I have a secret: my couches are busted.
When we decided to move into our current home we knew it was time for new couches. I looked around for months, thinking about what we wanted, dreaming, planning and saving... And then we finally settled on the couches: a white chesterfield sofa and love seat. They were so pretty.
After about a year of living with the couches they had a few stains that I had some trouble cleaning. So I unzipped and removed the covers, and then put them in the wash. They came out clean—but to my surprise they had huge rips along the seams! We have insurance on the couches and submitted a claim, but after months of back and forth they declined our request for new covers. So now we're living with couches covered in tears.
The thing about this, though, is that if I shift the cushions and pillows the right way, and you don't look closely, you might not even notice. But I know, and I'm embarrassed, and when we have people coming over I stress about the couches. (And I know, of all the things to stress over, this is certainly not one of them.)
So I've been thinking about the couches and how they're sort of like people and relationships. And how our lives aren't perfect, and there might be some unpleasant or displeasing things that we are afraid of sharing with others—but until we accept them, and realize that they're not a reflection of our self-worth then we will never feel whole. The incredible Brené Brown says that the less you talk about shame, the more you have it. So there you go, I'm ashamed of my couches. Here's to hoping this confession is a step in the right direction.
Photo by Emily Goodstein.