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When Tosha Nelson wanted to upgrade to a bigger home in the greater Tampa, FL, area, she was drawn to the idea of keeping her first purchase, a 1,440-square-foot home, as a short-term rental.
Not because of the promises of big cash, but because she couldn’t bear the thought of long-term renters potentially ripping out all the plants she had lovingly cultivated.
Nelson had owned the three-bedroom, two-bathroom home in the city of Largo, 24 miles west of Tampa, for almost 20 years, originally buying it for $164,000.
Two days after closing on her new house on June 27, 2025, she quickly secured a tenant for her beloved residence: her daughter, whose job was relocating her to Tampa with lodging covered by her boss.
While her first booking was easy, things would dramatically change in the years to come.
The money behind the rental
Initially, bookings were steady: The home was rented out every weekend. Nelson was grossing $2,200 a month.
The monthly mortgage was $700, and insurance was $400.
Quick math told her this was working, but it could perhaps be more profitable.
Her research told her she should be bringing in at least $3,000 total per month.
Still, she considered how much she was making after paying her $1,100 mortgage and insurance, and pressed on.
Then she started realizing just how much money she was actually losing.
“I didn’t notice at first when sheets went missing,” she explains. By not catching stolen or damaged items within the 14-day window that platforms such as Airbnb.com allow for compensation, she had to replace these out of pocket.
Between replacing home fixtures and purchasing small amenities like shampoos and soaps, she started to see that she was spending more than she initially realized.
“I wanted to get good ratings, so I bought things that were extra-nice: soaps and shampoos, and waters and drinks in the fridge,” says Nelson.
She wasn’t making much money at the $225-a-night average rate, but thought the income would pick up when the winter high-season came.
Then the 3 a.m. wake-up occurred.
The renters you hope you’ll never have
Her security alarms kept sending alerts for activity that fateful night. When she checked the driveway camera, she saw a crowd and in the center, a woman “twerking on the hood of a car.”
The house had been booked for a single Tuesday evening, and Nelson thought that person would be “the perfect guest.”
Instead, he threw a party that resulted in a hole in the drywall.
A door frame had been broken, hanging loose from the wall. Smoke alarms dangled from the ceiling. The microwave was further collateral damage.
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By the time Nelson and a male friend got to the property, the guests had already cleared out.
She had to move quickly. She had an electrician reinstall the smoke detectors, and the drywall had to be repaired—all before 4 p.m., when the next guests were checking in.
Airbnb reimbursed Nelson $130. Unfortunately, she made the claim before she realized the full extent of the damage.
“I didn’t realize everything else they had broken,” she says.
With that one booking, Nelson lost $1,200—and some faith in humanity. In addition to trashing the house, the guests had also thrown out piles of washcloths, towels, and blankets, all free from stains or damage.
Some hosts might have quit then, but it was actually the next guest who led Nelson to deactivate her listing.
A change of strategy
From her front door security camera, Nelson watched as her next guests arrived and immediately opened the mailbox. They proceeded to the shed and attempted entry, but were unsuccessful.
Before she knew it, the guests quickly found an issue in the house to complain about and asked for a full refund.
That’s when Nelson began to fear these guests had intentions of committing identity theft or worse. It made her stop and run the numbers.
Not only was the rental bringing in less income than expected, but the bills were higher than she anticipated.
Out of the $2,200 gross, she had to pay $1,100 in mortgage and insurance, and $286, or 13%, in tourism taxes. With the $814 remaining, she still had to pay for cable, electricity, water, and garbage collection. Then there were the platform fees, plus a cleaning fee of $85 per booking.
“I realized I was losing money,” she says. “And investing more time than I thought I would.”
Every month, she and her husband worked 40 hours combined on the rental, communicating with guests, repairing any damages, cleaning the grill, and handling other upkeep.
That’s when she decided to quit short-term renting and make the home a long-term rental instead. She shopped for property managers, finding Graystone Property Management, which is renting out the home for $2,600 a month.
Converting the house to a long-term rental means she can push off the bills, letting the tenant pay for electricity, water, and garbage. She also has far less upkeep than with a revolving door of short-term renters.
So far, Nelson feels confident in her decision.
“I won’t have the constant headaches, and most of all, I know what I will make every month.”
English (US)