Your Home is Precious (Reviews are Earned)

“So I’m asking you from the bottom of my heart if you could remove that review on Google…”

It was one sentence in a long paragraph of a text that I received from a contractor last week. I had written a 3 star review for his company, going over both the good and bad of working with him in a long compliment sandwich. Five minutes after hitting submit on Google, my phone started blowing up with texts and calls asking me to explain what was wrong.

It wasn’t hard to explain why I had left the 3 star review; we had a long text chain extending over weeks, with me reporting issues and him not taking me seriously. “No worries” he responded once, when I reported some bad behavior from his crew.

No, Douglas (not his real name). There are actually many worries.

I’ve been trying to get my old house ready for listing. After living there for 14 years, there were some things that needed to be done to make the house less “Patel” and more “Someone Else.” So we cleaned, painted, and installed some new flooring. I won’t specify which contractor this was.

The issues culminated days after his crew had left my empty house, when I found that one of the toilets was so badly clogged that no plunger would solve it. I texted him to express my frustration and concern, and he offered to send his (non-plumber, not licensed or insured for plumbing) crew back to fix it. I declined. He did not offer to send a licensed plumber.

A few days later, I wrote my review after taking in all the damages that the crew had caused to the house I’m trying to sell. My 3 stars was generous.

The texts started pouring in, trying to make it right. Asking if he could come over and fix the toilet himself. (Again, not licensed or insured for plumbing). Assuring me that he could fix the other damages. Dear Douglas, if you had the ability to fix the issues quickly, why did you leave it like this?

I removed the review from Google after his guilt text, but I felt the frustration of not being heard rising ever higher in my chest.

After I put the kids to bed that night, I sat down on the couch and put my feelings together in a text that could have been an email.

A house that you live in for years is not just a box to hold your stuff. It’s a home, where your family has grown and loved. Where your babies took their first steps, where you nursed them and comforted them through countless illnesses and emotions. Anyone who comes into your home should treat it with the respect it deserves: not as a shelter with windows, but as a much-loved container for your family’s memories and experiences. It doesn’t matter if it’s a million-dollar home or a shack in the woods. If your family fills it from corner to corner with love and life, it’s precious.

I wouldn’t dare go into your home and treat it like mine was treated last month. Before I come for photos, I send clients a prep guide for getting the house ready for our session. Then when I arrive, I assume that anything that’s visible is something you want in the photos. The artwork sitting crooked on the fridge. The plants that are crying out silently for more water. The wonky lamp that was a thrift find in college and is now part of your family’s story. It’s all there, all part of your lives and all helping to tell your story.

If there’s a wayward stack of folded laundry that you forgot to put away but that you actually might not want in your family photos, I’ll ask if you’d like to move it as we get started. I won’t mess with your thermostat. And I promise not to flush anything foreign down your toilet if I use it while I’m there. I’m there to add to your family’s experience in your home. Not to leave you with a sour taste and broken promises.

I get reviews from clients’ homes like this:

I would never ask a client to remove a review. All of my reviews are honest and real. You can read all of them here.

PS: If you’re hiring painters, cleaners, or flooring installers, and need to know who NOT to hire, I got you.