*Jazz Hands* Mom

Admit it. You have a favorite number. Even if you don’t realize it, you do. I don’t know why, but we all do. A favorite number and an unlucky number.

My favorite number is 8.

Most people will never even notice, but I tend to use 8s every chance I get. It makes me happy. Why? Well, as usual with me, there’s a story. See, what had happened was..

My dad and his friends are…weird. I know. I know. You’re shocked that a weird person created this glorious fount of normalcy that you’re so used to. Crazy, right? But…anyways…one game that my dad’s best friend played for awhile was that he would assign everyone numbers based on their personalities. Couldn’t tell you what anyone else’s was, but mine has stuck with me since the day dumbass 12 year old Sheri asked, “Ooooh! What’s my number?!” He immediately responded.

8

“8? Why 8?”

“Because if you turn it on its side its infinity. And, just like you, it goes around and around and around and never changes.”

I was only a kid, but I was pretty sure that I should have felt insulted in that moment. I CHANGE, DANGIT!!!

You know what I’ve realized as I got older? No. I don’t.

I grow. Constantly. It is a life goal of mine to find ways every day to be better…do better…than the day before. I don’t like being stagnant.

But I don’t change.

No matter how much I sometimes wish I could.

I wish I could be harder, but I’m tender hearted. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be less obsessive, but I live for rabbitholes to fall down. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be less outspoken, but I’m passionate. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be quieter, but the more I care the louder I am. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be more outgoing, but people make me anxious. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be more girly, but I’m a 12 year old boy at heart. That doesn’t change.

I grow…but who I am…it doesn’t change.

Lately I’m thinking a lot on this. Some people have questioned my recent social media hiatus. This…is the main reason…I’m trying to give my big ol’ 8 self time to truly heal. You see…

There’s a cycle in my life. I meet people. They think this person I am is great. Then they realize I am ALWAYS this person. That I don’t become more like them…that I’m not hiding parts of me that will make me feel safer and like I fit in their box…This personality…doesn’t turn off. They leave.

Generally it doesn’t affect me much. That sounds terrible, but when you had my childhood…you don’t expect anyone to stay…you don’t expect that they can love who you are long term. As usual, not a pity party. And not always true. But it doesn’t hurt when they leave because a part of you always knew they would.

There are one offs of people in my world who love every bit of me. And I cherish them more than they know. I still get scared sometimes.

But a few years ago I made a mistake. I ventured out of my shell and tackled those deeply ingrained beliefs as hard as I could. I forced myself to join a group…was NUMBER 8 all the way…and allowed myself to believe that they truly could love me. I allowed myself to believe that these people would still love me in a year when I was still exactly who I said I was.

They didn’t. Some of that is on me. Not all of my traits are awesome and some are downright exhausting. Some of that is on them. We all made the choices we made.

But it breaks my heart that…once again…they wanted anything other than the number 8. It breaks my heart to see pictures that used to include me, but no longer do. It breaks my heart that I believed…and their lives go on as if I never existed.

It’s not wrong on their parts. The world doesn’t revolve around me. Their worlds SHOULD go on as if I never existed.

But it hurts too much to watch…to the point that the nightmares usually reserved for my mom now include those people. And they hurt SO MUCH MORE to wake up from….because I always knew my mom didn’t love me, but with them…I allowed myself to believe.

And…until it doesn’t hurt that much…I’m FINALLY giving myself time to heal.

I’m FINALLY giving myself time to remember who I am.

I’m FINALLY giving myself time to remember…who I am is pretty awesome, even if it never changes.

I am 8. 8 is great. Like infinity, I’ll always be me.

Plus, if you cross an 8 and an ♾️, you get a pretty little flower. ❤️

So. Awhile back I wrote a blog that mentioned…*cough*…quite forcibly…how much I hate Jim Carrey. To paraphrase a character I love, ““Dear Jim, I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You’re scum between my toes! Love, Sheri.”

Now. Those are strong words. I admit it. Which made a blog friend question…”WHAT?! NO!! YOU’RE WRONG! YOU CAN’T HATE JIM CARREY!!!” (Also paraphrased…and probably a lot more emphatic than it was meant.)

