*Jazz Hands* Mom

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.

Today’s Random Thoughts By Sheri got…REALLY random.

So. In the field of Environmental Science, there is a phenomenon called The Tragedy of the Commons. (Not a joke. Look it up. But I do have a related story about how I’m surprised I passed this course in college AND my professor’s head didn’t explode.) ANYWAY. What is The Tragedy of Commons?

The Tragedy of the Commons refers to a situation in which individuals with access to a public resource (also called a common) act in their own interest and, in doing so, ultimately deplete the resource.

For example, everyone has access to water. During a drought, we are asked to use less so that there is enough for all. But, what happens? You have those couple of neighbors who think they can still was their car…water their lawn…waterboard their enemi…..um…you get the point. They don’t do it because they disbelieve that the resource is finite…they also don’t do it believing that the water will be completely gone. They do it believing that someone else will use less so its ok that they use more. In our inherent self involvement (it’s a thing…it’s ok…embrace it…it keeps us alive), we believe that it’s ok to use what we want of these resources because we’re using what WE need. And then…the finite resource is gone.

What the hell is the point of this, Sheri??

Well, it occurred to me. How many times have you said or heard, “I’m out of fucks.”, “I have no fucks left to give.”, or any such variation?

Hell, I hear or say it multiple times a day. Why?

Because fucks are a finite resource!

And, yet…The Tragedy of the Commons…everyone seems to believe that THEY should be a recipient of your fucks.

Some should be and earn it. Others deserve nothing more than one flying fuck and then they can go. But everyone wants them. “Give a fuck about this!” “You must give a fuck about that!” “How can you not give a fuck???”

WE, AS A SOCIETY, ARE RUNNING OUT OF THIS FINITE RESOURCE.

We must stop giving too many fucks to one self involved person who sucks us dry! We must stop giving all of our fucks to every new cause that comes up!

Store your fucks! Use them only as needed!

PRESERVE AND USE SPARINGLY, THIS FINITE RESOURCE!

Before your fucks are truly gone.

Thank you for coming to my ourfucksaredepleTED Talk.

/scene

*Jazz hands*

#VoteSheri2024 #SaveTheFucks

I’ve been thinking about grief today. Which wound up being ironic, as I end my day questioning what grief I have a right to. I shall explain.

I’ve had this weird little thought in my head for many years now. “Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to believe.” <—-I know. Not the quote you’re used to. But it’s always felt more apropos to me on a personal level. I am not one to deceive, but…against my training and better judgment…I am almost always one to believe.

I believe in people long past them proving to me that I should not. I believe that I matter long past some people proving that I do not. (This isn’t a pity me thing…we’ve all been there.)

But…believing is what leads us to later grief. It’s TOTALLY worth it to believe in people and things…but if that thing is taken from us…it’s the fact that we believed that we had it that hurts the most.

If we have never believed we were loved, we are less likely to grieve feeling unloved. If we have never believed that we matter to someone, we don’t even consider grieving not mattering to them. To put it in the simplest terms…I think of it like I think of being rich. Y’all. I have never been rich. I have never believed that I will ever be rich. I will never grieve the fact that I am not rich. Because why would I grieve something I never expected to have? Now…let’s say an incredibly wealthy person becomes a pauper. He believed he’d always be rich. He will, rightfully, grieve that loss. Because he can’t survive without riches? Nope. But because he truly believed that he would always have those riches…and he struggles to wrap his brain around what life is supposed to look like without this thing that he truly believed would always be there. That loss of something he believed would always be in his life leaves a hole that is scary.

It’s legitimate grief.

So, yeah…belief is what tends to lead us to grief. Again, worth it. But…it DOES make belief scary. Especially when you’ve lost a lot in life. Because every time you believed…and every time you lost what you believed in…it became scarier and scarier and scarier to believe again. You started to feel like, “It’s going to hurt so much more when it’s gone…if I just don’t believe in it, it’ll be easier…”.

Hopefully, you continued to believe anyway.

But, for real…there are days when I am paralyzed by fear of believing in the future that I can’t control. There are days when just NOT believing feels so much safer.

If I don’t believe, I don’t have to grieve.

Now. That’s where my anxiety-riddled mind was earlier today. SO…WHAT DOES SHERI DO WHEN SHE’S ANXIOUS?!?!

DUMB. SHIT.

Yup. When I say dumb shit…WHY IN GOD’S NAME do I always choose my anxious days to Google my little brother, my mother or my stepfather? WHY?!?!?!?!

Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.

