I’m pondering two statements that I have made in the past couple of days.
I don’t add any value.
I’m afraid I’m going to lose my friends.
Both of these were in regards to taking a step back from the fitness portion of my life.
Both are…legitimate fears…while simultaneously…completely asinine.
I’m going to address the second first. The friends that I’ve already lost since all of this started…they didn’t run until I pulled inwards. They never told me that I have nothing to offer and I was worthless to them…but I was afraid that they would have no use for me if I couldn’t do the things we’d always done…so I pulled in…and they eventually gave up. THAT is why I’m afraid I will lose people.
When I feel like I have nothing to offer I remove myself from the equation before I can be removed. Because I legitimately do not know why anyone would want to be around me if I have nothing to offer other than…me.
When I said that I don’t add any value…same thing. If I can’t do the things I’ve done…if I can’t shoulder the world and take care of everyone and everything…then what value is there to anyone to have me around?
And that’s what I’m struggling with.
I feel so disconnected from the world sometimes because I know that I’m different. I know that I’m easy to walk away from. I find connection through shared experiences, beliefs, and interests.
And when I lose the ability to be a part of that…
When I feel like I have nothing to offer…
I feel useless to my people…and, quite often, I hurt them because I’m believing that they can’t love me anymore so I pull in.
I need to learn how to show people I still love them even when I’m afraid that they can no longer love me.
Because, no matter what, love is something I can offer and is value added.
This was in my memories this morning at a rather ironic moment in time. I’ve been railing against God’s plan and begging Him to let MY will be done…to let me have the path that I want to follow instead of the one that He has for me. For someone who has so much faith, I’ve been refusing to have faith that He knows what’s better for me than I do.
So…the more I kept pushing to keep the life I’m used to, the more He pushed to show me why I can’t. Culminating in me seriously pushing my heart way too far yesterday morning and chest pains that almost sent me to the hospital. Ok, God. I hear you. I’m going to kill myself if I don’t listen. Soooo…I decided to take a step back (for now) from my beloved FiA. No more runs with my friends. One beatdown per week (because my AO is my baby). No putting myself into situations where my stubborn ass won’t slow down.
Because that’s the heart of it all…I don’t know how to NOT push and slow down…and I’m afraid of what I will lose if I do. Will I lose friends? Will I lose respect? Will I lose self love? I don’t know. And that terrifies me. But, God needs me to slow down…and He needs me to take those risks and have faith in His path. So…I’m trying. In ways that terrify me. And in the biggest way that I feel like I could lose almost everything I love about my life.
Ok, God. Your will be done. Let’s see what you’ve had in mind.
Blog Preface: If you’re wondering why I’m comparing myself to a cell phone, go back one blog.
Blog Preface Part Duh: I have the cardiologist’s permission to do these things. Carefully. So no yelling at the cell phone.
Today I did my first “long” run for a new half marathon training program. The first time that I have set realistic goals for finishing a race with a faulty power source.
So…I did my little 10 minute warmup of walking. Then 2 miles of run/walk (as per good ol’ Coach Jeff’s instructions)…which was an entirely humbling experience. Where I used to knock out 2 miles EASILY in under 18 minutes…today…not so much. Instead it was approximately 24 minutes…where I watched my heart rate instead of my time…and tried to stay off the 🎵Highway to the danger zone🎵…
It was a little painful to see my time…but I did it.
And then during cool down, I started to think.
Sheri v8.8. We talked about this. Reinventing myself. Upgrading my features. Streamlining my capabilities. Finding my target market who will feel lucky to own the cell phone that is me…
Sheri v8.8 is still a little hung up on losing some of her old features.
Sheri v8.8 looks at 12 minute miles and thinks, “No one is going to be impressed with my performance and speed. Watch out Best Buy, here come the returns…”.