I am here to say…

Yes, Ron…I do indeed mean it…I stand by it…and here is the WHY.

You see…what had happened was…

11th grade. Picture Sweet Little 16-Year-Old Sheri. (Or something. Whatever.)

Sheri has met a new boy who she really likes. No need to protect the innocent because, let’s be real, no one reads this shit. lol Anyway…This boy’s name was Clint.

Clint finally asked Sheri out on a real date. Dinner and a Jackie Chan movie. (Jackie is also on my 27-year-old Shit List.) Clint crashes the car while leaving the movie. Meh, whatever. Not the worst first date I’ve had in life, in retrospect. But, it did piss my mom off. (Also, in retrospect, have to wonder if it pissed her off it didn’t finish me…I mean…ummmm…ANYWAYS….)

So. Clint and I date for the rest of my Junior year and into the beginning of my senior year. (*throat clear* This is where I admit Clint was better off without me…I broke up with him because he agreed with me too much…”Dude. I can tell you the grass is blue and you agree it’s a beautiful shade of blue…I need someone to disagree with me…I’m wrong sometimes…A LOT, actually…and I need someone to tell me that! Seriously…the rest of this story does nothing to make up for how I broke that poor boy back then…eek…)

All through that time we dated…Clint was OBSESSED with Jim Carrey. We had to see all of his movies. I found them rather obnoxious anyway, but EXTRA obnoxious because my boyfriend and his friends were constantly acting them out like they were about to try out for Jim Carrey In The Park.

And then…it happened…

The day before Junior Prom and 2 days before I went to Disney for a National competition of a school club I was in.

We were driving up to a friend’s house. We were in one of those teenage caravans of three carloads worth of friends. The girl, whose house it was, in the lead in her VW van. Her boyfriend (who later became my ex-husband) and his friend next in his friend’s truck. And then…me and Clint. Now, what happened? Here’s what happened. The girl’s van got very far ahead. No problem. Her boyfriend knew how to get to her house, so we’re still fine.

OR ARE WE, CLINT, YOU GIANT DUMBASS?!?!

No, no we were not.

Clint decided to STICK HIS FUCKING HEAD OUT THE WINDOW LIKE HE’S ACE-FUCKING-VENTURA and pass the truck that had THE PERSON WHO KNEW WHERE WE WERE GOING.

“Dude…Clint…We don’t know how to get there…”

“Oh…yeah…”

Clint takes a very fast, VERY unannounced left hand turn into a driveway…right as the truck (with the smarter friends who realized they needed to be in the front) tried to pass us on the left.

Truck…slams into us…we go spinning into a ditch.

<insert world spinning…world slamming to a stop…car doors opening…people running…>

Everyone runs to check out our friend’s new truck and the damage.

I did not.

In the collision and spin, my neck was…how you say in English…FUCKED.

I couldn’t get out of the car.

My boyfriend didn’t even notice. No one noticed. Not until my now-ex-husband’s cousin said, “Hey, guys…Sheri didn’t get out…and I hear her crying…”

They came over to check on me and realized my neck was really bad.

But they told me I couldn’t tell anyone. “This is the second accident with Clint. Your parents will be mad. You can’t say anything.”

They gave me a warm washcloth for my neck…strict instructions on not telling…and took me home.

I went to prom and Disney world having to pretend to all of the adults around me that I didn’t have an, honestly, REALLY bad case of whiplash.

And since then…I hate Jim Carrey. Because that kind of stupidity makes stupid ass teenage boys do stupid ass things…and makes stupid ass teenage girls accept it.

So, if you take away my hatred of JC…you take away very valid life lessons I learned from that boyfriend.

Is that what you want, Ron? IS IT?!?!?!! I didn’t think so.

Thank you for riding Jazz Hands Mom’s Wild Ride. Your exits are here, here, here and here.

*hair flip and flounce away*

Say hello to my leetle friend, The Negativity Monster Actually he’s not so little. He’s pretty big and…if you’re being honest with yourself…you’ll probably have to admit that you have the same friend.

