1,900 square feet, if you counted the three covered lanais, the size seemed perfect to me.
But he continued to lament the large space, convinced we needed to downsize. Since Pele had rocked our relationship, as promised, I relented to his pleas lest our bond be torn apart.
Downsizing would mean a fresh start, right?
If he had his druthers, we’d have moved to a platform tent in the jungle. He wanted to be closer to nature, and one floor up on the lanai was far too removed for his romantic heart.
We settled on a 450-square-foot studio on five acres of land and seriously slimmed down our reaccumulated possessions to fit into that smaller space. Within three months, we had added an attached kitchen, an office for him, and a separate man cave a stone’s throw away from the house.
That still amounted to less than half our previous space.
I didn’t mind fewer possessions, but less space? OMG. My office was in the former studio turned large bedroom, separated from the queen-sized bed by a folding screen—not an ideal arrangement for sensitive me.
My partner offered to build me the space of my choice. But I could never decide. What if it didn’t work for me when it was done? How could I face a potential negative outcome and the frustration he would feel?
Our new property boasted a magnificent view during the daytime. At night, we watched movies on the spacious lanai while wild pigs rummaged around us. Many happy moments did occur.
The property felt like an ultra paradise, but the tiny space? OMG.
You see, I’m sensory-avoidant. I didn’t have a name for it then, but I required quiet, or my nervous system would go into overdrive. My former partner, on the other hand, would likely have scored as a sensory seeker.
He’d routinely sped down our dirt road, blasting his music for all ears to hear. He played his djembe drum with wild abandon in his man cave while I trembled in the house from the reverberations. He wanted to hang artwork, and I wanted blank walls.
These issues had never come up so dramatically when we had his and her floors and 1,900 square feet. Previously, we worked full-time and more, but now we were with each other day and night in this Lilliputian space.
Unfulfilled Sensory Needs Can Break You
A person’s sensory needs aren’t right or wrong.
However, since my partner and I didn’t know about the concept, our differences became a source of conflict. We each thought the other must be an alien.
Humans have seven senses. You can be sensory-avoidant in some sense modes and sensory-seeking in others or not be drawn either way.
Our seven senses include:
Touch
Proprioceptive
Vision
Taste
Smell
Vestibular
Auditory
Proprioceptive refers to the body’s ability to sense its location, movements, and actions. Vestibular refers to our sense of balance and spatial organization.
As a kid, I was the picky eater who hated rollercoaster rides and couldn’t catch a ball when it was thrown directly at me.
I didn’t grow out of my sensory sensitivities as an adult, but rather, they dominated my life all the more.
Your sensory needs can make downsizing a delight or a disaster. Sensory dysregulation can trigger emotional dysregulation, causing you to be an unhappy camper and struggle in your relationship. It’s good to figure this out before you leap into a smaller space and suffer.
We likely all have sensory preferences of one sort or the other.
However, sensory sensitivity can be incredibly challenging in ADHD, Autism, Sensory Processing Disorder, Sensory Processing Sensitivity (also known as a Highly Sensitive Person or HSP), Anxiety, and Post-Traumatic- Stress Disorder.
Back to More Space
Our relationship split occurred around the same time lava engulfed our home during the 2018 Lower Puna eruption.
Once again, I ended up with a few suitcases of clothing and a small number of personal possessions, such as my journal, Buddhist prayer beads, cat carriers, and cats, of course.
Everything else went up in flames.
Over the next year, I made two moves: first, to the only place I could find a few hours away, and after several months, back to my beloved community.
About a year later, I bought an 865-square-foot home thanks to insurance. I live there now with my two dear cats, surrounded by quiet, beauty, and ample space.
Will Aging Require a Downsize?
But, I wonder about the future as a woman of a certain age with a funky left knee, wobbly ankles, and pain that comes and goes in other joints and muscles, too.
I want to live out my years in my own home like 80% of Americans wish, but according to a recent article on hospice, only 25% do.
I could go smaller but not too small. I like the sense of space around me—it’s one of those sensory things. The housing options for seniors on the Big Island are sadly limited.
And what about my other sensory sensitivities?
I have trouble envisioning a workable living arrangement for the future, so I put off thinking about it.
I’m sure of one thing, however: It’s better to downsize than to be downsized by others. I’d better get on it and figure this out!
Want to know your sensory profile—avoidant, seeker, or both? Check out this sensory needs quiz from Emma McAdam, a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist.
This article first appeared on Medium. Photo by Andrea Davis on Unsplash
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