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The Foreclosure That Was Home to a Village Our Family

I spent my Sunday trying to lift my spirit. Oprah’s Soul Sunday offered a line from Gary Zukav that stayed with me: “A partnership between equals for the purpose of spiritual growth.” That was my morning anchor. By afternoon, I wanted to be intelligently entertained, so I turned to the Showtime series House of Lies and, yes, I watched the entire first season in a single sweep.

On the surface it’s all gloss: boardroom deals, under-the-table betrayals, the choreography of sex and swagger. Don Cheadle’s Marty slides through it all. But beneath the bravado, something familiar moved under my skin.

I once worked as a Deloitte Project Coordinator. I know the language, the tactics, the way consultants talk about being “beached” benched, sidelined, disposable. In one episode, a school principal casually dismantles Marty’s spin because she was once a Deloitte PM. It’s funny until it isn’t. It’s funny until you recognize yourself.

And then Episode 1 goes straight to the foreclosure crisis. That wasn’t fiction for me. That was my life.

I had poured more than $100,000 into renovations over the years sweat, savings, permanence. And then, by October 2009, the house was gone and with it all the years of deep attachment to ownership

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