I was 16 years old and found myself in my room packing the final boxes for a move I didn’t want to make. My parents were divorcing. My dad decided he wanted a new life, one that didn’t include my siblings, my mom, or me. As we moved into a much smaller house, we unpacked most of those boxes, but there was one I refused to unpack. In this box, there was an assortment of anger, hurt, rage and unforgiveness. This box, while small, was heavy. And for the next 20 years, this box came with me to every new house or town I moved to.
