Published September 13, 2025 | By Drew D, Collectors MD Supporter

On your mark. Get set. Go!

You receive a notification on your phone that your package was delivered. But at the same time, your spouse calls to say they just parked. Your adrenaline spikes. You start to panic. Now, it’s a race to see who can get to the mailbox first. You drop everything—rush to the mailbox—grab your package—rush back inside to hide it until you can open it safely, when you’re alone. And for the finale—you put on a happy face, sit down on the couch, and act like everything is normal. Rinse and repeat.

Many of us in the hobby know that feeling all too well. What had become of this “hobby” I was participating in? The shame, guilt, hiding, and lying surrounded what I thought was supposed to be an activity that brought joy. A hobby is defined as “an activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure”. But how could I find pleasure in something that constantly brought me dread, shame, debt, and destruction?

The frantic race to the mailbox captures the anxiety so many collectors know all too well—chasing packages, hiding purchases, and pretending everything is fine when inside we’re consumed by guilt and secrecy.

Even when I recognized that racing my wife to the mailbox wasn’t normal, I couldn’t stop myself from ending up in that same position just days later. I would time out purchases carefully. If I bought from a seller in Pennsylvania on a Thursday, I knew it would likely arrive Monday or Tuesday when my wife was at workout classes until 8pm. I thought I was in the clear. But if the seller shipped late, panic would set in—I couldn’t risk my secret being discovered.

That’s what the hobby became to me—a secret. I chased rookies, bought into mystery chases, bid 10x more than I should just because the card looked better in a one-touch with a countdown clock ticking. I kept it all to myself, even when I had wins. Who could I share it with? My wife? No way. My parents? Absolutely not. So I became the “big shot” in chatrooms, finding false validation in places that didn’t care what was happening behind closed doors.

Today, I don’t feel that anxiety of racing my wife to the mailbox. I’ve stepped away completely from the hobby I once enjoyed—because now all it brings back are reminders of how I almost ruined everything. I know others can find a middle ground: collecting with intention and enjoying what brings joy without despair. But for me, that’s not my path, and I’m okay with that. Above my desk is a sticky note I read daily: “Marriage or Cardboard?” It’s my reminder of priorities moving forward. Recovery looks different for each of us, but one thing is universal—we must keep working it, one day at a time, to become better versions of ourselves.

That’s why I chose to share my story with Collectors MD—because in this community, I don’t have to carry the weight of secrecy alone, and I find solace knowing there are others walking the same road toward healing.

If you feel like you need to hide it, ask yourself this: what is the fallout—what are the consequences if it gets exposed?

#CollectorsMD
Sometimes the race we think we’re running is the one pulling us further from what matters most.

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