Author Katie Fforde on the emotional toll of downsizing after 45 years - and what she's taking with her

My husband Desmond and I knew that we would eventually have to leave the house that we’ve called home for the last 45 years. Neither of us wanted to - Desmond especially - but even he knew, deep down, that it was the right decision. Accepting this was difficult and painful, but necessary.

In the midst of planning this, Desmond died, without ever having to leave the home he loved, which is a small comfort. Although it does mean I will now be doing this on my own.

When we first arrived in 1981, we had two small boys, two cats and an Irish wolfhound. Another baby came along soon afterwards, as well as lodgers to fill the house - it had seven bedrooms back then. Now, two of the bedrooms have been repurposed to make an en suite and a study, and the place is far too big for just me.

It's time to downsize - or, according to what I'm reliably informed is the new terminology, rightsize!

So, the plan is to share a property - although not a kitchen - with my daughter Briony and her family, who also live in Stroud. Not only can she keep an eye on me, but the dog-sharing and grandchildren-minding will be simpler.

We’d like an old farmhouse, space for me and maybe room for some goats. There's a certain romanticism to this, and I must admit it feels exciting.

We were advised to employ a house finder, so Tania came into our lives and - as often happens - into my latest book (A Cottage in the Country). Moving somewhere smaller meant difficult choices.

Not only would I be imagining a whole new home and beginning for myself, but I’d also have to hunt through 45 years of belongings, deciding what to take with me - which means, of course, a lot of nostalgic goodbyes as well.

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We'll need to declutter before downsizing - but if one thing's certain, it's that I won't be leaving without my kitchen dresser. It isn't huge, but it's glass-fronted, quite deep, has a handsome pediment, and is full of my more decorative plates, jugs and bowls. It brings back fond memories of when we came across it.

I've always had a dresser in my kitchen, and when we had the house upgraded about 20 years ago, the one I brought with me from Wales no longer fitted. It was a case of replacing it with something narrower or moving a soil pipe. So off we went to Tetbury, Gloucestershire, and found this one at the first antique shop.

I remember it seemed wrong to buy the first dresser we saw, especially when searching antique shops was a pleasure. But, having perused countless shops, finding few dressers that would fit in the space, back we came to this one. I fell in love. If I could take nothing else with me when I move, I would take this. Wherever I lay my dresser, that’s my home.

Another easy choice is my dark green KitchenAid. It's beautiful, but I’m ashamed to admit that I bought it purely because it matched the green walls of my kitchen. I don’t bake nearly as often as I used to, but when I saw this in a sale, I had to have it. I’d better take my food processor too, given how regularly I find myself needing to make pesto, houmous and breadcrumbs.

You might think that choosing which wooden spoons to save would be a little easier, but it most certainly isn't.

I probably have too many, but how can one tell? Should I take my spurtle, for instance? This is just a wooden spoon without the bowl, designed specifically to stir porridge. As you may imagine, I don’t get much use out of it, and frankly it doesn't do a great job. However, it has a beautiful brass rail on top and belonged to Desmond’s stepmother.

We inherited a lot of curious items from her, including butter pats, for making butter curls with. Again, not necessarily the most practical implement, but they remind me of the 70s, when Desmond and I used to run a pair of narrowboats as a hotel. I did all the cooking, and butter curls with Melba toast were the fashion back then.

Practicality isn't everything - the spurtle and the butter pats are coming with me!

There's the bed too. I love my bed. It's relatively new and I recently discovered the middle of it. For more than 50 years I had a side I stuck to, but now I've found the unsoiled, super-comfortable middle. Another small comfort.

Then there are the pictures - some of them are huge and, unless I leave some behind, it's possible I’d be hanging them from floor to ceiling in every room. But one I'm not leaving without was painted by my mother.

It's of our sitting room, from a time when we lived in a small Oxfordshire village. We had two kittens, and one of them is sitting on a huge dictionary that I'd given my mother one Christmas. It exactly captures life as it was then, back in the 70s.

I’m also taking a drawing of Desmond steering a Dutch barge, by Alex Williams, an artist friend of ours. He's pictured from behind and Alex somehow managed to perfectly capture the endearing way that, throughout his life, Desmond’s trousers never quite fitted him.

But the trickiest decisions will involve the books. So many of these are of immeasurable sentimental value. There are books that were read on special holidays, to the children, or by Desmond's side.

I'm sad to have lost my original copy of The Magic Ring, a cookery book designed for single ladies with only a gas ring to cook on. I once told my mother that it was the only thing I truly cared about inheriting and she gave it to me on the spot. To repay her generosity, I somehow lost it! I did find another copy, but it doesn’t have my mother's handwriting in it. Nevertheless, it's coming with me.

I have also resolved - perhaps surprising you some - to take my pond.

It was designed specifically for wildlife, and is home to newts, dragonflies, countless unidentified creatures and two random frogs. Transport will clearly be a challenge, but where there’s a will, there's a way. And there's certainly a will!

When I pull the door behind me for the last time, I will take with me all the memories of happy times, and the humble, personal and often impractical things that really make a house a home.

Thinking of downsizing? What to consider in a new location

Rightsizing can present a wonderful opportunity but, if you can, it’s worth renting somewhere first to see if your imagined idyll is, in reality, what you want. Practical considerations, such as shops within walking distance, easy transport links, arts and leisure facilities, and a hospital nearby, should be factored in. If you have a community you value, you will want to move within your area.

Living close to your children can be a source of joy and security but it can also come with expectations to help out, so weigh up the pros and cons. And if you are proposing to live with one of your children, have open conversations about how it will work for you both to retain the lifestyles and independence you'd like.

When is the right time to 'rightsize'?

The decision to rightsize usually boils down to practicality, but our emotional attachment to the place we call home cannot be underestimated. Combine that with the dread of change and upheaval, and we may hang on to our family homes for longer than they serve us. Our checklist will help you decide.

• Do you have more rooms than you need?
• Would you welcome lower energy bills?
• Is maintenance becoming harder/more expensive?
• Would moving be practical?
• Would downsizing free equity?
• Would it be easier to move now than in 10 or 20 year' time?

Mainly yes? It's probably the right time to move somewhere smaller, more practical and affordable. But it’s important to address your blockers - if your reasoning is sentimental, talk to people who have made the move.

Many will say that it's the personal items you take with you that make a new house feel like a home.

If you’re worried that downsizing will make it harder for your children and grandchildren to visit and/or stay, talk to them about it and weigh up how often they stay over.

If it's twice a year, then hanging on to a four-bed house really doesn't make sense. The money you’d free up could likely pay for a couple of family weekends away together instead.

And if it's status anxiety that’s troubling you, ask yourself if the fancy house is worth more than the freedom to work less or have a bit more to spend.

This article first appeared in an issue of woman&home magazine. Subscribe to the magazine for £6 for 6 issues.