When is a house a home?

What Truly Makes a House a Home? A Personal Journey

What makes a house a home? For me, the answer lies somewhere between heartbreak, healing, and hope.

I grew up in London and moved north at 24, shortly after finishing a one-year contract as a Sabbatical Welfare Officer at Middlesex University Students’ Union. My partner – now my wife – made it clear from the outset that she never intended to settle in London. She longed to return to Lancashire, and after university, we relocated.

Our early years together were marked by frequent moves, including two periods living with my in-laws and a stint on-site at a residential special school where I worked. However, in March 2001, we finally found our place when we moved into a terraced house in the centre of Kirkby Lonsdale. That house on Jingling Lane became our home for the next 24 years, until our late landlord’s estate decided to sell the row of four properties.

Looking back on nearly a quarter of a century in one place, we experienced some of life’s greatest highs and toughest lows there, from the birth of our third son to the breakdown I went through years earlier. Both events shaped me in different ways, yet that house remained a place of continuity and connection.

But my experience of "home" wasn’t always so stable.

By the time I was 13, I had lived in four different places. By 15, that number had doubled – the result of becoming a Looked After Child in the care of the London Borough of Sutton.

My three siblings and I arrived at our first children’s home on Rosebery Road in the early hours of Christmas Eve, 1985. We had just spent eight days living alone after the sudden death of our dad. Our situation was brought to the attention of the authorities when our violent, alcoholic, and absent stepmother was arrested again (!) earlier that evening. I was 13, the eldest of four. That night – and what followed – has shaped who I am and what I do.

Our stay there was temporary, and within weeks, we were moved to another children’s home on Hillcroome Road. In June 1986, we were fostered together. However, like many placements, that one broke down. We were separated and fostered by three different families.

In July 1987, I moved in with a couple who have since played a significant role in my life and that of my family. My children see them as their grandparents, and we keep in regular contact with Grandpa (Grandma has unfortunately passed away). Their presence brought stability during a turbulent time and helped me rebuild my childhood and reconnect with the idea of "home".

A quick internet search offers many definitions of a home, but one that struck me is this: “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” This raises the question: How do you define permanent?

At university, we always referred to the various properties we rented as shared houses, rather than homes. Looking back, that choice of words says a lot.

And what about the many children in care who face multiple moves? Or the thousands of families in temporary accommodation? Based on this definition, are they ever truly given a home?

Though I have lived in eighteen different properties throughout my life, only three have truly felt like home. And they all shared the same essential ingredients: stability, safety, security, family, love, support, and a sense of belonging. These were places where challenges were overcome, successes were celebrated, and meaningful memories were created.

A house may be bricks and mortar, but a home is something much more.