This friend…he takes all of our negative feelings and expands them. Every time we get mad…anxious…scared…sad….every time we feel anything negative and we let it consume our thoughts, we feed him.

I’m not telling you to stop doing that.

1. It’s not actually possible.

2. If you try, it’s fake. (Do we need to have the sugar coated shit conversation again?)

3. It is illegal in most states to purposely starve your friends. True story.

But…consider this friend…this totally normal little monster…as you would your toddler.

Every. Fucking. Time. They go to their grandparent’s house they eat.

Do they need to? No.

Have you been starving them? No.

Did you feed them before you went over there? Probably.

Are they hungry? Nope.

Are they going to get fed a ton of crap…come home as little shits who won’t listen…and probably destroy something important? Possibly…

Your Negativity Monster is the same.

Look. You’re going to feed him. It’s part of life. But you really don’t need your pain in the ass in laws feeding him after you do.

NOTHING GOOD IS GOING TO COME FROM OTHER PEOPLE CONSTANTLY GIVING THEM SNACKS.

Add to that…They’re giving them so many snacks that, when you give them their normal meal, it’s your healthy normal portion that winds up causing them to do the, “I just frowed up…”.

Negativity vomit everywhere!! Anger outbursts!! Public crying jags!! Panic attacks that make everyone think you’ve lost your damn mind!

The monster ate too much and frowed up.

So…let’s all agree to not allowing unnecessary negativity and gossip treats from well meaning friends and family.

Be there for them for THEIR stuff. But watch your daily capacity.

“Do you want to hear what she said about you?” Nope.

“Oh my God, you’re never going to believe…” You’re right. Probably won’t.

“So, I heard something the other day…” Cool! Glad your hearing is working!

“Let’s talk shit!” Or…you know…Let’s not.

Every little bit of gossip. Every little bit of jabs and punches and needless negativity…it all combines.

So yeah…don’t feed my negativity monster. I feed him quite enough by myself.

Also…I can’t speak for anyone else, but every time this stuff starts up, I start researching self help books for HOW TO NOT BE AN UNLOVABLE PIECE OF SHIT…because, apparently, my negativity monster has a real taste for letting me hate myself.

Stop it. Stop it now.

I can’t love this meme enough. ❤️

On 9/11 We all shared the horror of watching the towers fall. We held our breaths, collectively, as the next hours unfolded. We all cried as the names came rolling in. We all breathed sighs of relief as we found loved ones that were still safe. We all held our loved ones as tight as we could that night.

But those of you who were not in the immediate areas hardest hit may not have seen/felt the full magnitude of the days that followed.

As the ashes and tears mixed, a solidarity rose. A solidarity that I had never before (or since) experienced. Even as we continued to hold our breath in fear…as buildings continued to fall…as loved ones were still missing…as lives were shattered…our broken hearts were one. First responders from all over flooding to Ground Zero to help dig through the rubble and save those they could. Friends and neighbors pulling together in support. I took my dad’s van and two friends and drove to every business in my town to get donations of items needed at Ground Zero. No business turned me away. None.

There was no greed. There was no selfishness. There was no racism. There was no hatred. No questions of sexuality or religion. No one asked who you voted for before offering all the love they could give.

It was a horrible time. I will never forget not knowing where my father was, or if he was alive, for a solid 24 hours. I was lucky and didn’t lose anyone personally. My friends, neighbors and town were not as lucky.

But it was also a time of love and unity that I think we desperately need to remember these days. Instead of the constant fighting and shunning of yesterday…and too many yesterdays before that…let’s try living like it’s 9/12/01.

With Love, Unity, and Solidarity.

This blog brought to you by my absolute hatred of Jim Carrey. Weird, huh? There’s a point.

So, I got to the gym this morning knowing that all I can really do today is walk on the treadmill. I accidentally ran 18.2 miles yesterday (#whoopsie) so anything else would have been dumb.

ANYWAYS, I got to the gym…went up to the cardio cinema…and…lo and behold…fucking Bruce Almighty. I DESPISE JIM CARREY. I started to be a little cranky about it as I walked.

