On self judgement and new couches


On Thursday I bought a new lounge suite (in case you were wondering, yes, this is part of it. And in case you were wondering, no, it didn’t break the bank. We bought it second hand for a fraction of the cost of a new one, and although I still can’t say I’ve ever had a new couch I really don’t mind. And yes, it IS as comfortable as it looks!)

The coolest thing though is that it fits our lounge room in a way that nothing has before it. I move furniture around when I get bored of it, and I’ve always struggled with the fact that my lounge room just felt wrong. Too small, too unwieldy. Too many uncompromising bits like big fireplaces, small windows, doorways. Now though, now I see it wasn’t my room that was wrong, I just needed furniture that fit it better. Now, with a big new lounge suite, my lounge room is perfect.

Yesterday morning I had another thought, although it took a while for me to realise the thoughts were related. I grew up under a lot of judgement, and all of it said pretty much the same thing: I was wrong. I was too loud or too quiet or too silly or too unkempt or uncouth or whatever else my obviously-extremely-perfect grandmother thought of me. Too wrong, really. My grandmother has been dead a number of years now, but that hasn’t mattered. I’ve proudly kept up her tradition of criticising me. Never missed a day.

Until yesterday. Yesterday I got it. Yesterday I realised that it wasn’t ME that was wrong at all. I’m a perfectly lovely lounge room. My grandma was simply trying to make me fit with the wrong furniture.

That’s all I need to remember. Here’s to non-judgement, dead grandmothers, and things that fit. Here’s to a right furniture future!


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