All I want is a cup of tea, but my cupboard is full of trauma mugs

Like the cup with company branding that I had picked up, overjoyed, from a desk – excited there was one for me. That workplace had brought me into their bosom like a family but then later held me at arm’s length, greeting me coolly, like I was a former in-law.

And like my blue tin cup with a bear on it, which should be in my camping box. That cup takes me straight to Jamieson, camp chairs, sunsets and waves with the scent of eucalyptus in the air. Moments I won’t have again with the man I shared them with.

Why had I kept all these cups from the past, mugs with sad associations and bad memories?

As the unease and sadness settled, I started feeling annoyed with myself. Why had I kept all these cups from the past, mugs with sad associations and bad memories?

“I don’t need this in my life,” I thought crossly. Maybe I would be better off with a tasteful collection of matching designer mugs – perhaps I could even splurge on Versace mugs with a vibrant print (or at least a rip-off set.)

But as I unstacked the dishwasher, I saw there was more to it.

Here was the tea cup covered in small painted vegetables, I thought as I tipped the droplets off, that was accidentally left here when I bought my house. I knew this cup had been sipped out of by the beautiful, free-spirited artist who lived and loved this home before me.

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Here was my uni mug that has been my most treasured memento from those days – days of wild innocence, adventure and never-ending chats as we sunk into mildewed couches in someone’s backyard.

And here is the cup I always give to my mum when she visits, because I know she likes the feel of it, and we sit at the table and chat for many hours, about all the unease, and sadness, and memories that we would rather forget but which form who we are now.

Because I realise I am my cupboard of trauma mugs. A hotchpotch of tales, adventures, sadness and laughs. In fact, perhaps, if I’m lucky, I’ll find a mug left out on the kerbside today. And I’ll pick it up and put it in my cupboard (after a quick wash) to remind myself of that very fact.

Claire Thurstans is a writer and a lawyer based in Melbourne.

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