And then…a light from heaven…Morgan Freeman.

I love Morgan Freeman with the same ferocity that I hate Jim Carrey.

I got excited. And then he went away for a bit.

I still was happy. I knew he’d be back.

Which got me thinking.

Lately I’ve been doing this thing where, when I start to spiral about the things that hurt…I stop myself and remember the good things in my life. And I stop the spiral.

I start thinking about how stressed I am at work. I focus on how lucky I am that I actually love what I do and am supported at work by my boss. A lot of people have neither.

I start thinking about people that have left. I focus on how loved and supported I am by the ones who stay.

I start thinking about the things my health issues stop me from doing. I focus on the things I’m doing that they said I’d never do again.

It’s a fairly constant refocus. Let’s be real. If we allow it, the bad parts of our days do outnumber the moments that feel like a blessing. That’s just life. Adulting, as you will.

But those blessings…even if the moments are fewer…they DO outweigh the bad times. Quality over quantity. Every time.

So, thanks, Morgan. For the Godly Narrator Voice Reminder that today is going to be great because I’m going to focus on the moments that make the bad worthwhile.

Now, excuse me…Morgan Freeman is coming back on now.

I will never forget the day that someone looked at me…as I was playing with my camera…and said, “You know…they say you can really tell what someone loves in life by what they take pictures of. Some people take a lot of pictures of people. And then there’s you…and trees.” 😆 Touche. I deserved that. Lol

I’ve always had a love affair with trees. <insert loving wood joke here> Trees are a phenomenal part of nature. They offer us shade…they offer us shelter…they offer us warmth…and they are so resilient. Take a walk through the forest and you can see a million ways that trees survive and thrive, even as they protect those living creatures beneath them and in them.

But the first tree I loved…the first tree I considered mine…was a weeping willow in the front yard when I was a little girl. I loved to hide under this tree, with one of my beloved books. I felt safe. Even as this tree “weeped” around me, it protected me. And it stayed…as so few things do…it survived storms that other trees could never survive, as it bent with the storm and survived…rather than futilely resisting and finally snapping. This soft…malleable…freely weeping tree…couldn’t be taken down…while the trees around it…the trees that seemed so strong…were more easily snapped in two.

I’ve been thinking about that tree today, as I pondered another situation.

I told my boyfriend this morning. I remember…all the way back to childhood…these days where I would wake up…hurt by whatever situation at the time…and I would think. “Today. Starting today, I don’t want to be the nice girl anymore. Mean people get so much further. I’m going to start being like them. Today is the day.” I was resolute…I set out…I was going to lose my “softness” that people took advantage of. Never again would I smile…and be hurt. And then….an hour later I’d realize I didn’t even make it off the bus without smiling at someone and finding a way to make someone laugh. I didn’t even make it out of class before I wanted to hug a friend. I just never had it in me.

No matter what life has thrown at me, I stayed soft. No matter how many reasons to give up on people I was given, I still loved. No matter how many times I decided I’d never trust again, I saw the best.

I’ve been called malleable…too nice…I’ve been considered easy to manipulate…too easily forgiving…too slow to walk away…I’ve been called it all.

And they’re not wrong. I will never be hard like an oak. I will never stand tall like a pine in the forest.

I am a willow.

Like the willow…my emotions overflow from my bendable branches.

Like the willow, I envelope those in my perimeter.

Like the willow, I give you a place to lay your worries and seek refuge.

And like the willow…I may be seen as weak, but it is my very nature of staying soft that gives me a strength to endure.

I rarely use my blog to brag on my boyfriend but something happened this weekend, that honestly was SO fundamentally different from what I’ve experienced in life, that it has stayed in my mind since then. To him…it was probably nothing. It’s just who he is. To me…it was…what I’ve always looked for without even knowing it.

What was it? It was respect. TRUE respect.

I’ve talked about my PTSD here before. I don’t talk about it to seek attention…I talk about it because…honestly…talking about it takes away some of its power. Talking about it keeps it from being a shame that lives in my head. Talking about it…I hope…helps keep it from being a shame that lives in others’ heads.

