In the darkest corners of my mind are boxes. Boxes and boxes and boxes. They are carefully labeled and sorted and well-organized because sometimes it's a good idea to take out one of those boxes and dance with the emotions it holds. Most of the time, though, those boxes are best left alone.
There is a box that holds the sadness left from a childhood filled with neglect. There's no sense in waltzing with that box. There is nothing that can be done to change it. Just move forward. Acknowledge that it's there, but leave the box alone.
Another box holds a calamity of thoughts and feelings about various people who have failed me. An Aunt and Uncle who didn't intervene, grandparents who intervened too much, cousins who judged and found me inadequate, they all get lumped together and left in a box labeled "Not Worth My Time." They aren't, you know. Blood may be thicker than water, but sometimes bloodlines deserve to be severed with an chainsaw.
When something happens, I ponder and wallow and think but then I pack it all up and shove it in a box. It's a healthy habit, I swear. That jerk that nearly rear-ended me because he was too busy texting but then flipped me off as if it was all my fault? The anger from that encounter went into a box and was left there. There is no sense in carrying that anger around because then it can leak into the good things that are meant to be carried around everywhere. There is no sense in carrying any negative emotions around.
I choose to live a joy-filled life. Joy is contagious. Joy pays you back in dividends.
Everything else goes in a box and gets tucked away until the time is right for dealing with it.
But sometimes something happens and one of those boxes comes crashing out of its place, its contents spilling all over my purposely joy-filled life.
It took a while to pack up the anger and sadness left over from the miscarriage. I walked around for weeks mentally chewing women out for having the audacity to be pregnant or the nerve to be fertile enough to have five kids or whatever. It wasn't their fault they were dealt a different hand of cards and I knew it, but I needed to work through all of that anger. Eventually I managed to pack up that anger and shove it to the back of that mental closet, but I forgot to duct tape the box closed.
A completely expected announcement threw that box open a few weeks ago. I knew the announcement was coming and am truly happy for the couple, but none of that stops the gut punch that comes from having the contents of that box scattered all over my intentionally joy-filled life.
Some people have commented that it seems things are better. They aren't. At all. I'm fighting like hell to shove all of that stuff into the boxes where it belongs. As I wage that battle, I choose to focus on the things that are worth my time.
It's intentional joy. It doesn't come easy, but it's worth fighting for.
