I Regret Buying a House

Q.

Dear B.,

Three months ago I bought a house. Everyone kept saying “now or never.” Interest rates seemed to be easing up, my rent had jumped $400, my parents warned I was “throwing money away,” and all my friends were buying. I didn’t want to be left behind.

I got preapproved for more than I thought I could afford and then ended up offering nearly $30K over asking on a house that seemed “good enough” because I felt pressure from my realtor to act quickly. I thought I would be excited when my offer was accepted, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was jumping into things too quickly.

Now things are literally falling apart. Last week a storm sent a tree through my roof. As in, my bedroom is now open to the sky. The repair estimate is $28,000, and my insurance deductible is $5,000, which I can’t pay. I’m sleeping in the living room, eating cereal for dinner,  and trying not to cry every time I check my bank balance.

Even before the tree, I was house poor. The HVAC filter needed replacing, which was $60 I didn’t have. I can’t afford furniture or paint. Every little repair sends me into a panic. Now I’m stuck in a place I don’t love, with thousands of dollars in damage, pretending everything’s fine because everyone is proud of me.

How do I admit this was a mistake without looking like a failure? And what do I do when I can’t afford to fix, sell, or stay?

A.

First of all, you’re not a failure. You made a big decision under pressure (one that thousands of people are making right now) and you’re definitely not the only person quietly regretting a big decision! You offered $30,000 over asking on a house that felt “good enough.” You knew it was too fast, and that instinct was right. But let’s focus on now, because you need a plan.

Your insurance claim has to be your second job. Call the adjuster every day, not once a week, and ask directly about the status, the timeline, and whether it can be expedited because your roof is exposed. If they stall, tell them you may need to contact the state insurance commissioner about the delay. Get three contractor quotes so you have leverage when insurance inevitably tries to lowball you. If you can’t afford the $5,000 deductible, ask every contractor if they offer financing; many do. If that fails, it might be time to be honest with your parents and ask for a loan. Right now, you’re in triage mode. Stop thinking about furniture and paint for now.

The truth is, the tree didn’t ruin you. It only made it impossible to pretend you weren’t already in trouble. You were house poor the moment you moved in, when replacing a $60 HVAC filter felt impossible and the empty rooms reminded you how thin your savings were. Buying a house with no emergency fund isn’t building equity; it’s building risk. I’m not saying that to shame you. It’s just reality. You took a gamble in a market that pushed everyone to move fast, and it caught up with you. Now the goal is to stabilize, breathe, and decide what comes next.

Once the roof is fixed, ask yourself the hard questions. Can you truly afford this mortgage long-term? Not just the payment, but the repairs, the furniture, and the life that comes with it. Do you even like the house? Or were you just trying not to fall behind? If the answers lean toward no, start planning an exit. That might mean cutting expenses and building savings for a year before selling, or renting it out if the numbers work, or simply staying put while you regroup. You don’t have to decide today. You just have to stop sinking.

You’re allowed to regret this. You’re allowed to be angry, exhausted, and embarrassed. The shame you feel comes from the gap between the life people think you’re living and the one you actually are: sleeping in your living room, eating cereal, and praying the rain holds off another night. That gap feels unbearable, but it’s not forever. Fix the roof, fight for the insurance check, and stabilize what you can. Then take a breath and start mapping your next move. You’re not trapped forever. This is the part where you learn what freedom really costs, and how to rebuild it

— B.

Dear B is our weekly advice column, where Basically editors tackle questions about navigating modern life, money, work, and everything in between.

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