01/28/2025
If you’re paying attention to the housing market right now, you’ve probably noticed something simmering beneath the surface—2.7, maybe 2.8 million people still sitting in active forbearance. It’s a fancy way of saying they’ve been given a temporary reprieve from their mortgage payments, a pause, but the clock’s running out. When it does, a lot of these folks will face an impossible decision: catch up on payments they can’t afford or walk away from their homes.
And let’s be real—many will just walk away. It’s not because they want to, but because they’re out of options, out of hope. That’s where we step in. Not as vultures circling the carcass, but as problem-solvers. As people with an opportunity to help before the house gets swallowed by the black hole of foreclosure.
But here’s the thing: you can’t just show up, knock on someone’s door, and say, “Hey, I’ll buy your house.” That’s not how this works. People don’t respond to that. They’re scared, angry, embarrassed. They’re human.
Last week, I was talking to someone who’s been trying to work with homeowners in pre-foreclosure. She tells me, “John, they just don’t want to hear it. They’re not interested. They don’t even want to talk.” And I get it. I’ve been there. Back in 2008-2010—when the housing market was unraveling like a poorly-wrapped burrito—I learned this lesson the hard way while out knocking doors trying to help people in foreclosure.
You have to approach these people differently. You need to understand where their heads are at. And more importantly, where your own head is at.
Imagine this: You’re standing at the door of a small, weathered house, paint peeling, the lawn overgrown. You knock. A tired-looking man in his forties answers. Let’s call him Mike. His eyes dart past you, as if checking to see who else might be watching.
“Can I help you?” he asks, voice flat, guarded.
“Yeah,” you say. “Look, I know this might be an awkward conversation, but I wanted to see if there’s anything I can do to help with your situation here.”
Mike stiffens. “What situation?”
And there it is. That wall of denial. It’s not personal—it’s self-preservation.
“Your home,” you continue. “I know things might be a little tight right now with the mortgage. I work with people in situations like this, and sometimes I can help find a solution. That’s all I’m here for—just to talk about options.”
“Options?” he repeats, like the word itself is foreign.
“Yeah. Look, I get it. This isn’t easy to talk about. But you’re not alone in this. A lot of folks are in the same boat right now. Maybe you want to stay in the house—there are ways to work with the bank to make that happen. Or maybe you’ve been thinking about selling. Either way, I can help figure out what makes the most sense for you.”
There’s a pause. A long one. You can see the gears turning in Mike’s head. He’s weighing whether to trust you. Whether to let his guard down even an inch.
“Why would you want to help me?” he finally asks, suspicion laced through his words.
And this is your moment. This is where you explain, without sounding rehearsed or slimy, that you’re not some shark circling the waters. That you’re here because you’ve been in this world long enough to know how the game is played. The banks? They’re not going to help him. If the house goes to auction, he walks away with nothing. But you? You can offer him a way out.
“Because I’ve seen what happens when people don’t get help,” you say. “And it’s not pretty. The bank takes the house, and you’re left with nothing but a bad credit score and a mountain of stress. I’m not here to twist your arm—I just want to see if there’s a way we can make this work for you.”
Mike doesn’t exactly smile, but his posture shifts. The wall begins to crack.
The rest of the conversation? It’s about navigating those cracks. About listening more than you speak. About offering solutions without making promises you can’t keep.
This isn’t about “closing the deal.” It’s about being human in a situation that’s anything but. You’re not there to take advantage—you’re there to solve a problem. And when you approach it like that, people notice.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not easy. But if you do it right, it can be meaningful. Hell, it can even be rewarding. Because at the end of the day, what you’re really doing is giving someone a chance to breathe again. And in a world like this, that’s worth something.
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