So, Idiot Sheri…decided today to Google her little brother to see if he’s still staying out of jail. Apparently, he’s doing well there so far. But when I spied on his FaceBook…he had a public post…asking his dad to pull through because he can’t make it without him.

My heart stopped.

My stepfather…is the most confusing pain I hold in my life. He was the first man to break my heart. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve fully trusted myself to ever really be loved by anyone since him. That man was my everything when I was little. He was my daddy. He was my protector. He was my friend. He taught me to love music. He taught me I was beautiful. He taught me I was cherished and loved. He taught me to believe in myself. He taught me that, no matter how anyone else felt about me, I was the world to him.

Until one day I wasn’t. One day…when it turned out he wasn’t my daddy…he was my abductor…when my world was ripped away from me…I still believed. I still believed that my daddy loved me even if he wasn’t my daddy. I still believed that I was worthy. And then he told me I wasn’t. He told me that my accepting my real father hurt him too badly. He told me that my allowing things to change, in any way, made him hate me. He told me that looking at me made him sick to his stomach.

This man that I had loved SO much. This man who was the basis of every positive belief I had about my world…took it all away. I wasn’t enough to still love even through the trauma that he had helped force on me. I wasn’t enough to still believe in if I couldn’t do things exactly his way.

He broke my heart. And…my belief in him…and the belief that he had taught me to have in myself…I’ve grieved those every day of my life since then.

Every now and then I would try again. I would try to mend this broken relationship…because I HAD to believe that somewhere…deep down…he really had loved me enough not to turn his back on me.

And…every time I tried…he destroyed me.

So…when I saw that post on my brother’s Facebook today…I felt like I’d been stabbed.

I started (guiltily, because I’m supposed to hate him) Googling like crazy. Did something happen? Did he pass away? Was there an obituary? Is he ok? Is he gone?

So many questions. No answers. And I have nowhere to get them.

I’ve always known that when something happens to either of them (him or my mom)…I will probably find out many years later during one of my Google searches. No one will tell me. No one will say a word. As I have not existed to them, I will not exist to anyone who knows of their passing.

And I thought I was ok with that. I thought, “I’ll never grieve them after everything they’ve done to me.” I still believe that about my mom.

And here’s where I’ve realized the difference is.

I never believed my mother loved me.

I was never able to forget the memory of the time I believed that he did.

Do I even have a right to grieve? Maybe. Maybe not. I have no idea. And, at this moment, I’m grieving thoughts and memories…not reality. For all I know he stubbed his toe and my brother is a giant drama queen.

But…tonight…the memories…the not knowing…on top of a day where I was already on that anxiety train…

I grieve. Because I believed.

LSS: Trauma anxiety spirals are a bitch. But a random deer probably saved my day today. How? Read on

This…was not the blog I was writing earlier. But, mid-walking-blogging…a deer crossed my path. He didn’t see me and run. He didn’t let his flight instincts force him from his chosen path. He looked at me…leaned down…chewed a little grass…wandered slowly across the path…and gracefully continued on his way.

Damn. If a deer can see something that triggers his flight response and not let it take over or change his path…shouldn’t I be able to so the same?

You see…what I was writing was about the spiral I’ve been trying to escape since last night…how every path my brain tried to cross revealed another danger…how the spiral wasn’t ending.

Things have been…rough…for me and my daughter this year. I won’t go into details because she deserves SOME privacy, even if her mom is a blogger who never shuts up. But, suffice it to say that this is not the life I ever pictured for her and I’m scared for her. I’m scared for us. So, yesterday something along that topic happened. I thought I was actually handling it with much more zen than I usually do…but then I tried to sleep…and it all hit.

It started with me thinking about the sweet, loving girl she used to be…in my mind, I saw everything change in slow motion…my brain tried to wrap around it all and pinpoint WHERE things changed. What did I do wrong? What did I miss? How did I fail her? If I can just find it…I can fix it! This went on for awhile, until I was so worked up that I lost all control and…

Went downstairs and got a Xanax and an ice cream bar. Like any woman facing an emotional crisis.

And then I slept.

For many people, that would have been the end of that. Buuuuttt…welcome to trauma. My mom was in my dream. She was laughing at me, “You dumb bitch. You always fear me still taking good things from you. I never needed to. Look at you. You ruin everything you touch. Look at how you’ve broken your daughter. Look at how everyone leaves. Look at everyone else with their families and friends. Look how every person who thinks you’re lovable eventually realizes you aren’t. Just wait…Aaron thinks he’s not leaving…but you’ll make him. You’re broken. Everyone leaves. Because you’re shit.”

