Unable to detach – why I can’t stop thinking about the housing crisis

I think about the housing crisis every single day. Some days it’s the first sentient thought that enters my head, the vultures claw away at my brain before it’s properly woken up. Other times this malignant foe will permit coffee consumption (but not an avolatte) before the first negative story hits a busy news feed.

You live in the most expensive city in Europe, now eat your stale cereal you insignificant renting drone.

If I make it to lunchtime before a government subsidised bot tells me it’s all the NIMBY’s fault, I count my month-to month blessings.

I think about the amount of energy expended on this issue every single day. The gut wrenching despair when I see a tent outside the Gaiety (the juxtaposition between what could be and what is gets me every single time), shouting at the state broadcaster to acknowledge that opposition parties are not the problem, wailing at the Irish Times to stop posting pictures of €700k 3 beds in Ranelagh, emailing TD’s who make deference an art form, and generally wondering if I’ll ever live in a space where painting a wall isn’t one step towards an eviction notice.

That’s quite an extensive list, and I rattled off those items without a second thought. If I had more time I could fill ten pages, maybe even a book, of the numerous ways in which the housing crisis affects my state of mind. I often wonder to myself, how much energy do I actually give over to the crisis each month? The crippling anxiety when I imagine myself in my forties still scrolling Daft for a half decent rental. The eviscerating depression which hits every time the government introduces a new Budget or housing policy, and I have to remind myself that they don’t really care. The carnivorous rage which builds up every time I see an already overpriced house go for €100k over the asking price. The periods of mania when I hear genuinely progressive voices on podcasts (my preferred form of medication) talk about we can fix this, followed quickly by crushing despair when those same voices are ostracised or bullied out of the debate.

Imagine if we tallied up all the energy we devote to this issue, and were able to use it for something else. What if there was no housing crisis? What if we lived in a grown-up country with real politicians, where greed was not the main driver of housing policy? Imagine all the energy, creativity and entrepreneurship we could turn our attentions to.

After several years paying €2,100 a month to rent a two-bedroom bungalow in Drumcondra, my wife and I relocated to Meath in September of last year. Whilst still renting, we have a much bigger house and our rent is a few hundred quid less. We have a household income of over €100k, and a sufficient deposit to buy in the village we live in.

On our street there is a house for sale within our budget. Perfect for our needs. We want to buy it. The seller wants a quick sale so that they can get on with their lives. What stands in our way? The good old dysfunctional Irish mortgage system, which says that because I am currently self employed (employed as a tax accountant from 2006-2020, then had to go on a contract basis due to the needs of the multinational I work for) that means I’ll definitely earn my last cent the day before I drawdown on a mortgage. Every day I pass that house, and every day the same cycle of negative thoughts percolate in my mind.

I’ll do the regular lap of rage around homelessness, emergency accommodation, generation rent and investment funds, and then I’ll scold myself for thinking this way. Why am I, with my above average income and nice countryside life, so angry? If we tallied up a league table of those affected by the housing crisis, I’d be hovering menacingly above the relegation zone. What if I went down to Smithfield Square, or a hotel working off a juicy emergency accommodation contract, or contacted those on the social housing list for over a decade, and started bleating about my housing woes? What am I even doing writing this article, trying to take up online space from someone with a much more worthwhile story to tell?

I read stories on the housing crisis and I feel anxious for the future. I see the government’s response and I’m depressed. I watch ads for banks who make you feel that buying a house is as easy as buying a couch, and I feel a simmering rage flow through me. I conflate the macro effects of the crisis with my own situation and I feel guilt and shame. So how do I seek help, if such help exists? How do I approach a counsellor and say, “I can’t stop thinking about the housing crisis, its causing a cycle of negative thoughts. I have a nice life otherwise – Kind Regards”