Anyway, Saturday morning I woke up in tears. The nightmares had been prevalent that night and I woke up…scared. My boyfriend, sadly, is used to this. (Sadly for him, not me. I’m as used to it as anyone can be, but I always have a sense of guilt and shame when I wake up and he has to deal with it.) As he always does in these moments, he held me and reminded me that I was safe. He didn’t judge. He didn’t condescend. He didn’t act like I was being ridiculous for the fear that I couldn’t control. He just held me…and comforted me.

Is that what I’m bragging about him for? Nah. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. It takes a good person to offer compassion and safety in these moments. It’s a rare quality, but not one that’s been completely devoid in my prior life.

So…after the nightmares started to calm…we got up. I had a long run to do. 10-minute warmup…12 miles run/walk… 10-minute cooldown. Which, basically, equates to 13-14 miles. My boyfriend…does not enjoy distance running. My boyfriend…DOES love me. So, he has agreed to a half marathon with me in October. He is not excited about this. He is excited about ME. Another rare trait in my world…but not completely unheard of. My boyfriend is not a morning person…at all…but he got up early with me and was ready to face this thing that he would never have chosen to do himself. That’s called sacrifice in love. Again…INCREDIBLY RARE in my world…but still not completely unheard of.

Here’s where things went…differently…than I have ever experienced.

We went to the park. You can do approximately 3-5 mile loops at this park. So, not the worst place for this kind of mileage. We set out. And…at 99% humidity that day…plus his severe allergies…he forlornly looked at me and said he just did not feel up to THAT mileage on that day. BUT, he wanted to wait in the car while I ran my miles. He had his phone…he was perfectly content. I told him he didn’t have to do that and that I could just run home (we were already about 3 miles in and we were about 8 miles from my house).

Dude. Ex-Cop-Boyfriend-Instinct kicks in. NO. All the no. EVERY LITTLE BIT OF THE NO. He was staying. He loves me and worries for me. I both accept and appreciate this.

I LOVE this about him.

And…on any other day…I would have said ok. At first, I DID say ok.

But…as we were walking towards the car…I started to spiral. The nightmares were still too vivid…the fear…the terror of those who could hurt me being able to find me…the EASE of them finding me as I ran in literal circles…a prey saying, “Please! Come get me! I’m making it easy for you!” I walked in silence…the fear taking over…I couldn’t control it.

In every. other. relationship that I’ve ever been in…that would have been when I either said, “You know what? Let’s just go home.” or I would have done as asked and let him wait in the car while I ran my loops…never admitting what was happening inside of me.

With Aaron? I don’t have to do that…and a voice in my head KNEW I didn’t have to do that.

Why?

Because with Aaron…for the first time in my life…I know that his love, compassion, and care for me also comes with the one missing ingredient that I’d never had before…Respect. He wants to care for me. He wants to take care of me. He also respects that I can take care of myself and that I know what is best for me.

So, I told him. “I need to be really honest with you. I love you for wanting me to finish my run. I love you for wanting to wait in the car so you’re nearby. But I need you to go home. I’m panicking at the idea of running these loops by myself…of being so easily findable…after the nightmares…I can’t do it. I hate running on the streets, but today…I need to be out in the public eye…on the streets…running in a direction and not a circle…so it’s not so easy to just know where I am. Please. I promise I will call you if I need you to pick me up, but I need to do this.”

Every person I’ve known in the past would have said, “HELL NO. I’m not leaving you!” And, you know what? It would have been out of love and care. But it would have been not respecting my wishes…my fears…or my ability to know what is best for me and to take care of myself.

But, not Aaron. Lord, I could tell he hated it. It went against every protective bone in his body to drive away from me.

But he did.

He respected me.

And then…when I got home…shaky as hell and wanting to fall over…he took me out for a giant steak. Because that’s love.

Love is amazing. Love is wonderful. Love is such an important piece of what we all want from life.

But…love with Respect?

It’s like the missing puzzle piece that I never could place my finger on until I found it.

/ooey gooey crap

*jazz hands*

Life lessons…They can hurt. Actually, they usually do. And we all accept that, but….yet…we all also eventually wonder why they still hurt after the lesson has been learned. Here’s why…and why it’s a good thing.

