Letter 12 • The Weight She Chose to Carry
Postage stamps conceal more words than one might think. They hold pieces of people’s lives—hopes folded thin, disappointments pressed flat, promises sealed tight.
And if there is one lesson my years of delivering letters have taught me, it is that people are rarely short on words. So you can imagine the things said aloud, and the things murmured behind my back, when I stepped into the vacant postal carrier position.
“It’s not a job for women”.
“There are no female carriers for a reason”.
Yet what I’ve been told—and come to know as truth—is that what’s truly important is often found between the lines. And between all those lines of doubt, I saw something unmistakable: if this town, and even my own husband, believed I was unfit for a role I was perfectly qualified for… then perhaps I was far more capable than they were ready to admit. I intended to prove as much.
As someone who often found answers in books, I knew before my first delivery that carrying the mail would never be only about letters. At most doorsteps, I found I was delivering something far more delicate—hope, possibility, and on certain days even a quiet form of courage tucked between envelopes and brown-paper packages.
This outlander—as they insisted on calling me—buttoned up her blue, red-collared cloak each morning, placed the Royal Post Office cap firmly on her head, slipped on black pumps, and lifted the leather mailbag over her shoulder. That was my armor. My ritual. My promise.
And about those postage stamps I mentioned earlier—there is more to that story. Because one thing is certain: a woman who cares for her community will tend to it as if it were her own child.
If someone struggled to read a letter, I stayed until every word made sense.
If someone needed help replying, I guided their hand or wrote the words they could not.
And if someone needed to send a quiet message through discreet means… well, I often knew how to see that done.
Of course, life between deliveries carried messages of its own. Some were kind, others sharp. Once, my boss scolded me for arriving with bare legs.
“You represent the Royal Post Office. You can’t go around with bare legs like your mama made you.’
So, I said, “How about this,” as I slipped letters into my bag, “‘I promise to put them back on as long as you wear them, too.’”
And that, dear stranger, is how I lived—never expecting of anyone what I would not expect of myself.
Years later, when my son proudly bought me a telephone for Christmas—a hideous black Bakelite contraption with its dial and receiver—I had to be instructed like a schoolgirl. “Don’t say ‘Who is it?’ Say ‘Hello,’” he told me.
I don’t know who decided that, but that’s how it’s done.
Looking back, I suppose that Christmas gift was its own kind of message — a reminder that even after all the routes I’d walked, there were still greetings left to learn, still connections waiting to be made. Strange, isn’t it? A woman who delivered half the town’s words had to relearn how to speak her own. But that is the way of life: between the losses, the letters, and the learning, it keeps handing us reasons to open up again.
Anna Allavena
Mrs. Letter Carrier
This letter was inspired by the book The Letter Carrier by Francesca Giannone
A few lines slipped directly from its pages:
Postage stamps conceal more words than one might think
It’s not a job for women
There are no female carriers for a reason
What’s truly important is often found between the lines
…often found answers in books
Outlander…buttoned up her blue, red-collared cloak each morning, placed the Royal Post Office cap firmly on her head, slipped on black pumps, and lifted the leather mailbag over her shoulder
You represent the Royal Post Office. You can’t go around with bare legs like your mama made you.’” I said, “‘How about this,’” as I slipped letters into my bag, “‘I promise to put them back on as long as you wear them, too.’
…a hideous black Bakelite contraption with its dial and receiver…
“Don’t say ‘Who is it?’ Say ‘Hello,’” he told me. I don’t know who decided that, but that’s how it’s done
Short Content Brew
Consider this one a hand-delivered letter — the kind slipped beneath a door when you least expect it. It’s funny in places, shocking in others, and threaded with the quiet comfort of someone who refuses to shrink just because a town thinks she should.
Anna arrived in this little Italian village knowing exactly who she was, and she had no plans to let her husband, her in-laws, or the whispering townspeople convince her otherwise. She became their first female letter carrier… and then, somehow, the person who carried far more than mail. Hope. Secrets. Possibility. The truth that life could be different.
The Cup We’d Share
Imagine sitting for a moment with Anna — the outlander who never lost her footing, even when the ground beneath her shifted. The Authenticitea Barista (a quiet admirer of women who rewrite traditions simply by showing up as themselves) would pour something steady, spirited, and subtly bold.
A blend for those who’ve been underestimated, dismissed, or told their dreams were “not a job for women.” A cup for anyone who has ever walked into a room knowing others were whispering — and kept walking anyway.
A brew for those who deliver more than they’re given credit for.
A brew for the ones who know exactly who they are… and choose to stay that way.
A Sip of Steadfast Courage
Tea Blend: Black Tea + Rosemary + Bergamot
Mood Pairing: For the moments when you stand tall in a place that expects you to bow.
Flavor Note: Bright, strong, and lightly herbal — a cup that carries conviction without shouting.
Reflection: Where in your life have you kept moving forward, even while others doubted your path — and what did that persistence reveal about you?
Why This Letter
I chose this letter because I’ve always loved an underdog story — especially one where a woman steps into a role the world insists she shouldn’t have. And maybe this one felt a little personal, too. My dad retired from the Postal Service, and on the rare days I got to tag along for Take Your Daughter to Work Day, I don’t remember seeing many female carriers. Maybe a handful. Maybe less.
So when I met Anna, the first female letter carrier in her tiny Italian town, something in her story tugged at my own memories. It brought me back to childhood — to mailrooms, sorting bins, and the hum of a job built on routine and responsibility. It also reminded me of this time of year, when packages pile up, weather turns unpredictable, and postal workers still show up at every doorstep.
There’s a nostalgia in this story, too — for good, old-fashioned letters in the mail. For the quiet power of someone who delivers more than what fits inside an envelope.
Anna’s determination to do her job well, to go above and beyond the call of duty, and to remain entirely herself in a town that wished she’d shrink… that’s what inspired me to slip this letter your way.
There’s so much more in the book that kept me turning pages, but today I just wanted to introduce you to a small but mighty piece of it — a glimpse of a woman who refused to be anything less than exactly who she was.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today. Thanks for reading — until the next letter.
P.S. If this letter made you smile or feel seen, feel free to forward it to someone who might need the same sip today.
