The [Damn] Green Couch
Content warning: Postpartum trauma
Fun fact about me: I am not really into ‘things’.
Things, meaning possessions.
If you came to my house, you would see a smattering of different colors, patterns, and decor we have collected over the years.
Let’s call my style ‘eclectic’.
When my husband and I moved to Seattle, almost 12 years ago, for me to go to graduate school, we came with no furniture other than a bed.
We bought a table and some chairs at GoodWill and called it a day.
We literally used lawn chairs for living room furniture - picture Joey and Chandler’s apartment (minus the canoe) in the show Friends - for almost two months.
We finally bought an ugly brown/grey couch off of Craigslist for $75, that definitely smelled like wet dog at first, and we used that for the next six years.
When we began renting the house we currently live in, the owners (our friends) were so kind to leave us their sleeper sofa to use after they moved out.
I was *so* excited about this couch.
Our parents could use it to sleep on when visiting us after our baby was born, it didn’t smell weird, and it was *green* (my favorite color).
Little did I know this couch would hold so many memories - both positive and negative - over the next three years.
During my third trimester of pregnancy, I was struggling with terrible carpal tunnel in both of my wrists, and it was painful to lie flat when sleeping. That couch propped me up at the perfect angle, where I felt little to no pain, and could sleep through the night.
During my postpartum, this couch was primarily where I nursed my baby.
Where we would snuggle and read books. Where she laughed for the first time. Where my husband and I have had countless date nights.
There are so many wonderful memories, and I am grateful for this couch for holding a space where these beautiful moments could occur.
This couch was also where I had my postpartum hemorrhage.
I was sitting on my green couch, nursing my baby, and it happened.
I will save you the details.
After we came back from the hospital, we cleaned the cushion, flipped it over, and it looked like it had never happened.
The couch, once again, became a place of rest and comfort for our family.
For me, it also became a daily reminder of the trauma I had experienced.
Time went on, I did EMDR therapy to process the trauma, and the reminders with that couch went from a sharp pain to a dull ache.
Four years ago, my husband and I decided we wanted to buy our own home. I noticed a desire to be in a house where trauma hadn’t occurred, where there weren’t those daily reminders.
But, serendipitously, our friends we were renting from were looking at selling the house, and my husband and I quickly realized we were meant to stay where we were.
I had only one condition: we get rid of that [damn] couch.
So that is what we did. And then we bought my *dream* couch - a beautiful, giant, dark gray sectional that is so lovely in our sunny yellow living room.
For someone who isn’t really into possessions, this couch brings so much joy to my heart.
I sit on it with my family daily and think about all the movie nights, forts, and snuggles that lie ahead. Stay tuned for part 3…
It is amazing how some objects can hold so much charge - reminders of what has happened to you.
The world continues moving on, yet seeing those reminders can bring you right back to those difficult times.
I am not saying to get rid of all reminders of trauma; I still live in the house where the trauma occurred.
But, as Carrie Fisher once said, “Take your broken heart, make it into art.”
I am continuing to work on reclaiming this space every single day, and I channel my healing through creating new positive memories, weekly therapy, and writing to you all.
My green couch may be a piece of clothing for you, or books on a shelf, or a photo hanging on the wall.
Regardless, what is *one* thing you can do to reclaim your space from trauma, pain, and/or stress?
Maybe it means letting something go. Or, it could mean keeping something around in order to see what you may still need to learn from it.
I learned everything I needed to from the green couch:
that gratitude fosters resilience (shifting my focus to acknowledging what is good in my life);
it is ok to not fall into toxic positivity (it is also important to not dismiss my pains and struggles);
and that time with loved ones is the most important thing in life (at least for me, this is everything).
It was time to say goodbye to it.
When I think of the green couch now, remembering how loved my family was in that space, I can’t help but smile.
Now, this new couch is a big, beautiful reminder that we can absolutely heal from trauma or mend a broken heart.
We can let go of things which no longer serve us in order to make room for new beginnings.
We can reclaim and feel empowered in our lives, one step at a time.
