Nuricoco´s Dilema

I know, I take forever between posts. The whole blogging thing is dead, but I insist, because for me, writing has always been a refuge in critical times. In the end, I express myself much better through writing than speaking, and because, in a way, it’s a drug I’ve been addicted to since childhood. An addiction with no cure or therapy possible, because, paradoxically, the drug itself is the cure.

So, here I am starting this February post, sitting at my desk, needing more than ever for my words to help me answer the doubts that surround me.

I’ll explain everything…

Dilemmas, like writing, have always been present in my life. And, as a true Libra, indecisive and insecure, I struggle a lot with making decisions. I always see both sides of a situation, the black and the white, and I feel comfortable in both, which makes choosing something an absolute nightmare.

Those who know me are aware that I don’t like making decisions. I take forever, and many times, after choosing something, I change my mind… and change it again a thousand more times. Even when I go to a restaurant, just looking at the menu gives me anxiety, so I almost always let others choose for me. (Well, also because I like everything and eat everything… that’s just how I am, haha.)

Many times, I tell the waiters: “Surprise me,” and they just stare at me, incredulous, with a WTF? face . But I insist… and in the end, they give in.

Damn, as always, I go on and on with the introduction, and in the end, many of you don’t even get to the juicy part… But if you’ve made it this far, first, congratulations, and second, let’s get to it.

Dilemmas are a pain in the ass, but they must be faced head-on, analyzed, and dissected piece by piece, idea by idea, decision by decision. You have to reflect (you all know how much I love to reflect) and, most importantly, you have to reach a conclusion. (This is where I get lost, hahaha.)

So, my dilemma today (well, actually, for the past three years) is my house… I’m getting there, I’m getting there, hold on!

Oh, the Euribor, the Euribor… But before that, let’s go back in time.

When we arrived in Spain 20 years ago, my ex and I could have bought this house outright, but nooo… Why do that when you can take out a mortgage (and for more than the house’s value) to have cash on hand? (Well, that was my ex’s reasoning, and back then, I was all about “Nuria no conflicts, just say yes and move on.”)

Another one of my flaws: I don’t like fights or conflicts, so I prefer to agree with everything, even if I don’t really agree. I don’t know, in the end, it just seems easier. (Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not, damn it.)

So, mortgage. And a few years later, divorce. My ex moves to China and, as he puts it, “leaves me with the house.” Yes, yes, he leaves it to me on paper… but also with the mortgage.

And there goes Nuria, alone, with two small kids, facing a mortgage. And Nuria, not wanting her kids to suffer more than they already have from their father’s abandonment, does everything possible to keep the house… including making bad decisions to extend the mortgage and afford the payments. (Yes, yes, because no money was coming from the ex.)

For a few years, everything was fine. The mortgage was low, and even though it was extended, I thought: “Well, I’ll pay it off little by little.”

But then what happened…?

Oh, the Euribor, the damn Euribor…

And now, it’s been almost three years of struggling with a mortgage payment that is hard to digest and even harder to afford. I can’t switch to a fixed-rate mortgage because my ex is still on it, and no bank will give me a new one because I’m “old” and don’t make enough money.

So finally, the dilemma…

Option 1: Keep paying the mortgage

My kids and I face 15 more years of ridiculously high interest payments, but in the end, we get to stay in one of the best areas of the Valencian Community, in an amazing apartment, with all the services nearby.

A luxury residential complex, with a pool, paddle court, gym, leisure rooms, gardens, parking, storage room, terrace, friendly neighbors… and close to the beach.

Plus, we wouldn’t have to move again (it would be my seventeenth move) and I could take care of my mother here until the very end.

Option 2: Sell the damn house

Sell it, pay off the mortgage, and buy another place outright, debt-free, owing nothing to anyone. But of course…

With what I could afford, I’d end up in the middle of nowhere, with fewer square meters, fewer bedrooms, fewer bathrooms, in a probably less desirable area and far from everything.

Having to move once again, cramming four people into a two-bedroom apartment (which isn’t the worst part), but most importantly, completely throwing my mother off balance.

I’ve been trying to make this decision for three years. I’ve made spreadsheets with pros and cons (I love spreadsheets), I’ve reflected, I’ve meditated, I’ve consulted my goddesses, I’ve written about it, I’ve visualized, I’ve talked to experts, my kids, my family, my closest friends, my partner…

And in the end, everyone tells me the same thing:
“THE DECISION IS YOURS.”

The worst thing anyone could say to me. That’s like driving a stake through my heart.

But after all this… I’ve made a decision.