But then I started thinking. Last year I did things that I never thought would be possible. Even in all my stubborn glory, NEVER thought possible. I ran more half marathons than I can count. I ran one of them with bleach poisoning and still had my record time of just minutes over 2 hours. I medaled in my age range in a 5k. I made full grown, fit men consider me a real competitor …someone to keep up with (mileage wise, not speed. Lol).
Sheri v8.8 can’t do those things.
But Sheri v7.9…she’d be over the moon to know that any version of Sheri got to do those things even once. I did things other people may never do. I did them well. And it’s ok that I can’t do them now.
So…as I was thinking all of these things…I was thinking more on the cell phone analogy.
I’m a little like an Android…in that if you trust me too much I’ll wind up saying the wrong thing because my autocorrect ducking sucks…but NO version of me has ever (literally) caught fire. I’m a little bit like an iPhone….in that my internal Siri thinks you want my input even when you really never asked for it…but I won’t shatter just because you looked at me wrong.. But, mostly…
I’m A LOT like a Nokia. You can drop me. You can shake me. You can put me in the back of the closet for 5 years and forget I exist (but please don’t). You can probably even toss me in the toilet and flush (…also, please don’t…).
I’m still going to work.
I will not break.
I will still fit in your pocket and make it look like you’re happy to see the world.
I do my best thinking when I’m walking or running. Today was no different. Today’s mental topic: Finding a new normal.
So…here’s the basis of the conclusion I came to:
If recreating yourself was a sport, I’d have the Olympic Gold. I am AMAZING at reinventing myself.
10 years old, world crashes. Time to make a new Sheri.
20 years old, more family crap, need to start over. Sheri 3.0 is born.
22 years old…Lyme Disease crashes world…that’s ok, just a bug (pun intended)…Sheri 3.5 released!
24 years old, get married. New, improved Married Sheri v4.1.
27. Sheri 4.4, with new Momming functionality.
31. Sheri 5.1. Now upgraded to function without former app support.
38. Uhoh. Our current version of Sheri caught on fire…let’s make a few adjustments and…Sheri 6.1. Done.
Like I said. I’m damned good at this. Every time a new version or Sheri is released it is better than the last.
Sheri 8.0 was my favorite iteration so far. I didn’t think any other upgrades would be necessary, but…as the world changes so do necessary specifications…and bugs will happen.
So, Sheri 8.0s power source started to fail. Electrical issues caused malfunctions and previously possible capabilities became unusable.
First instinct: Throw it away. It’s a pile of crap. It’ll never work right again. Just tell everyone to switch brands. Sheri is done.
Reality: Sheri v8.8 is now available for download. With increased knowledge capabilities, self learning adjustments, and a revised power block. Sheri v8.8 still comes with the signature “That’s What She Said” app built in, the “I Won’t Give Up” native language and a whole bunch of other bells and whistles that make her sound less technologically challenged than she really is. Sheri v8.8 can still pull all of this out of her (rather epic) ass and be the best in the market in new ways that no one ever expected.
Some consumers may find Sheri v8.8 to be a little slower and clunkier. Some may find her to be a little less than they wish for…they may choose to find a new brand..
But for those who stick with the Sheri brand…they are going to find that Sheri v8.8 is only an improvement and is capable of more than even the company knows is possible.
So…who’s in to Beta test? Because I think I’m going to be pretty proud of this new version.
I just had to have this conversation with yet another adult, so I’m writing about it now. The “Bad”, “Annoying”, “Irritating”, <insert other adjectives here> child.
We’ve all met those kids…the ones that always seem to be causing a little more trouble…being a little more rambunctious…crying more…whining more…arguing more…hiding more…whatever it is about them that makes you say, “Ugh. I hate being around that child.”
“I hate that kid.”
“That kid is so annoying.”
“That kid drives me insane.”
“That kid is a brat.”
“That kid is bad.”
“That…kid…”
Operative word here.
KID. CHILD. INNOCENT.
You guys…I don’t believe in bad seeds. Yes, there is nature playing a part in who all of us are. But, the main culprit in a child being “bad” is nurture.