WELL THEN. THANKS, MA.

Obviously this was a dream. Obviously my mom wasn’t anywhere near me. I haven’t allowed her near enough to me to say that much in many years. That being said, that particular nightmare was probably way closer to what reality would be than my normal nightmares.

I woke up in a panic. I texted my ex sister-in-law (where Bella is right now) and asked her to have Bella call me when she could. She called me sleepy and annoyed (normal teenage response) and I asked her if I had missed something…if I had caused all of this…HOW IS THIS MY FAULT????? Like any teenager would respond to this, “Geez, mom. For real? No. Go away.” “No, I’m scared, Bella.” “Mom, you’re thinking in the wrong colors.” “What? What colors am I thinking in?” “The wrong ones.” “Ok…what colors are the right colors?” “The right ones. Go away. I’ll talk to you later.”

The full conversation was included so you could be as baffled as I am…but…obviously, that didn’t help. Lol

Ok…spiraling…spiraling…I’ll mindlessly scroll social media. Maybe that will derail the spiral. (Pro Tip: THIS NEVER WORKS. DON’T DO IT.) I scroll. I see memes. Yay! I see the Facebook highlight reel of people’s lives. Shit. I see people who used to be big parts of my life. So happy. And I hear my dream mother again…”See? I told you. No one needs you. Look how much better they are without you.”

Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna do this. I’ll go walk!!

Turn a corner…Shit! Run! That man looks like your stepfather! Shut up, brain. It’s not him. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you.

Turn another corner…Look at that older, short lady in sunglasses…dark frizzy hair…it could be your mom… NO. IT’S NOT MY MOM. SHUT UP.

Brain repeating. Everyone hates you. You’re shit. Everyone knows it. Panic. Everyone hates you. You’re shit. Everyone knows it. Panic. Everyone hates you. You’re shit. Everyone knows it. Panic. Everyone hates you. You’re shit. Everyone knows it. Panic.

Spiral.

Spiral.

Spiral.

Ok. Time to write. Yes, I’m on a trail. Yes, that’s a weird place to blog. But writing helps. Look for an appropriate blog picture….fall into rabbithole of psychology quotes and memes about CPTSD…Anxiety…Abandonment…Spirals…

THIS IS NOT HELPING.

…And then…

A strange woman came up behind me trying to get my attention…I start to panic more…but she just smiles at me and points ahead. I smiled back (because that’s what we do), but I had no idea what she was pointing at.

And then…there he was.

OH, DEER…

This beautiful creature…with an evolutionary instinct to see danger and use its grace and legs to bolt. Surrounded by what his brain was taught was danger…people…(Ironically, the same thing I fear)…

…BUT HE WAS SO CALM…

His eyes didn’t dart around and size up the danger. He didn’t flee in terror or self-preservation. He looked at these “dangers” on his path…and he knew it wasn’t real danger…no matter what his instincts said…and fake dangers weren’t going to ruin his calm, his snack, or his peaceful wanderings.

It stopped me in my tracks. The panic spiral halted almost instantly.

Damn. That deer is smarter than me. I need to be more like that deer.

I am safe.

I am loved.

I am worthy.

Times are hard, but we can do this. We can face this. I didn’t break anything.

I hope.

So, I’m not panicking now. The spiral was halted. I’m still sad. I still have a bit of a panic hangover. But I’m going to keep reminding myself.

Be like the deer. Use your instict to protect yourself when necessary, but don’t let it make you flee from false dangers. Stand firm…snack…and stay graceful and on your path.

So, in short…

Oh, Deer…thank you.

Today’s random musings from my run: I’ve always tried to live a life of, “I may be the only…”.

I’m going to smile at strangers, because I may be the only smile they see today.

I’m going to tell someone when I think they look pretty, because I may be the only kind word they hear today. 

I’m going to tell someone how much they mean to me, because I may be the only one who does today.

Notice the end of every sentence there.

Today.

Here’s the thing about TODAY.

It ends. And it’s so damn easy to get lost in your own “today”.

It’s a grand thought. But easily derailed and possibly less impactful.

A rough day at work makes it easy to forget to smile at the cleaning lady coming into your office as you work late. It’s ok. Someone else smiled at her today.

A day where we feel low on ourselves makes it easy to not compliment the stranger with great hair. I wish I looked like her. I’m sure everyone tells her she’s beautiful. She doesn’t need me to.

There are so many variables to today. It’s so easy to let yourself believe, “Nah. I’m not the only.”