A friend and I were talking yesterday. She was telling me about the first time she found REAL adult friendships. She had a habit (as have I) of finding the kinds of friends that made her feel…less than…or annoying. Then, one day, she found herself in this group or friends where…when she opened up or spoke, she felt heard. She felt accepted. For exactly who she was.

Me: “I’ll be honest, I have that with you. But…sometimes…I’m still afraid I’ll annoy you. Like, I KNOW I don’t, but that fear is still there.”

Her: “Oh, yeah…that part doesn’t go away once you’ve ever been told you’re annoying.”

Well, fuck.

That was my first thought. A great big giant WELL, FUCK. lol

So, today I started thinking about this.

Why…if the lesson has been learned…does it still leave lingering ghost pains?

ESPECIALLY when it’s a lesson where we didn’t do anything to hurt anyone else…we didn’t break any laws…we didn’t do anything wrong….Truly a lesson where we just were hurt. Why? HOW IS THAT FAIR????

And then I realized…GHOST PAINS ARE GOOD.

Ghost pains are our reminder.

I’ll put this is terms I think many will understand due to recent events.

Masks.  Good lord, were there some fights over masks. People yelling that they stopped the spread of the virus. People yelling that they wouldn’t stop anything. I’ll tell you all the same thing I told everyone.

I don’t know. Seriously, I don’t. I’m not a science person. It is not my strong suit and never has been. But. I know people. And the one thing I did know was this…masks were a physical reminder to keep your six feet of distance. I told people, maybe that mask didn’t keep anything in or out…but, the second they came off…out of sight, out of mind…people would forget…and they would stop keeping their distance.

The reminder was what I was POSITIVE actually did help keep people safer.

Emotional ghost pains from life lessons are the same.

Humans are fairly simple, as complicated as we like to pretend we are. We just want to be happy…and we want to be happy with the least amount of effort possible. (Sorry, but it’s true. Lol)

So…we’re living life…we’re taking the path more traveled…we get lost…we stumble and fall…we get hurt…we heal…we get up…”OOOOH! LOOKIT!!! THERE’S THE ROAD AGAIN!” We get back on it…we get lost…we stumble…

See my point?

Now…what if, when we stumble and fall and get hurt…every time we think about that path, we still feel a twinge of pain?

We find a different path.

What happens when we’re on that different path…a little less traveled…a little harder to navigate…and we see that easier path forking off…and we head that way and…

OW! OHHHHHHH…

Those ghost pains save us. They save us from trusting the wrong people too easily…they save us from falling into familiar patterns….they save us from being hurt again.

Those ghost pains are our emotional masks that remind us to keep our distance from familiar, but harmful patterns.

So, yeah…certain ghost pains won’t go away.

And, for that, I’m happy.

We all have them…those days when you wonder, “What’s wrong with me?”.

I’m having one today, so this message is for me as much as it’s for you.

IT’S OK.

It’s ok to be sad.

It’s ok to be scared.

It’s ok to feel temporary.

It’s ok to feel different.

It’s ok to feel lacking.

It’s ok to feel weak.

IT’S OK.

You know why? (Besides the fact that EVERYONE feels these things sometimes and because feelings are never a bad thing to have…)

If you never feel sad…you can’t appreciate joy.

If you never feel scared…you can’t relish your own bravery.

If you never feel temporary…you won’t appreciate the love and loyalty of those who make you feel permanent.

If you never feel different…you will never experience the joy of finding a kindred spirit.

If you never feel lacking…you will never see the day where you realize how beautifully whole you really are.

If you never feel weak…you’ll never understand that moment when you get to see how very strong you’ve been.

Feel it all.

Don’t deny any of it.

Every feeling has purpose.

IT’S OK.

Preface: This blog is a whole hodgepodge of thoughts regarding faith, our gifts, my voice, etc. Sorry if its erratic.

I have been asked many, many times how my faith has never wavered no matter what life threw my way. I have been asked how I can possibly believe SO STRONGLY that there is a kind and loving God when I have seen so much pain. My response?

