Hey everyone, I’ve never really posted something like this before, but I felt this overwhelming need to share a piece of my heart. It feels like I’ve been living in a fog, and just recently, I’ve found a thread of clarity that’s unraveling a truth I didn’t know I was hiding from myself.
It all started with an old, dusty shoebox. Last weekend, while rummaging through the attic to find my childhood baseball glove for my nephew, I stumbled across it. I hadn’t seen it in years. Its faded pink sides were covered in doodles of stars and hearts, remnants of my teenage years.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I sat down amidst the cobwebs and the scent of mothballs and opened it. Inside, I found a collection of letters, photographs, and random keepsakes. I was immediately transported back to high school, a time I had tucked away and almost forgotten.
At the very bottom of the box, under layers of memories, was a small notebook. Its pages were yellowed with age, and the spine was creased and fragile. I recognized my handwriting immediately. My teenage self had written poetry, and there it was, every crush, every heartbreak, every joy penned in shaky script.
And there, tucked between two pages, was an old ticket stub from a local play. It was for a production of ‘Our Town.’ Seeing it brought back a flood of memories. But more than that, it reminded me of someone… Nathan.
Nathan was in the play, I remembered now. He was the lead, and I had been there, hidden in the back row, my heart pounding for reasons I didn’t understand then. We were friends, close friends, best friends, really. We spent countless hours together, laughing, dreaming, and sharing secrets.
A soft gasp escaped me as I realized the truth that had been lying dormant for all these years. I had loved him. Not with the simple affection of friendship, but with the deep, unrecognized yearning that was silent yet all-encompassing.
As teenagers, our paths diverged. He moved away, and we drifted apart, as friends sometimes do. Life carried us in different directions, and I never allowed myself to process what Nathan had meant to me. I had locked it away in the attic of my mind, along with the shoebox.
I spent the rest of that evening reading through my notebook, reliving those moments with a clarity that was both beautiful and painful. Each poem, each line spoke of feelings I couldn’t name back then but understood perfectly now.
I realized how much I had hidden from myself, how I had masked my own emotions, perhaps from fear or perhaps because I simply hadn’t been ready to face them.
In the days that followed, I reached out to Nathan. I found him on social media—he was living in Boston, working as a theater director. It seemed so fitting, so right. I sent him a message, just a simple ‘Hi, it’s been a while.’
He replied almost immediately, and before long, we were exchanging stories, catching up on years apart. I didn’t tell him about my revelation. I wasn’t ready, and maybe it wasn’t necessary. But knowing myself better was enough.
This whole experience, as unexpected as it was, has been cathartic. I’m learning to embrace my truths, to let go of what I once hid even from myself. It’s a process, but it feels like a new beginning.
So, why am I sharing this? I suppose it’s a reminder to treasure those hidden parts of ourselves, to not be afraid of discovering our truths, no matter how long it takes. If you have a dusty shoebox in your attic, literal or metaphorical, don’t be afraid to open it.
Thanks for reading. I know it’s long, but I needed to tell someone, and somehow, this felt right. Let’s all be a little braver, a little more honest with ourselves and the people we love.