But what if I change that to…Maybe I’m the last…

We’ve all been there…in one way or another…that moment of, “This is it. The last straw. If this doesn’t work. I give up.”

We’ve all known that person who struggles, or refuses, to trust…because one person too many betrayed their trust.

We’ve all seen that person who can’t open their heart… because one person too many broke it.

The person who won’t let you see the real them…because one person too many shunned their true self.

The person who…will never believe she’s beautiful because one person too many made her feel ugly….will never believe they’re worthy because one person too many made them feel unworthy…

I could go on and on.

So…what if….instead of living like, “Maybe I’m the only….” (which is easily derailed)…I live like, “Maybe I’m the last…”?

Maybe I’m the last person who’s going to make this person feel unseen…Maybe I’m the last person who’s going to make this person feel ugly…Maybe I’m the last person who’s going to make this person feel unlovable…

Maybe I’m the last straw…and if I am not intentional with this encounter…I’ll be the last person who is given the chance….

…the chance to love them…

…the chance to see them…

….the chance to believe in them…

…the chance to save them.

The thing is, it is a well known fact that depression is severely on the rise. Every day. We all shout about it. Mental health awareness!!! Call me if you need me! Get help! Be aware! Be alert!

But…like today…it’s easy to get sucked into our own lives and assume someone else has it covered. But…

“Maybe I’m the last…”

It has a different ring to it, right? It takes away the assumption of “tomorrow”.

So. That’s my new mantra.

I never want to be anyone’s last straw…but if I live believing, “I need to be intentional in every interaction…I need to uplift, show kindness, give grace and make them believe…because if I don’t….maybe I’m the last.”…

Maybe I’m the last person who will have a chance to show this person that they matter…

…if everyone lived believing that…

Then maybe there will never be a last.

The past couple of days we hear ALLLLLLL the opinions. Or do we?

We hear those loudly proclaiming their hurt and anger at decisions made.

We hear those crowing with glee at a war they feel they “won”.

We hear both “sides” loud and clear.

Or do we?

I am here to share the opinion that we do not.

A true fact of the world is this: The loudest voices are rarely the voice of the majority. The loudest voices are merely the voices at the far ends of the spectrums. The loudest voices are..Sadly…the least tolerant.

The majority…are in the middle of the road and they have been silenced.

The majority are:

– The voices of those who choose love and kindness.

– The voices of those who can see both sides with equal compassion.

– The voices of those who hurt for everyone who hurts, no matter what “side” they are on.

The majority are those who have something to say, but know you don’t want to hear it because it is not extreme enough.

The majority are those who have been taught, “Don’t speak. No one cares.”

It’s for those that I speak now.

For the mother who lost her child and can’t imagine making the willing choice to do so, but does not condemn another for the choices they must make, I see you.

For the woman who made a choice that pains her every day and who cries now at the voices of censure all around her. I hear your tears.

For the woman who was raped and could not go through with it, and now feels hated and judged, I stand with you.

For the man who wasn’t given a choice because the body was not his, I can only imagine your pain and am ready to hear you when you speak.

For the Christians who believe in love and kindness over judgment, yet see their every belief maligned before their eyes…I feel your pain.

For those who want to say, “I don’t have the answers, but I have love.” You are my people.

For those who tremulously speak their middle of the road truths, but who are BRUTALLY SILENCED by those on the extreme sides of this…I ask you…

Please speak.

Please, let us show the world that the majority DOES care but that we do it with love.

Let us show the world that it’s ok to say, “I can’t speak for you, but my heart is of the many.”

Let us show the world that we care for the individual, regardless of the beliefs that THEIR lives have given them.

Stand with me to say: I am not the same religion as you. But that doesn’t make mine or yours wrong. My life doesn’t look like yours. But that doesn’t make mine or yours wrong. My choices have not been the same as yours. But that doesn’t make mine or yours wrong.

Please speak YOUR truth and show the world that the majority choose kindness and compassion.

SPEAK YOUR TRUTH that the extreme is not the majority.

Here are my truths:

I am Christian and believe that Christ put me here to love you, no matter what, and leave the judgment to He who is not of this Earth.

I am a mother who can not imagine ever having to make a choice to not be, but who understands the many reasons others might.

I am a friend who will stand by your side as you make decisions that I do not have to face.

I am a heart that breaks for you as you see others make choices that you regret or cannot find moral validity in, even as you love others who do.

I am a fellow traveler of life who has wandered many roads you will never see, but knows that you could say the same.