Now, let me clarify something here… this is NOT a “spare the rod, spoil the child” thing. This is about children who hurt…for whatever reason…and act out because of it.
Maybe they’re grieving. A death…a loss…a divorce…
Maybe they’re scared. Of losing people…of someone who has hurt them…of being unloved…
Maybe they’re confused. Too many adult situations causing emotions that their brains can’t process.
So…these bad feelings come out as “acting out”.
They cry. They yell. They have outbursts. They cling. They talk too much. They don’t talk at all.
They are REACTING to emotions that they don’t know how to carry and they don’t know who to turn to.
They can’t turn to whomever has caused these feelings. They can’t turn to other adults who may tell on them. Often, even if they could, they wouldn’t know how to say what they’re feeling anyway.
And now…these other adults who have labeled them as “a problem child” are also unsafe.
Seriously, many of my friends have seen me get upset when I hear an adult do this. Because…what if…instead of labeling that child as a problem…YOU decided to be the one who didn’t?
What if you talked to them?
What if you joked and had fun with them?
What if you made them feel special and loved and seen?
What if…by doing those things…YOU were the one who gave them a safe place where they could learn better behaviors and talk?
What if you saved them instead of being another nail in the coffin of their emotional safety?
You might find the most amazing kid under that “bad” or “annoying” shell…
The one who is just waiting for someone to see them and care.
I know…I know…you’re wearing your shocked faces right now. “*gasp* No way! Not Sheri! She seems so easy on herself…chill and unmotivated!!”
Oh…wait…none of you are doing that? Hmph.
Ok, fine. No one is surprised by this.
I am an all or…well…all person. I never shy away from challenges and will try anything, but if I’m going to do it…I am going to try to be AWESOME at it! I don’t want to be an ok runner, I want to hit PRs every day! I don’t want to be a meh writer, I want my words to change the world!!
And then…there’s school…Lord, have I pushed myself with school. I wasn’t just going to go back…I was going to go back and get two degrees and graduate with honors!! I was going to be the best student in the history of students!!! None of this, “Cs get degrees” bullshit! A is for AWESOME!!! That only got worse when people started making a fuss. “You’re famous at KSU.”, “You’re an unstoppable force.” “I have faith that you’ll NEVER lose momentum!”, “You make us proud”. <~~~~~~ Add all of that in and…well…I became obsessed. It didn’t matter what else was happening, I HAD to get those As. I HAD to be perfect!!
And then…suddenly…right as the end was in sight…things changed. I faced my first challenge where it was literally going to make me sick to try to keep that up. A challenge where I can’t go on 3 hours of sleep after studying all night. A challenge where there are days I can’t focus on the piles of schoolwork in front of me.
Suddenly…I was getting Bs in a class. Consistently.
Suddenly…honestly…I didn’t care.
I am 42 years old…a single mom…working full time…going to school full time…amongst other goals…and I’m sick.
I can’t be perfect.
But I can be good enough.
If I get Bs in every class, I will still now graduate magna cum laude. Maybe I won’t get some congratulatory letter from the school. But I’ll still get my degrees. Maybe I’ll have a 3.7 GPA instead of 3.8. Big deal. No one is ever going to as me what my GPA was.
Perfection…is exhausting.
Excellence is “that quality of being outstanding or extremely good”. Excellence does not mean perfection.
Mediocrity will never be my jam…Excellence will now be my goal…but, most likely…
Blog Preface: My jokes are meant to be lighthearted fun. Not jabs at anyone in particular.
There are so many ways that I want to start this. So, I’m going to outline a few key points and then we’ll jump right in.
I can breathe again and I’m ready to rejoin the world a little more.
I’M NOT CRAZY!!!
These are not the droids you’re looking for.
Validation matters
Most people aren’t insane (in a bad way)
The outside can be beautiful
Therapy is cool, y’all
Now, let’s jump in.
