For a time, not being able to buy a home was a great source of shame for me. When I got married to my late husband Rob and he already co-owned a home, it didn’t really feel like my achievement. So when he was forced to sell it due to needing to pay off drug-related debts (which I was unaware of at the time), I was of course sad for him, but it didn’t feel like it was my house that I’d lost.

When I told my family that we would be renting, the looks of disappointment on their faces stayed with me. Homeownership was seen as one of the ultimate adulting goals – that it was a great investment, that owning your own home was less stressful, and that if you managed to do it, you were a financially responsible person. But I’m left wondering about the gulf that exists between what we perceive owning a home to be, and what the stressful reality of it is, especially in 2026, when properties are becoming harder and harder to sell, and mortgage rates look set to increase.

Currently I own a one-bedroom flat which I was able to buy around 10 years ago, after saving up enough money. It was the most I was able to afford in that location which I chose because it felt safe to live in as a single woman. I was proud of myself – I worked hard and felt lucky to be able to buy.

But over the last couple of years, this home has started to feel like a trap. My mortgage increased by almost 40 per cent after rates went up two years ago. My life began to feel financially precarious – especially coupled with the cost of living crisis, rising bills and a faltering economy. It got me thinking about what I would do if it increased again, and if I should consider selling up. The idea of being a digital nomad and working from somewhere like Thailand or Costa Rica seemed appealing. With no children, why not?

Renting my flat was one option, though it comes with the stress of managing the property, so I wondered about a more permanent solution. But I discovered that my place would probably be very hard to sell.

According to industry experts, one-bedroom flats, especially in London, have been notoriously difficult to shift. Rightmove estimates the average price for a flat is down 2 per cent compared to 12 months ago, and they are harder to sell. One-bedroom and studio flats are often starter homes for people, and they are currently flooding the market. Add to that the unappealing aspects of flats often being leasehold, as well as eye-watering service charges and ground rents that make monthly mortgage payments a squeeze. 

I’ve always said that selling would be a last resort for me if things got financially tough, but there is something especially disconcerting about knowing that it may not be an option. Not least when the threat of work that might need doing on my home looms.

Last month, I discovered there was a leak in my flat after Thames Water informed me that a large amount of water was passing through my property. But this leak was nowhere to be found, which meant that it could have been wreaking havoc because it had gone mostly undetected. The hour that I waited for the plumber to arrive and find it was one of the longest of my life. If there was structural damage, how on Earth was I going to pay for it? Especially after having just paid a hefty service charge for the next half of the year?

When I’ve tried talking to older people about this, especially those of the baby boomer generation, they insist that “there’s nothing like the joy of owning your own home”. But there’s also something to be said for not lying awake at night wondering how you are going to pay your bills after the last few years we’ve had. The rental market has major challenges. But the seriousness of a mortgage and all that it entails is terrifying, especially for leaseholders, and I don’t think we talk about it enough.

For now, I am left wondering what the solution is. Owning your own home is a privileged position to be in, but I have no plan B if I decide to sell but it doesn’t get bought. Or if I accrue repairs that I simply can’t afford because my reserves have been drained by a tough few years of unpredictability. One thing is clear: while it is better to not be at the mercy of a landlord (and boy have I had a few stinkers over the years), the pressure and stress of being responsible for everything in lean times is bad in a different sense. 

There are pros and cons with every choice, but to me, a few things might have been helpful. The first would be acknowledging more and more people live alone and socially we are trending towards this set up, but that it is financially difficult for people to do so, and that the financial burden borne by one person alone is intense.

The second would be having an honest conversation about what buying a home really entails. That in fact, it is not necessarily the best investment a person can make and, if my older relatives are anything to go by, unless you downsize in your older age accessing that equity is difficult. 

The third is that whenever I’ve discussed selling, I’m discouraged by almost every person I speak to – none of whom can properly articulate why, beyond a vague sense that it’s better to own. It is hard to find your own voice within that, but all I know is that for now, even if I wanted to sell, it might be much more difficult than I expected. 

For now, I’ve decided to stay put and I have to pray that no other pipes burst for the forseeable future.