Steps In Recovery Through a Shoebox

On a bookshelf in my room I have a black shoebox on display. It’s covered in nostalgia with all kinds of stickers from causes I care about, and fun pictures smiling at you from every side. Inside are dozens of letters, paintings, quotes, pictures, chocolates, and a little package of coffee beans. This interesting box is a lot like my mind.

I love metaphors. If you’ve seen The Fault in Our Stars, think of when Gus puts a cigarette in between his teeth, all to tell cancer it only has power if he gives it power. (John Green). That kind of beautiful metaphor is what I’m talking about.

Expressing and processing can be done in an infinite amount of ways, and I think it should be.

I may not be nearly as poetic in my metaphor making, but it’s still therapeutic to try.

You can translate almost any idea in your head into physical symbolism. I believe we do it more than we realize. I remember feeling mentally sick before my recovery. I would use my physical appearance to show that same sickness. Thankfully, now I’m able to take similar feelings and thoughts and make them positive.

It’s like putting together my shoebox (now accepting more fitting names via the comments below). For me, having a tangible way to process my thoughts is huge.

Talking about things with a therapist or a loved one can definitely help, but taking out my shoebox is a unique and engaging way to process.

Chocolate and coffee are put in the box for anytime I want to go through it. Simply because, how could I not be happy with more chocolate and coffee in my life? Quotes are tossed in from books I’ve read and from ones I stumbled upon on my road to recovery. Many of those quotes replaced the destructive ones I drilled into my head years ago. Pictures people have painted and drawn are added to the pile too.

The most common and most valuable things I’ve accumulated are letters people have written to me. Because, wow, do words matter!

I think of it a lot like a journal. Except here, the journal is written from the perspective of someone other than myself, which is beyond refreshing. I love looking at how people write about struggles that have oftentimes shrunk. I see progress when I look through the dates on top, just like I would with my own writings. To have someone else point those things out can be helpful in broadening my perspective on those challenges.

I wish I could always believe in myself as much as the people who write these letters.

Along with people pointing out progress, in every letter, people point out the things they love about me. Unfortunately, my private writings about myself have not usually included outpourings of positive self-talk. My own writings can sometimes really show me what I’m bad at, or what I think I’m bad at.

Other people’s writings remind me that I’m loved, and I’m always loved no matter where I am on my journey. When the things I don’t like about myself are brought up, they’re brought up gently. It’s a really cool thing to be able to see that even though I could hardly stand myself, there were people in that same moment who were searching for ways to care for me.

If you’re not jumping out of your seat to adopt this idea, that’s okay.

Maybe it’s kind of weird. It works for me though. If there’s anything that helps you pause and remember and process positively, go with it. You’re not limited to only traditional ways of coping.

It’s just a silly shoe box, sure, but the metaphor of it can get me through. Every picture is a memory in my mind. Every letter is a conversation that kept me from crumbling. I fill the box with things that I want to fill my mind with. Dark chocolate, organic coffee beans, insightful quotes, and so on. All inspire a smile from me.

A quote I’ve left in the box reads “the past is a good place to visit, but certainly not a good place to stay.”

There are a lot of memories that surround that little scrap of paper. It’s good to look at the letter from my old high school friend. That letter got me through another hard day in recovery.

It’s good to remember where my illness brought me as I gave it too much power. I’ve learned countless lessons from it that change everything I do today. I know I can’t stay stuck on these memories forever, and I know it’s important for me to sometimes sort through old memories.

Still, I’ll take the advice from that scrap of paper, and not stay here too long either.

Brooke

Brooke struggled with disordered eating, depression, and self harm at a very young age. She went into recovery at fifteen in November of 2011, and continues to share and learn perspectives for healthy and happy living. Her faith in Christ is what motivated her recovery, and is what continues to motivate her to love herself and others more deeply every day. She deeply enjoys her work at a group home for individuals with a spectrum of disorders. Brooke plans to pursue a four year degree in Psychology at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. Brooke believes people (herself included) are messy, but well worth loving and caring for. Some of her interests include running, reading, listening to spoken word poetry, singing in the car and shower, and drinking coffee no matter the time of day. By writing for the Libero, Brooke aims to find another way to put her trials to good use.