The Evidence Boxes
Over the last few years, I’ve done a deep dive into my own psyche. I’d love to say it began out of curiosity, but the truth is—I hit rock bottom, and I had to find my way back.
In trying to understand my mind—to piece together why I am the way I am and who I want to become—one truth became impossible to ignore: we are built from the stories we tell ourselves. Those stories are made of evidence—words we’ve heard, moments we’ve lived, and assumptions we’ve collected along the way.
The problem is, not all evidence is kind. Sometimes, the loudest stories come from criticism, from the things we believe we aren’t enough of.
As I began to recognize that in myself, I started to notice it in others too. How a person’s entire path can be shaped by a single comment—a teacher who once said they were gifted in math, or someone who offhandedly said their writing “wasn’t that good.” Tiny moments that quietly become truth.
And it made me wonder: what if we were more intentional about the stories we help each other build? What if love wasn’t just something we said in passing, but something we recorded—proof of the good that’s already there?
That’s when I started my Evidence Boxes. One for my daughter, one for my husband. Each filled with small notes—pieces of evidence of why they are extraordinary, in all the ways they might one day forget.
What Is an Evidence Box?
It’s simple: a small box that holds notecards. On each card, I write something I notice—a moment of beauty, a glimpse of their kindness, a strength that shines quietly in the background. The things that make them them.
There’s no schedule, no pressure to fill it. I just write when I see something worth remembering—something I want them to have proof of.
For my daughter, especially, I wanted to create a place she could go on the days when someone might make her feel less than. Or even on the days when she and I don’t see eye to eye. I want her to know that I see her, that I love her for who she is, and that her worth doesn’t waver.
And for my husband—because sometimes, even as adults, we forget that we’re all just kids in bigger bodies. We’re still growing into ourselves, still needing reassurance that we’re seen and valued. Often, others recognize the most magical parts of us long before we do.
It’s easy to assume that others already know what is great about them, or where they excel, but in my experience kids and adults don’t always see it. They don’t always recognize that it is special, or even that it is a characteristic that makes them, them. It takes minutes to build confidence in someone else, but they can hold onto it for a lifetime.
Why I Keep Them
Sometimes I think about the conflicts I’ve had in my life, especially the estrangement from my parents. I can’t help but wonder what might have been different if we had left behind more evidence of why we loved each other, what we appreciated about one another—rather than letting our incongruences speak the loudest.
On a larger scale, I think about how easy it is to criticize, how quickly we point out what’s wrong. What if we built each other up with the same ease? What if our default response was kindness, not comparison? What would our world look like?
I can’t control how the world speaks to itself. But I can control how I speak to the two people I interact with most. I can make sure they never have to search for evidence of why they are loved, appreciated, and enough—exactly as they are.
How to Start Your Own
If you’d like to start your own Evidence Box, here’s a link to the box and notecards I use. But truly, it’s not about the box or the cards. It could just as easily be scraps of paper tied together with a ribbon or a rubber band.
What matters most are the words—the pieces of love and truth you leave behind. I chose a box that felt sturdy and timeless, something they could keep for years. But whatever form it takes, the real gift is the evidence inside.
A Final Thought
Maybe we could all use a little box of evidence. A quiet place to gather the good—to write down what we see in each other when life gets loud or heavy. Maybe it’s for a partner, a child, a friend, or even ourselves. Because in a world that constantly reminds us of what we lack, a small box filled with reminders of love might just be what helps us remember who we really are.