I have been in an anxiety spiral. Duh. No crap. But here is the thing that I’ve realized. My anxiety isn’t unfounded.
We all joke about “Fake News!!!” now. Whether you liked or hated Trump, that became a household joke. Here’s the thing…
A lot of people you know are saying, “Fake News!!!” to you. Some of us, because of our pasts, are more susceptible to being derailed by that.
“What the hell are you talking about, Sheri???” Let me explain.
How many times have you had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right and someone told you that you were imagining things?
How many people have you met who gave you a bad vibe and you were told that you just didn’t know them?
How many times have you been hurting or sad or upset and a TRULY well meaning friend replied with, “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true…”?
How many times has a man said, “Are you on your period or something? You shouldn’t be upset like this.”?
Fake News.
Your feelings…intuition… beliefs…perceptions…are inaccurate.
Most people don’t do this out of a hope to hurt you. In fact, they often do it to try to help. (Psssssstttttt Don’t do that.)
Now, on the EXTREME of this is gaslighting. Which some of us lived in for so much of out lives that it shaped us.
What’s gaslighting?
“When this happened it hurt me.” “That never happened, you’re crazy.”
“When I met this person they made me feel like this.” “Stop causing problems.”
“Please stop hurting me.” “I only hurt you because you deserve it.”
“Abuse isn’t ok.” “Why do you insist on hurting me? You’re so selfish.”
“I’m scared.” “Stop crying. You’re fine.”
Gaslighting is the extreme…it can start slowly…it builds up.. it MALICIOUSLY AND PURPOSELY destroys your belief in yourself, your perceptions, your intuition, your worth…it leaves you an empty shell accepting abuse because you’re the one who’s crazy.
Now…imagine that has been your reality at some time in your life. Imagine that well meaning people now tell you things like: “I’m sure that’s in your head.”, “You just don’t understand.”, “Awwww…I don’t think that’s true…”, “You’re just anxious.”, “Are you seeing a counselor?”, “Are you taking anything for your anxiety?”
Well meaning…they want to help by handing you an instant fix of, “You’re fine.” But you hear, “Fake news.” You’re nuts. You’re too sensitive. You’re wrong. Your intuition and feelings can’t be trusted.
You are the problem.
And so begins the outright anxiety spiral. Not because those people don’t care…but because they unknowingly hit this trigger that sent you back to your abuser(s) and you began to doubt your own reality.
That’s where I’ve been. Spiraling in this mass of, “Crap. I’m crazy. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. Everyone thinks I’m too sensitive. I’m the problem.”
No. I’m not. I am a survivor of a trauma through no fault of my own.
And there lies the rest of the issue.
I’ve always said that there is no trauma that is worse than another. The most traumatic thing that has happened to you is the most traumatic thing that has happened to you.
But there are traumas that people understand and those that they can’t grasp.
If a woman has been abused, she is supported by her community and told how strong she really is.
Your parents were alcoholics that hurt you? Oh, honey…you’re amazing and strong and I’ve seen this before and I understand.
You lost a loved one? I. Am. Here. For. You. I’ve been there and I will support you.
“I was kidnapped, have psychotic family members who have continuously abused me, sometimes fear for mine and my daughter’s safety, and got two chronic illnesses on top of it. And I’m scared.” Jeez….Drama queen much? No one has that much go wrong. All parents love their kids. You’re an attention seeker and a drama queen.
Oh.
So…you watch from the outside as “everyone” (it’s never everyone, but it feels like it) is supported and loved and understood. And you see more and more that…because of a trauma that you had ZERO control over…you’re still being punished because no one can grasp the reality.
According to my counselor that is one of the biggest issues that trauma survivors face. They face a world where people want them to be vulnerable, but then are uncomfortable with the reality and the way the person handles it. And the trauma continues.
