I’ve spent the bulk of today trying to organize my bedroom and make it look less like a clothes factory exploded. I put together two dressers and a rotating shoe rack that I’d ordered from Amazon. I had to clean up the area of my bedroom that I called catastrophe corner. It held an assortment of random things, as well as something that I’d been holding on to for several years.
The first Christmas after my separation, my boys came over for dinner. They walked in with big smiles and a big wrapped box. Everything seemed like a great Christmas was underway, despite the circumstances. Life was new for all of us and despite how normal I tried to make it, it was anything but. I insisted, like always, that everyone else open their gifts first. The boys seemed so giddy about my gift and they couldn’t wait for me to open it. I unwrapped the box and felt pride that my boys were so thoughtful.
But when I opened the box, pride turned to horror. Inside the box was my mail from the house and some trash. They thought it was a funny joke and probably didn’t mean any harm. But, it broke me in ways that I cannot explain. I questioned everything about that first year apart from my family. I blamed myself for the gift, and I told myself that it was what I deserved.
I put that box, and all of the mail within, in a corner of my bedroom. I left it there for the last three and a half years. It has figuratively stabbed me every time I’ve planned to move it, and sometimes even when I’ve just looked at it. The hurt I experienced that Christmas lived in that box and I held on to it as some form of continual punishment. Through the years, it has collected dust and served as a place to stack quilts, peeking out to chastise me over and over.
I looked at that box today and realized it was an obstacle for where I wanted to put my shoe rack. I moved the quilts, chased the dust bunnies, and threw every piece of mail in the garbage. I broke the box down and put it in the garbage, too. That box was more than just an obstacle for my shoe rack. It was an obstacle for me to move forward. I’ve held on to that stupid box, and I’ve held on to things that weren’t meant for me to keep.
I’ve held on to all of the things that hurt me from that day and all the days that led up to me leaving. I’ve questioned myself more times than I can count. I’ve wondered what I could have done differently. I’ve held on to blame that shouldn’t have been mine to own.
My boys and I have a good relationship these days. It isn’t the same as before but I wouldn’t expect it to be the same. Life is different but, different doesn’t always equate to bad.
This year has been harder than the last three combined. I’ve seen the things that matter first hand and I can assure you that a dusty old box of mail is not one of them. Neither is holding on to guilt and blame for doing what I had to do. I love my boys and I always will, even if they give me a box of dust bunnies for every occasion. That love…that’s what matters. Let me hold on to that.
Messpot Diaries 