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I'm Ali Rae and I love building brands.
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Today, I’m switching things up a bit and sharing a more personal story. One that changed how I view property ownership, rentals, and ultimately led to the beginning of our short-term rental journey.
Back in 2015, my husband Caleb, an active duty Marine, received his MOS and first official orders to Camp Lejeune in Eastern North Carolina. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and we were excited to find our first home together. After exploring neighborhoods both north and south of the base, we decided to buy a home in a little coastal town called Sneads Ferry, where Caleb’s brother also lived.
We chose the sweetest little starter home in a community called Escoba Bay. It had three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, a bonus room above the garage, and sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. It was just half a mile from the Intercostal Waterway—ideal for our daily walks with the dog and spontaneous waterfront adventures. The house needed some updates, but we dove right in. Painting every wall, whitewashing the fireplace with the help of my dad, and eventually converting the bonus room into a beautiful photography studio with dark wood LVP flooring and bright white walls. This house wasn’t just a home. It was filled with love and intention.
In the summer of 2018, life threw us a curveball. I was 36 weeks pregnant when Caleb received new orders to Northern Virginia. We had hoped to stay at Camp Lejeune a little longer, but military life doesn’t always accommodate personal plans. So, in September, we moved. This was just days before Hurricane Florence made landfall.
And where did it hit? Right where our beloved home was located. We were terrified. I remember thinking we might not even have a house to return to. Miraculously, we were extremely lucky. Aside from some knocked-over fencing, missing shingles, and loose chimney flashing, our home survived with minimal damage. This was unlike so many others in the area.
When we left North Carolina, we decided to rent the home to a long-term tenant, ideally another military family, for about three years. We hired a property management company out of Jacksonville, NC, trusting them to handle everything since we were five hours away with a newborn. The agreement included quarterly property check-ins and a six-month interior walkthrough. The tenants had also signed a no-pets policy.
A few months in, though, red flags started popping up. We began receiving texts from neighbors and formal letters from the HOA. Grass was overgrown. Broken-down vehicles sat in the front yard. Trash was piling up. One neighbor even sent photos of what looked like a botched spray paint job on the driveway. Despite our attempts to alert the property management company, nothing was done.
Getting the tenants out wasn’t easy, but eventually they left. I remember walking into that house for the first time after they moved out. This was right around our daughter’s first birthday. And I instantly started crying. The smell of cat urine hit us immediately. The no-pet policy had clearly been ignored.
The place was destroyed. The carpet was black with filth. Dog hair covered every surface. They left behind old mattresses, trash, and even a non-functioning washer and dryer in the backyard. Mold had taken over the unplugged refrigerator, and our former photography studio had become a cat room—with litter, feces, and dirt covering every wall and corner. The jacuzzi tub was filled with grime. Toilets were unspeakably filthy. Caleb and I had to wear surgical masks just to clean.
They even stole our dryer.
We fired the property management company on the spot. I briefly considered suing, but emotionally and financially, we just didn’t have the capacity to pursue legal action. All I could think was: If this is what long-term renting is like, I want no part of it.
The only reason we had kept the house was because we thought we might get orders back to Lejeune one day. At the time, Caleb still planned to make a full career in the Marine Corps. We imagined returning to that home with our growing family. But during our time in Virginia, our vision began to shift and so did our plans. The idea of placing another long-term tenant in our beloved home after what we had just experienced felt unimaginable. And so, we chose a different path. The path that would ultimately transform our lives and open the door to a brand new kind of opportunity: short-term rentals.
Six years ago, I opened the door to our first Airbnb guest. At the time, I had no idea how much that decision would change our lives.
The house was still in disrepair from our long-term renters. But I’m incredibly fortunate to have a handy and supportive family. Led by my dad and my brother, a small army of family members came together and tackled the massive project. In one exhausting week, they ripped up every inch of carpet upstairs and replaced it with the same dark wood LVP we had used in the bonus room. They patched and painted walls, while I cleaned each room from top to bottom before they came through with the final touches.
We couldn’t even stay in the house while we worked. It was that filthy. So we camped out at Caleb’s brother’s home and powered through. It was a full-blown family operation, and I’m still so grateful for everyone who helped.
Once the house was clean and structurally sound, it was time to furnish and style it. I had never set up an Airbnb before, so I created a master spreadsheet to track everything: budget, actual spend, room-by-room needs, and individual items. From mattresses and nightstands to small decor elements like lamps and throw pillows.
What I didn’t realize then was just how many little things matter when you’re setting up a short-term rental. You think about the big stuff: beds, sheets, kitchen appliances. But it’s the small touches that make it feel complete: nightstand lamps, throw blankets, coffee mugs (we’ll get to that in a second). That spreadsheet eventually became a lifesaver not just for me, but for other new Airbnb hosts I’ve helped along the way. I still use and update it for every new property.
Since I needed items quickly, I sourced furniture through a mix of Wayfair and local Facebook Marketplace finds. Pro tip: if you’re near a military base, Marketplace is a goldmine—people are always moving and selling quality pieces. I even found a brand-new washer and dryer set for just $400.
Decor was another challenge. I completely forgot things like art and accent pillows in my rush to get the house listed. But I had an idea I still love to this day. I used my own photography, taken around the local area, to decorate the walls. Guests could even buy the prints if they wanted to (though, fun fact: no one ever did). Still, it gave the home a local, personal touch and showcased the fact that it was a loved space, not just a generic rental.
We officially launched the Airbnb in November 2019, just in time for the holiday season. Our first guests arrived on Thanksgiving, and I was a nervous wreck. That weekend, they messaged me to say… we had no coffee cups. Total oversight on my part. But instead of complaining, they ran to Dollar General, bought mugs, left them behind for future guests, and I reimbursed them. It was such a kind gesture and a humble reminder that you never stop learning as a host.
There were some funny moments, too. One early guest asked if I had ever felt a presence in the house suggesting a ghost. She said she kept hearing something go off every night at 2 a.m. downstairs. Turns out, it wasn’t a ghost. It was our Roomba vacuum, still on a timer from our house in Virginia, going off like clockwork at 2 a.m. every night!
Just as we were getting into the swing of things, 2020 hit. Like most in the hospitality industry, we lost a significant amount of income when the world shut down in March. Travel restrictions meant empty calendars, canceled bookings, and a crash course in crisis management.
Despite the challenges (and even more horror stories I’ll save for another day), we did turn a profit that first year. We had borrowed money from a family member to get the house up and running. We were able to pay off that loan within a year.
We continued running that Airbnb until September 2021. By that point, the market had heated up significantly, and we decided to sell. We walked away with over $100,000 in profit. Not just because of the market, but because we were able to prove consistent income from the short-term rental. We sold the house fully furnished to a family who now lives in it part-time and runs it as an Airbnb the other half of the year.
If you’re considering becoming a host, remember: not every Airbnb starts as a planned investment. Neither of ours did. And yet both became valuable assets and meaningful parts of our family’s financial journey.
Converting a long-term rental into a short-term one might feel overwhelming, but it’s absolutely possible. And sometimes, it’s even the better choice.
Curious about becoming a host?
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