Florida Homeowners Association Terror

In the thicks of fighting my Homeowners Association last year, I began to disassociate from my home. The ideas I had about improving it, and the things I had already done to make it my own, no longer became sources of joy. My home, in fact, was no longer my home. It was a just a house. Then I remembered, that was how I felt when I moved in.

I did not buy my dream home. I bought a place to move into because my rent was about to increase too much. Because I had moved so many times, I became enamored with the thought of not moving again. My long-time realtor (Yes, I already had a realtor because this was not my first time considering buying a house.) showed me properties around the SouthShore region that met my criteria. But the number one criterion was affordability. I did not even know I could get a house with my salary at the time.

I did not love the neighborhood as there was nothing to love because it was mostly empty. A clubhouse with a pool and gym? Yeah, that’s cool and all, but I have lived without one and I know where to find both. A walkable nature trail? Yeah, that’s nice; but that is what parks are for. I reeeeaaaally wanted to live in a neighborhood further up the street—not because the neighborhood was better (also new construction), but because the floor plan was perfect! However, just one zip code north of here put me out of my price range.

When I first moved to the SouthShore region of Hillsborough County, Florida, my “dream” was to live in Panther Trace in Riverview. I was really wowed by the amenities (multiple pools), the large size of the community and the trees (lots of room to walk and bike without being in the direct sun), and mostly because the elementary school was inside the neighborhood. Over the years that I have lived in this region, Panther Trace has expanded and its size makes me nauseous. Plus, my colleague—who was a resident—told me that the neighborhood went waaaaay downhill.

Years later, my dream community was MiraBay in Apollo Beach. It was another large community with a secured, gated entry, clubhouse with bar/restaurant-type features, and water and more water. Unfortunately, due to that water and more water, flood insurance was required. And over the years, apparently that water and more water has been creeping into the neighborhood.

When you are qualifying for a mortgage you must factor in the cost of the house, of course, but also the HOA fees, the CDD fees, the homeowners insurance fees, and the flood insurance fees. All those fees reduce the price of the home you can afford. So, I could only really afford to move to my current neighborhood. That is why I am here.

I have done some improvements myself. For the things I could not do, I hired others. The longer I stayed here, the more invested I became in changing the house to suit my needs and desires. The longer I stayed here, the more my house became my refuge from workplace toxicity. The longer I stayed here the more proud I became at being able to cut off the outside world—if only temporarily—to tend to the yard, to engage in various arts, to dream, to have respite, to protect myself, my peace, and my sanity. Castle.

I had hopes and wishes for my house. And that all unraveled due to the actions of the HOA. Now, I feel like a stranger on someone else’s property.