I am a person who will love and support you whether we agree or not…so long as you share your message with love and without censure of a life you have not lived.

I am very Pro Choice in the fact that I believe that I don’t walk in your shoes…I don’t know everything…I am not the Lord that I follow…and, quite honestly, I feel NO government has the right to choose for you (Federal or State) because the government constantly oversteps.

I am the person who thinks this never should have been political decision BY EITHER SIDE, but a personal one BY EACH INDIVIDUAL.

That is my quiet, middle of the road, truth.

It does not IN ANY WAY mean that I do not care. It does not IN ANY WAY mean that my beliefs are not strong.

It means that, above all, I choose love.

That is my truth.

Please speak yours.

Hindsight is a 5th of liquor…I mean 20/20. Yeah. Math. 😉 (Kidding. We all know how much I love math.)

But, seriously, we all have these things…lessons we learned through life that would have made life SO. MUCH. LESS. PAINFUL. if we’d just accepted them earlier in life. (The same things we try to force down our kids’ throats…but they won’t learn before they’re ready either).

So. Lessons I’ve finally started to accept…that I wish I’d learned in High School. Tell me yours?

1. The Asshole – Boo, hear me…if you have ever had the urge or cause to say, “Yeah…he’s kind of an asshole sometimes, but never to me…”…GIRL. YOU. ARE. NEXT. RUN. Seriously, NO ONE is something to everyone except you. They might love or like you enough to hold it in for a bit, but when the shine wears off…you’re left with an asshole.

2. Your Gut – Your gut is the best friend you’ll ever have. Sometimes your gut will tell you to run when no one else sees a reason to. Two things could be at play here. First, not everyone has learned to hear their gut. Second, and more importantly, sometimes your gut isn’t telling you that someone is bad, in general, just bad for YOU. It’s still important to listen. Which brings me to…

3. Protect Yourself- If you don’t protect yourself, no one will. It’s not their job. It’s yours. And if anyone gets angry with you for protecting yourself…

4. Those Are Not Your People – Not everyone is meant to be YOUR people. The ones who are will root for you every step of the way, even if they don’t understand…if they can see that it’s good for you…it’s good for them.

5. Look For Your Sideline Squad – Most likely, that’s where your people are. Those who are loudest and most in your face rarely have sticking power. Those who are quietly waiting to see us succeed…Well, to put it in cheer terms…Comp Squads may win gold, but it’s the ones who keep cheering for you when you’re losing that are your lifelong people.

6. What Is Meant For You Can’t Be Stolen – This is the one that was the hardest learn for me. How many times…in high school…in friemdships…in relationships…have we felt like someone stole what was ours? She stole my friends. She got my spot. She took my guy. No. Friends don’t leave. Love doesn’t stray. And anything so easily taken wasn’t supposed to be yours.

7. What IS Meant For You Is Still Waiting – Are you brave enough to let go of the comfortable and go find it?

8. Breathe. It’s all going to be ok in the end. If it isn’t okay, it isn’t the end.

I have reached a point in life…where I will not be silent to save another from hearing my truth.

I have reached a point in life…where I will not be loud to beg to.be heard.

I have reached a point in life…where I will not beg to be loved.

I have reached a point in life…where I know the ones who will love me would never want me to beg.

I have reached a point in life…where I do not need to be liked to love myself.

I have reached a point in life…where I can allow myself not to like others as I accept them not liking me.

I have reached a point in life…where guilt and manipulation are not as easily able to sway me.

I have reached a point in life…where I recognize those who would use those tactics to gain do not recognize my worth.

I have reached a point in life…where I recognize my own worth.

I have reached a point in life…where I KNOW that loving me does not mean that I love you less…where I KNOW that hurting myself does not help you…where I accept love from others…but demand it from myself.

Yesterday…during my, admittedly, incessant Facebook scrolling…I came across a checklist of how to know you’re healing from your trauma. This list stopped me right in my tracks.

Why? Because…

I instantly recognized that three years ago…I was almost healed.

(Not to say it wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore, but that I could feel…OKAY…with my past).

I also instantly recognized WHY I had backslid.

Shame.

One of the main prerequisites for healing from trauma is recognizing that the shame of crimes against you does not belong to you.

How do we battle shame? Vulnerability and openness. 

But people shy away from vulnerable conversations.

Why? Because vulnerable conversations about a less than perfect world make people uncomfortable by threatening their bubble of safety.

Rather than admit that bad things happen that we can not control, it is easier to label someone dramatic or attention seeking…it is easier to assume that they exaggerate or focus too much on the negative.

