It's Not About the Couch (But It Kind of Is)

MJ Wynn
Jul 1
3 min read

🌙 Dear diary (or like... Notion that's basically become my therapist),

It’s one of those nights. The kind where your brain picks one random social dynamic and decides to spiral about it for two hours instead of letting you sleep like a normal human being. Tonight’s theme? Possessiveness in shared spaces. Specifically: the way some people use the word “my” like it’s a tiny weapon in the quiet war of cohabitation.

I read this post earlier—someone venting about their partner who kept saying “my couch,” “my kitchen,” “my space,” and it unlocked something in my brain. Because even though I’m not in a relationship like that, I have lived with people like that. Roommates who drop the word “my” like they’re laying bricks, slowly building a wall between themselves and everyone else in the apartment.

And yeah, it’s subtle. But it’s also exhausting.

The Vibe Shift of One Word

It’s never about the actual couch, right? It’s the principle. When someone refers to shared stuff as “mine,” it’s doing this quiet thing—staking territory, assigning value, creating this low-level tension that hums underneath every interaction.

Like: don’t get too comfortable here. This is mine. I’m letting you use it.

Which… okay? Congratulations on your IKEA ottoman, I guess?

It’s not like I want to take your stuff or claim your space. But when the language around common areas starts feeling like a custody battle, it makes me question if I’m even supposed to feel at home.

I think people do it without realizing. Like, maybe they’re scared of losing autonomy, or they had a bad roommate before, or maybe they just like control. I don’t know. But the result is the same: you walk into the kitchen and feel like a guest in your own apartment.

The Invisibility of Shared Space

This isn’t even about dramatic fights or shouting matches. It’s about the little stuff. The passive energy shifts. The moment someone sighs when you use a pan they never technically said was off-limits but definitely think of as theirs. The way they label their food with initials even though we all know whose Costco buffalo dip that is.

I’ve lived with a few people like that. You learn to tread lightly. You shrink a little. You wait until the coast is clear to use the living room. You start spending more time in your room because it feels easier than navigating a space that’s been quietly claimed.

And again—I’m not mad about it. I just think it’s interesting. How much weight a word can carry. How “my” can sound like a warning when it’s dropped too often.

The Couch Isn’t the Problem

Look, I’m not trying to act like I’m some perfect roommate. I’ve definitely left dishes too long or hogged the bathroom mirror. But I don’t think I’ve ever made someone feel like they weren’t allowed to exist in our space. And that’s the part that bugs me. When people say “my” in a shared home, it’s like they’re forgetting—intentionally or not—that other people live here, too.

I don’t think it’s always malicious. Sometimes it’s just habitual. But when someone refers to everything as theirs, it makes you question what, if anything, belongs to everyone. And honestly? That’s a weird way to live.

There’s something kind of… lonely about it. Not just for the person on the receiving end, but maybe for the person saying it, too. Like they’re bracing for something. Like if they say “my” enough times, they won’t have to share—not the couch, not the fridge, not the vulnerability of actually coexisting.

It’s Just a Word—But It’s Also Not

The older I get, the more I realize how language quietly shapes the emotional tone of a space. “My” isn’t inherently bad.

Boundaries are good. Ownership is fine. But in a shared environment, it can start to feel like low-grade tension.

A tiny reminder that you’re borrowing something, not part of something.

And okay, I get it. Not everything has to be communal. But if we can’t even let a couch be neutral territory, what does that say about how we approach sharing space with other humans?

Final Thought Before I Finally Sleep

I don’t think everyone who says “my” is trying to be possessive. But I do think it’s worth paying attention to. Because when you’re living with other people, your language is part of the space, too. It can either open a door or reinforce a boundary. And neither one is wrong—it just depends on what you’re trying to build.

Me? I’d like to build something chill. Respectful. Comfortable. Where we don’t have to overthink whether we’re allowed to sit on the couch.