It takes a village… to move house

Last month, after what has felt like an eternity of viewings, rejections, and “nope, that is out of our budget”, my partner and I finally got the keys to our new apartment. It had taken nearly two years of searching, but the housing gods must have started to pity us because we have finally moved into a lovely rental. It is just a modestly sized one-bed apartment, but it feels like a palace compared to the shoebox we were living in before. 

I am no stranger to moving house, having done this more than a dozen times before (thank you, Irish and Dutch housing crises!). But I sensed that this particular move would present some bonus challenges, as our apartment came unfurnished, unpainted and unfloored. It was indeed going to be a DIY bootcamp.

Despite our attempts at preparing for this bootcamp, it was still a humbling experience. We were quickly reminded that we are mere mortals, limited by time and energy. A day of priming and painting walls sounds doable, but doing that for four days straight with just two people is another story. And that’s without the stupid side-quests that keep you occupied in between: dashing to the hardware store to buy more paint rollers, drilling holes (and then realising your drill is broken), endlessly cleaning… the list goes on. Add that to your work and study schedules, and you’ve got a recipe for an impending burnout.

But amongst all the dust, chaos, and cardboard boxes, you realise something else: the importance of your village, or the people who support you with life events like these. A lot of my village is back in Ireland, and I felt their absence keenly. I wished that my parents could give us lifts to the hardware store, that my brother-in-law could teach us how to lay down floors, and that my aunt could do a coffee run. Even the more enjoyable tasks, like choosing paint colours, would make me think wistfully: “If only my mum was here to help us decide between sage green and pine green”. 

However, if living abroad has taught me anything, it’s that a village is not fixed. My family may not have been here, but we had other people who kindly helped us. Friends came to paint and colleagues showed us how to cut floorboards. The family that I babysit for lent us their professional drill. My partner’s sister cooked us dinner when we were too tired to even think about food. And my family back home sent encouraging messages and tips. Without all these people, I am sure that we would still be sitting in a bare house in a sea of open boxes. 

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I think the same can be said about moving house. Therefore, the next time a relative or friend needs help with moving, I will be there in a shot. Even if it’s just to give my opinion on paint colours. 

Tara Neary is the winner of the 2025 Campus Columnist contest. She will write a column for DUB's English page for a year. The opinions and views expressed here are her own and do not necessarily represent DUB's views.