So, then we come to validation. People act like wanting validation is a weakness. Let me quote what my therapist wrote to me. “You need and deserve validation. We all do. Feeling validated is how we develop and learn to trust, and how we come to feel safe and secure within our relationships. Validation is simply the verbal expression of accepting someone’s experiences as their reality, and this is something that I do wish was much more commonly taught and understood. It’s so easy to tell someone, “I hear you, and I am validating your perception and your experience.” “
Wanting validation isn’t weakness. It is HOW WE LEARN TO TRUST.
So, then we come to the parts I needed to hear.
First of all, apparently I am actually incredibly emotionally healthy and have already done a lot of the work. *pats self on back* Not to say, I’m not nuts. We all are. But I understand my faults and strengths, I understand why I do things, I continuously work to do better. And normally I know that this is true. I have done the work. But…I have triggers that send me back to the past…and they’re not going away because PTSD doesn’t just go away. I have to learn to manage, not only my reactions to triggers, but my proximity to them.
Second, as my friend Cassie has told me many times, “Those are not your people.” Some people don’t like me. Some people will never understand me. Some people feel however it is that they feel about me. And that is their right. But those are not my people. My people love me. My people accept me. My people embrace me and make me feel safe. Even when I push away, they love me and won’t leave.
Those are the droids I’m looking for.
And, lastly, in what has apparently impressed my therapist more than anything…
She actually first suggested that I cut ties with groups of people who make me feel unacceptable…and unaccepted. Be happy with my small group of deep connections and walk away from everything else. I told her I can’t do that. Because sometimes someone who can’t understand today, gets hit with something where they’re going to need you and understand you tomorrow. Because just because they can’t understand you, they’re not bad people…they’re just bad for you. And because…if I walk away because I’m not understood or accepted because of the life I’ve led and who I am…what happens when someone else like me comes along and I would have been the one who could have made the difference for them if I hadn’t left.
Apparently, that’s like the epitome of emotional healthiness. *cabbage patch dance* To look to the future and know your presence may matter then and to try to find ways to diminish your exposure to things that are unhealthy for you.
Now…how do I do that? How do I suddenly miraculously stop caring how people feel about me? No idea. That’s why I pay for therapy.
But…back to the beginning…knowing that I’m not imagining these things…that my intuition is right…that my feelings are valid…has made all the difference in the world.
Seriously. I learned something in a science class a few years ago. Penguins LOOK very social. You always see pictures of tons of penguins hanging out all in one place. However, if you go to an aerial view…They don’t touch.. They’re all keeping their personal space.
I literally sat in that class and said, “Holy shit…I’m a penguin”.
I have moments when I LOOK really social…it may look like I’m surrounded by other penguins…but I have to keep that space.
Anyway, the point of this. Yesterday I tried to be a little more social. I reactivated Facebook…to resume my Penguin self and at least look social.
But, apparently, I am the anxious penguin.
I couldn’t do it.
I sat amongst the other penguins…I watched…
I saw happy penguins with their penguin families.
I saw angry penguins fighting their injustices.
I saw penguins who think I’m not penguin enough…penguins who think I’m the wrong kind of penguin…penguins who would rather stand near other penguins than me.
I took in all of the other penguins…and still felt like I don’t fit in…even amongst the other penguins that appear to be just like me.
Was it real? Probably not. Most of the penguins probably didn’t even see me. As they lived their penguin lives, pretending to be social while keeping their social media personal space, they probably didn’t see the added little penguin chilling down the iceberg…watching…
But it felt real. It felt overwhelming. It felt like I, the anxious penguin, can’t fit. Ever.
So I took my penguin ass home and deactivated the social media again.
But I tried. And it’s not the last time I’ll try. I will try again. To fit amongst the rest of my penguin world.
So, we’re going to play a little game called, “Sheri is probably about to find out REAL fast which ones of her friends are reading her blog…”. (You guys…don’t shoot me…it’s a good thing…and I promise that I’m not getting back with the Sponge…)
I did a thing today.
