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We All Have Mailbox Stories


We all have our own mailbox stories



When I was in middle school, my dad got our family in a real pinch, to say the least. He had taken to forging my mother’s name to obtain a loan against our home.


Now, as an adult, I am 100% sure my mother knew in her heart what was going on, but she chose intentional ignorance. If my mom was an emoji, she would be this one: 🤷‍♀️


She has always chosen this tactic to avoid culpability in most every unpleasant situation life brings her way. This shit-show was no exception.


But at the time, “middle school Melissa” didn’t know any better.


Everyday at 3:15pm, my father would call our home and I was to pick up. He decided I must be the one to do his bidding. I would imagine he knew I would do whatever he said. I was his favorite and he mine. He knew that and he used that.






“Did you get the mail?” he would ask.


When I would protest, he would ask me, “Do you want your mom to divorce me? You don’t want our family to break up, do you?”


And so I did what he said. I brought the mail to the phone and read the names of the return addresses to him.


My father would tell me which ones to leave and which I needed to hide in his desk.


The ones to be hidden always had a return address of a bank or attorneys office. Anything from a Capital _________, First __________ of __________, or a long string of names like ____________, ____________, and ____________ always went into the desk and away from my mother’s eyes. God forbid she was forced to face reality.


Oh course, as life works, shoving your troubles into your desk can only last so long.

Inevitably notices where posted to our door and the threat of the Sheriff’s Police arrived.

We were coughed out of our home. My mother and I were spit up into a shitty apartment with shitty carpet on the other side of town.


I went from sleeping in a princesses room with vaulted ceilings and half-moon window to sleeping on a mattress on the floor.


My mother who, “Couldn’t bear to sleep with the marital bedroom set” took my complete bedroom set I received for 8th grade graduation and I took the guilt. 🤷‍♀️


For some, their mailbox is exciting. Especially in the digital age...it’s nice to receive a letter in the mail, but not to me.



I still hate mailboxes.



Now instead of loan default notices, I receive things like dollar store cards from my ex husband's parents.


My ex is a heroin addict and deadbeat dad who hasn’t seen his children in 6 years.

His parents send empty dollar store cards to my children numerous times throughout the year.


It is important to them that my children know “Jesus loves them”.


It is important to them that I am reminded of their existence, the parents/enablers of a criminal drug addict who has warrants for his arrest.


They never want my children or me to heal and move on from that fact.


We want to forget, but they won’t have that.


I hate mailboxes.


This is exactly why the mail sits in my mailbox….every.single.day.


My husband brings it in when he gets home.


I avoid the thing that never has good news to bring. In my world, mailboxes don’t bring lovely cards from grandmother that smell of rose.


They bring 6 page long handwritten notes from my mother to tell me what a selfish little bitch I am and the like.


Fuck that, I don’t need to subject myself to mailboxes daily.


Now, I’m lucky because my husband gets the mail and he is responsible for paying our bills on time, but you can see how if this wasn’t the case I could get myself into real trouble.

This brings me to my point…….





You’ve got mailboxes too.


Maybe it’s not an actual mailbox, but there are things you avoid because they bring unpleasant feelings, fear, uncertainty, anger, sadness.


Often we don’t make the connection as to why we do what we do or DON’T do what we should. It’s not a linear thought. It took me 40 fucking years to figure out why the mail sits in that box each day.


We are hurting in ways we don’t even realize because that hurt has always been there and we know no different.


Yes weight loss is about what you eat and how you move your body, but it is so much more than that.


You basically know that you could eat a salad instead of a ½ of a pizza, but you don’t.


You basically know that you should get in 10,000 steps a day, but you come home and plop yourself on the couch.


You basically know all the things you should be doing (within reason) to better your #currentsituation, but you don’t.


Because of Your Mailbox.




And so I have a little task for you if you choose to accept it….


I want you to write down everything you want, everything that would make you utterly pleased with your life.


Write several pages. Take your time. Have a glass of wine. This isn’t a race. You can’t rush this process.


THEN, I want you to answer the following….


“In what ways might I block myself from receiving these things?”


Write until you can’t write anymore.


The things you want to write, but you stop yourself, WRITE THEM ANYWAYS. Those thoughts are the most important to get down. Those thoughts are the ones that are keeping you the most stuck.



BOTTOM LINE:


We don’t need to dwell on our past and we must certainly should get the fuck out of victim mode. But there is so much power in knowing why we do what we do or don’t do and how that has stood in our way from getting what we totally fucking deserve out of our lives.


You get to decide. You get to decide if life is happening to you or for you. You get to decide if you want to move forward despite everything or if you want to replay that bullshit story on a feedback loop. Either way, it’s a decision and YOU HAVE THE POWER to make it.


XO,

Melissa



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