Uncomfortable conversations are threatening…and should be avoided at all costs.

So, let’s think about this.

You meet someone new…you want to know them…you want them to know you. What makes them tick? What makes you you?

You tell them amusing antectodes about your childhood or early life. You talk about the moments that shaped you. They want to do the same. But…the topic at hand…they have no amusing anecdotes about what shaped them…they have this big THING that they’ve navigated to become who they are…in a way that you will only understand if you understand what led them there.

They have 3 options.

1. They can hide behind their shame and make something up.

2. They can hide behind their shame and say nothing…probably losing the chance at this new friendship because they obviously are hiding something.

3. They can be vulnerable….they can tell their story…with the knowledge that the shame that comes with their story is not theirs to claim.

What should they do?

I had reached a point where I accepted that the shame for the *literal* crimes committed against me was not mine to claim.

I had reached a point where I was able to openly tell my story…without panic…without tears…without fearing judgment.

The thing is…I had reached that point with very supportive people in my life. I felt safe.

But…I ventured out…I met knew people…I took that newfound strength and continued being this vulnerable, open version of me.

Not really their fault…but those people weren’t ready for that vulnerability. They couldn’t understand. They found the topics uncomfortable…scary…and, through their own self defense mechanisms, probably untrue…because it was too uncomfortable to face that it could be true. That this could happen to anyone.

We all recognize judgment when we see it. Those with a particular past recognize it a little more quickly. And…some don’t bother to hide their judgment because they consider that (fairly) being real. (I say fairly because no one should have to hide their feelings…that right doesn’t belong only to the traumatized.)

I recognized the judgment. I handled it in two ways. First…I got LOUDER. I WILL NOT BE SHAMED, DAMN IT!! Then…I reclaimed the shame. OBVIOUSLY THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME.

Annnnndddd…back to square one on healing. Back to feeling like I should apologize for the life I lived. Back to panicking…Back to crying…Back to fear.

You guys…I KNOW that I’m annoyingly vulnerable at times. I do this for my own healing…I do this so I can feel as known as you get to feel…I also do this to show others that it can be safe to be vulnerable.

This is why uncomfortable conversations are so important.

Do you want to know the people in your life as well as you want them to know you? Do you want them to feel safe? Or do you want them to hide behind a harmful, misplaced sense of shame.

But…another made up ratio…let’s say 85% of you are scared of these uncomfortable conversations.

99.99% of the people who read this are NOT actually self absorbed twatopotamuses (twatopotamees? twatopotami?) 99.99% of you don’t want people to feel shame for something done to them.

To you, I ask…are you going to place shame in order to avoid your own discomfort? Are you going to lean away from vulnerability and healing?

Or are you going to lean in?

Please lean in.

Today’s random musing from my solitunes time: I treat myself like government cheese.

Ok, ‘splain, Sheri. Right? Ok. Here goes.

(Almost) Everybody likes cheese. We each have our favorites. Mine are mozzarella (ps it’s moozahrell…not MOTZARELLAH) and Swiss (it’s holy…aka God’s cheese, y’all!). Maybe you love cheddar…gouda…like it melted…like it cold…who knows. It’s cheese!!!

But…unless we’re drunk…we probably don’t choose government cheese. Unless…

We’re in hard times.

That’s what government cheese is really for…

…People going through hard times.

The hard times pass…

…The cheese gets fancier and prettier.

That’s how I treat myself. Like people can only choose me in hard times.

Need a friend because world is collapsing? CHEESE!

Need someone to show you love when you’re low? I AM YOUR CHEESE!!

Need anything…anything at all…when times are tough…I want to make your life a little…well…cheesier… (Come on, you had to know I’d go there… 😆 )

But when times are better…I assume you don’t want me anymore. There’s better cheese out there for the good times.

You may not push away…you may still want the cheese I am…but I think without your welfare ticket…why pick me?

Here’s the thing. Maybe you never saw me as a big block of the best you could get at the time. To YOU I may be the one thing missing from you fondue feast. (Fondue is expensive, y’all! You ever been to Melting Pot?!?! Also…shout out to my nerd brethren…”Do you? Fondue?”)

You still want to dip yo….nope even I can’t go that gigigty in a blog. But you get the point.

YOU never saw me as government cheese, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting me unless I’m the last resort. As a friend…as a lover…as anything. If I don’t feel useful, well….I don’t feel useful.

So today I’m trying to make myself a promise.

Starting today, *I* am deciding. I. Am. Fondue

Do you fondue?