Gloriously Ordinary Sundays - 21st April 2024
I’ve been thinking again about a place I call home this week. I know I had a rant about it back in February, but hopefully this is a bit less ranty and a bit more constructive. The reason I’ve been thinking is because I’m in the process of finding a new place I call home. It’s made me reflect on the things I’ve been thinking about as I choose where and how to live, and how different that process often is when someone also needs to draw on some form of support in their home to live their gloriously ordinary life.
So, the reason I’m looking for a new place to call home is that finally (his word not mine), The Boy is moving out and getting his own place. Hallelujah (again his words). He’s wanted his own place since just before lockdown and here we are four years on finally making it happen. Given that we moved into this house five and a half years ago when we were a family of four (The Boy, The Girl, my mum and I) and when The Boy goes, there will just be me and the cats, it doesn’t make sense on many levels. So, move I must and actually, I’m ready. I thought that I wasn’t, but it feels like the end of an era and time for me to make a new start. A new place I call home will be part of that and I’m excited.
My circumstances are that I need to rent and any of you who know the rental market at the moment will know what joy that means. I’ve done the usual stuff that needs to be done when you look for a new home; set a budget, think about the bottom lines for what I want and need, number of bedrooms etc., and then the much more important stuff of working out which two bedroomed house might work for me and where it might be.
What does a place I call home look like for me? I have been slightly addicted to Rightmove for the last six months (joined in crime by my sister who has taken responsibility for Homestorent.com – other rental sites are available). I’ve surprised myself a few times over that time with what I am drawn to. I had strong stories I told myself about my need to live in a town with lots of hustle and bustle, easy access to rail links and motorways and a late-opening shop, but what I’ve done over the last few months is really work out what my life looks like and therefore what I need out of my place I call home. Key insights – very important but in no particular order:
The ability to open the door and step into some outside space (no matter how small) when the sun comes out… And to be able to plant a few things in that space
Somewhere that welcomes the cats and where they’re safe
Within 45 mins drive of the kids (I think I might have talked about the cats before the kids there...)
Feeling a sense of community – neighbours who look out for each other and some opportunities for people to come together
A space for working that I feel good in and has something nice to look at out of a window
Someplace I can walk into somewhere a bit green within 15 mins of my front door and where I can swim in a lake within a 30-minute drive (sadly I’ve had to rule out living by the sea for this move @sarahburslem)
Toilet on the same floor as my bedroom (only people of a certain age will understand this need!)
Knowing this has massively helped my process of looking and helped me walk away without viewing the idyllic cottage with a downstairs loo, as well as the funky third-floor apartment. You might think that my list of ‘must haves’ is unrealistic, but they’re not. I actually have everything on the list now but can’t afford to stay where I am, so I know that my biggest compromise is location. That’s real life.
We have done an identical process with the boy. A couple of years ago his circle of support helped him make his list of ‘must have’, ‘would like’, ‘would be lovely’ and ‘absolutely wouldn’t work’. This included helping him know that living on his own is critical and moving having a dishwasher from the ‘must have’ to the ‘would be lovely’ list – bless! What was so different for The Boy though, is that once he had his list and we shared it with his social worker (who is a superstar) the social worker was a bit flummoxed. How it works in Serviceland is that your needs are assessed and how those needs are met is somehow intrinsically tied up with where those needs are met. It’s like someone saying to me that my need for a great vet and someone who understands and can continue to nurture my very elderly car can only be met either alongside people with similar needs (now there’s a photo test), or in a specific location. We had already worked hard with The Boy’s social worker to agree on what his needs for support look like, so the home conversation was a separate one.
The default option for a young autistic man with learning disabilities is what we euphemistically call ‘supported living’. At best, this means doing some work to find out the sorts of things the person likes and trying hard to match them to other learning disabled autistic people who they might rub along with ok. At worst, it’s looking for where there is a ‘void’ in a ‘service’ where they could slot in. It was even harder last year when The Girl was getting her own place. So many conversations about where she might be ‘placed’ to ‘meet her complex needs’. When Mum needed more support, the default offer was ‘residential care’.
What on earth are we doing?
I don’t want to make this complicated or deeply philosophical. Can we just keep it easy and agree that, if we really do believe that everyone wants to live in a place they call home, living Gloriously Ordinary Lives, then we MUST at least have a conversation about what that place we call home looks and feels like - separately from what great support might look like?
PS. Did you see? The Gloriously Ordinary Sundays Podcast episode three is here! I catch up with Angela Catley and Sian Lockwood about their fabulous new challenge, #WhenIGetOld