Why I’m frustrated with Ireland, by a renter scorned

“Home” has always been my favourite place. There’s something so special about getting acquainted with a residence, about learning the creaks of the floorboards, the bends of the stairs or the unique way a hallway floods during bouts of our infamous Irish weather. You can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction when the rousing of the hot water heater no longer startles you, the night-time rows of your downstairs neighbours seem strangely calming and you stop mistaking your friendly (albeit mangy) neighbourhood cat for a very large striped rat.

There were a wide variety of reasons it was so hard for my husband and I to leave our apartment, which had been our humble home for about four years. Unfortunately, an increase in rent, a decrease in our combined monthly income, and an unwillingness to sell our kidneys left us defeated and with little choice. It was with a heavy heart we packed up our belongings—many of them gifts from our wedding, not three months earlier—and said goodbye to the walls that had encompassed our  lives throughout the past 1,460 days. We relocated to my husband’s family home to cohabit with his Mum, Dad and Grandmother, assuring ourselves we’d only reside there for a couple months until we “got back on our feet”.

That was two long years ago, and today we are still living in someone else’s home with three other people. As lucky as we are to have family who are willing to help us, and are able to accommodate us—a position we recognise not everyone is fortunate enough to have—we can’t help but feel “stuck” in our current living situation.  As generous and as lovely as our new housemates have been, living in close quarters with three relatives is difficult for a young, newlywed couple and (I presume) for our hosts as well. I feel selfish even complaining about our scenario, considering the appalling living conditions so many around the country are facing, but I think everyone deserves a sanctuary that is everything they want it to be. And to us, independence is essential. After all, there’s only so many times you can accidentally see your father-in-law naked before you start to take a long hard look at your life decisions.

I use the term “stuck” quite literally, as despite our tireless efforts, we have not been able to secure our own home. We often wonder if it was worth it, moving out to begin with and giving up our claim to our satisfactory (if overpriced) little dwelling. We lament on the what-ifs and whys. What if we had sucked it up and existed on peanuts for however long was necessary? Why did we make this brash decision without first visiting the coinstar?  What if this is all a bad dream? Why is it taking us so long to wake up?

At first we were hopeful in the housing market but we soon realised the naivety of our faith. We spent countless days scouring the internet for potential apartments in our price range, eagerly ringing agents and landlords who usually informed us they were no longer scheduling viewings or the property had been filled. Even homes that had been listed not hours before our inquiries were unsuccessful, the apologetic voices on the end of the line telling us of the hundreds of calls they had received since the listing was activated.

With each failed prospect, we justified the need to increase our budget, which had quickly jumped from 900/month to 1100/month within a couple of days. Our search parameter also increased, after realising the unlikeliness of finding an affordable home within the city centre. Though Bantry, Kinsale, and Clonakilty are lovely, the thought of relying on buses for our daily commutes (neither of us hold an Irish driving license and we can’t afford a car) made us anxious.

The hefty sum that was once sitting pretty in our bank account, reserved for a deposit during more hopeful times, is slowly being drained for things like weekend trips away; essential increments where we can enjoy some privacy and restore our sanity. We are coming to terms with the fact that this is probably how it will be for a while. We still look through available properties frequently, still experiencing a flurry of excitement—followed by frantic phone calls—when something promising comes along. However, our consistent disappointments have left us deflated and angry with Ireland, which should (at the very least) be able to provide suitable accommodation for its residents. How has this happened?

We’re fortunate to have the living situation we do.  What about the thousands of citizens in dire circumstances who don’t have the same advantages? Who is looking out for them? I hope this account of my struggles with the Irish rental market will help shed some light on this very real crisis. We don’t have to go at it alone, and sharing our stories is a great way to support one another and spread the word about this growing issue.

Do you have a story to tell? What have your experiences been like?

Featured image via theamericangenius.com