I’ve been harboring A LOT of anger lately. As in…most people would be surprised by how much anger this tiny little body can hold. Which sucks, because I HATE the way anger makes me feel and I tend to avoid it at all costs. But, lately…it’s been eating me alive.
Not anger at one thing in particular. Just anger.
But, anyone who knows me well knows that a good chunk of my anger usually involves my ex that we call Voldemort or SpongeBob.
This morning I woke up to an email from the weight room under the sea (aka SpongeBob). He had been vacillating about sending it for months apparently…but he wanted me to have his son’s senior portraits because he knew how much I loved his son.
I saw the email and felt the usual anger. But…I really did want to see the pics…and I couldn’t figure out how to open them. So I emailed him back asking what program to use.
We started talking. And I realized something in all of the words that he shared.
As much as I had anger towards him for what he did during our relationship…he had more anger towards himself. He lost his best friend by his own actions. That really has to suck to know.
So…I told him I forgive him. I told him I don’t want him to hate himself. I told him I’ll always have love for my best friend, Bruce Banner….it’s just “the other guy” that I swear when I think of. I told him to let that other guy go…but also to let that anger go.
I told him the truth about the reasons I had hated him. Not because of what he did with the cheating…but because of the gaslighting and convincing me that I was crazy and the one to blame. I didn’t hate him for what he had done, but I had hated him for me losing myself and me becoming a person who let him tear me down.
And in that moment of trying to make him feel better…because I realized that some people seek forgiveness when they are ill…and some seek to forgive…
I realized that I was also forgiving myself.
I forgive myself for being weak.
I forgive myself for losing me.
I forgive myself for forgetting that love is wonderful, but you can’t love someone else so much that you stop loving yourself.
I forgive myself for the past 6 years…the years where he hurt me…and the later years where I continued to hurt and punish myself for what had happened.
I forgive me.
And, as freeing, as that feels…it makes me realize that there are other circumstances I need to forgive myself for. They aren’t people that I can let near enough to me to talk to them…and I don’t have to condone what they did…ever…but I can forgive myself.
I can forgive myself for holding onto pain.
I can forgive myself for being too small and weak to save myself in those moments.
I can forgive myself for trusting others with my heart who didn’t deserve that honor.
So, lately this has become my diary more than a blog to be shared. Which is fine. It’s nice that some people still choose to read it…I don’t know who you are, but I appreciate knowing that I’m not totally alone.
But…I wanted this blog to be fun…funny…sometimes serious, but in a good way.
Instead, it may be saving my life.
I have so very, very many words in my head right now. But none that I seem to be able to share individually. They only come out when I write for me.
I miss…well…Me. I miss happy me. I miss the me that believed I was strong. I miss the me that believed that people wanted her around. I miss the me who lifted people up.
I miss knowing that people wanted me around. I miss feeling included. I miss knowing that if there was going to be friends getting together, I would OBVIOUSLY be one of those people. I miss the times when, if I was going to be somewhere, I knew that other people would want to be there, too.
I miss being able to leave my house without feeling panic.
I miss feeling even halfway cute and like anyone could want me.
I miss sleeping without waking up remembering the nightmares from the night before.
I miss feeling hope.
I miss me.
And, in the process of missing ME…the middle of feeling so broken…I’m trying to still be there for others who feel broken…but sometimes I don’t have the words for them…which makes me feel MORE broken because I ALWAYS have the words to help other people.
The new therapist says that I’m going through an all new trauma in the past 8 months. She says that anyone would consider the deluge of events to be traumatic. But she also says that my original trauma is making it harder to process this trauma…which is why she’s making me go through the old trauma…step by step. Which hurts. Writing down every aspect. In steps. It’s all in the forefront of my mind now. All at once. And I know there’s a purpose, but I’m finding it hard to dig out of.
I’m finding it hard to find me, to remember who I am, under the pile of the memories of the people who told me I’m nothing.
*Jazz Hands* Mom 