How can anyone want to live in a world where they believe these things happen by chance?

How can anyone survive in a world where they believe there is no reason?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it a million times more…

Everything that has happened in my life has happened for a reason.

And…usually…that reason is so I can help someone else.

My gift from God is my voice and my experiences.

Is it a gift to me? Sometimes. Sometimes definitely not.

Is it a gift to those around me? Sometimes. Sometimes definitely not. Lol

If you think my voice doesn’t annoy me as much as it annoys you sometimes….WRONG. 😆

But I do truly believe that it is my gift.

To share with those around me that they’re not alone.

So…what happens when people try to silence my voice?

They take away my gift.

They (attempt to) take away my reason to believe.

They take away my one reason to explain the things that happen in this world.

When they take enough voices…They allow the voice that tells people they are alone to fester and thrive. 

It’s an uncomfortable feeling…reading someone’s hurt…sitting in their pain. We shy away from being uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable hurts.

Two things there:

• If the voice is not one you need, you do not need to listen. (Although, never discount that listening may be YOUR gift.)
• Sometimes its ok to be uncomfortable. They’re called growing pains for a reason.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I struggle with this thing that I consider my gift, though.

I have led a life of being silenced. I have led a life surrounded by people who want me to doubt myself…deny my worth…and silence my truth.

It leaves a mark. It leads to periods where I try to be quiet…I try to be the Sheri that everyone wants me to be. Quiet Sheri. Surface Sheri. Sugar Coated Sheri (which sounds like an excellent cereal, BTDubs. ) I try to silence myself…but He still pushes and the words well up…words begging to be written down.

Where is all of this coming from?

I joined a church yesterday. 

As much as I have always had faith…and as much as I have always said that faith matters…I have found that organized religion is often actually the downfall of faith. So, while I have held onto my Christian faith…I will sometimes go to church to celebrate Him…but I will more often celebrate Him in nature or in daily life.

So…weirdly…or not weirdly, if you understand my reason above…I have never been an official member of a church before.

But I really love this church. It’s small, but not scary small. It’s homey. And, most importantly, from all I have seen…they preach love.

Those were my reasons for making the decision to join.

What happened after I made that decision…

I was reminded again why our voices matter and that He WANTS us to use them.

I didn’t want to join the church in front of everyone. As I mentioned, it’s a small church… and on my mother’s side of town. Going up and saying my name…without knowing EXACTLY who was in the crowd. Welp, that’s a big ol’ nope. So I asked if I could join and bypass that experience. Lol

The lead pastor took me into his office.

I knew from being there that his wife had just passed. I knew he probably wasn’t feeling like talking to this strange person. But his calling is HIS gift and he followed.

As we went through our talk, I felt led to tell him the parts of church that have always been hard for me. Namely, “Honor thy mother” and all such Christian doctrines about how it is our job to force ourselves to turn the other cheek. (Sorry. But I ran out of cheeks for her by age 18.)

As I felt led to share, so did he. He told me of his wife’s upbringing. How she’d had a mother who wasn’t a mother…and a father who couldn’t be a father. How she went through life not having an example of how to be a woman…a wife…a mother. He told me how she believed that God gave her everything she needed to do both, though. He spoke of how it’s ok to forgive but never allow back in. I found myself truly wishing I could have known his wife.

I told him that I believe my gift is my voice. That I’m here to show others they aren’t alone. I told him how I’m afraid of my own voice sometimes as it leads others…even other Christians…to be uncomfortable…to wish I’d be less real…to wish I’d be silent.

His response is what stuck with me. (Paraphrased, because I wasn’t exactly writing during the conversation. Lol)

The devil wants us to believe we’re alone. And even Christians can be swayed to speak the voice of the devil. *I* have been the voice of the devil when I said hurtful things. I’m sure of it. It doesn’t make them less Christian…it makes them human…but you can’t let the voice of Satan silence you, even when it comes from good people.

Well, hell.

So…I guess my voice is sticking around. No matter how much it annoys all of us.

And I hope your gift, whatever it may be, is never silenced either.