Alright fellow listing agents, grab your wine tumblers and your thickest skin, because it’s time to talk about the fine art of delivering buyer feedback to sellers. AKA: Translating “This house smells like despair” into something your client won’t cry over.

If Part One was about unfiltered buyer truth bombs, Part Two is about what happens next — when it’s our job to take those bombs, defuse them, and gently lob them over to the seller without detonating the relationship.

When people ask how long I’ve been in real estate, I proudly say “25 years”—and then I pause for dramatic effect like I’m announcing how long I’ve survived in the wilderness. Because let’s be real: some years, it has felt like that. This career has been equal parts thrilling, exhausting, gratifying, and at times, a full-blown contact sport. And while I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, I’ve also made a few mistakes along the way—some big, some humbling, and all of them educational.

Let me take you back to where it all started: San Antonio, Texas. I was young, scrappy, and had the miraculous good fortune of landing a spot on the sales team for a brand-new master-planned community that would eventually house more than 3,000 families. I was one of six agents, and we were all required to pool and split commissions evenly. At the time, I didn't blink. I was just thrilled to be in the room—well, the sales trailer.

Ah, feedback. That tender little slice of honesty wrapped in awkwardness, served cold after a showing. If you’re a listing agent, you crave it. If you’re a buyer’s agent, you dread giving it. If you're a buyer, you're texting it in all-caps to your friend before you even make it back to the car.

It’s the peanut butter and jelly of the market—messy, sticky, but essential. And when it’s real and raw, it’s also the closest thing we have to market truth serum.

Let’s start with the elephant in the family room: Most agents are chasing feedback like it holds the meaning of life. And maybe it does—in our industry, it's a vital sign. Is the house priced right? Is the layout working? Are people recoiling from the 1987 kitchen appliances?

In my life, I’ve sold… a lot.

I got my start in restaurants, sweet-talking folks into adding a top-shelf margarita to their enchiladas and definitely saying yes to the dessert tray. From there, I went full throttle into car sales. Hondas, Mazdas, Fords—you name it. I once taught someone to drive a stick shift just so they could buy a used Mustang off the lot. (You’re welcome, world.)

I’ve sold gym memberships, personal training packages, my own belongings on Facebook Marketplace, and a wildly overpriced faux leather couch to a pawn shop guy named Chuck who definitely knew better.

Fast forward: I’ve sold lake houses, beach houses, brand-new builds, bungalows, mini-mansions, and one cul-de-sac that basically turned into a group project. Just this morning, I helped my kids run a lemonade stand on our front lawn like a pre-licensed version of Shark Tank.

But never—until now—have I sold a church.  I mean, as far as real estate goes, a church for sale is pretty rare.

There’s a moment in nearly every home sale—not during the final walkthrough, not even at closing—when the true handoff happens. It’s not legal or financial. It’s emotional. And oddly enough, it usually involves…a dead pet hamster.

I’m talking about the weird, tender, oddly funny little remnants that stick around when a home transitions from one life chapter to the next. After 25 years in real estate, I can say with full confidence: there are five unspoken, almost guaranteed phenomena that happen in about 90% of all home sales. They don’t show up on inspection reports, but they will tug your heartstrings, trip you up emotionally, or at the very least make you awkwardly laugh in recognition.

“So, you’re in real estate? That must be so fun! You show houses, right?”

Let me introduce you to the search history of someone who sells houses, is a marriage counselor (for clients, obviously), an impromptu dog wrangler, and part-time psychic.

This is what I, a very real real estate agent, Googled this week:

You pull into the pristinely manicured community, gliding past cheerful signage with names like “Whispering Pines,” “Creekstone Meadows,” or “The Villas at Something Fancy.” There’s a soft jazz soundtrack playing from an invisible speaker, the smell of gardenias hangs in the air, and the trees even seem to wave at you politely. 

Welcome to the builder’s model home — the Domestic Disneyland of Dreams.

Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off: If you’re in real estate and not attending your weekly team or office meetings, I need you to take a long, reflective stare into your iced vanilla latte and ask yourself — what exactly are you even doing?

Let’s get one thing straight right out of the gate: working with a buyer’s agent isn’t just about running comps, checking foundation cracks, or calculating neighborhood appreciation rates like we’re some kind of real estate scientists with clipboards and calculators (though, okay, sometimes we do have clipboards… and calculators).

No, no. Working with a real estate buyer’s agent is personal. It’s a journey. It’s emotional. It’s like a reality TV show meets a therapy session meets a road trip with your very enthusiastic and mildly caffeinated best friend.

So, you’ve found yourself searching “luxury real estate agents near me” — which means one of two things. Either you’re about to sell a fabulous high-end property, or you’re just really curious about what we do (and if we all secretly drive a Mercedes). Either way, welcome!

Luxury real estate is a world of its own. It’s where precision marketing, expert negotiation, and a little bit of high-end magic all come together to get homes sold to the right buyers. But there are a lot of myths surrounding what a luxury real estate agent actually does — and today, we’re breaking them down.