*Jazz Hands* Mom

So. This morning I did a dumb. I woke up…decided I felt ok…and decided to go for a run. Anyone who’s been following this probably knows that wasn’t necessarily the smartest idea…as I’m dealing with a heart issue…

So…why? Why would I do such a stupid thing? Am I trying to prove I’m some kind of badass? Nope. I am STILL trying to prove that I deserve to even breathe…

Especially after a night of the nightmares. Of her. My darling mother.

As I ran…I heard them…all the things she said…running through my head…”You are not enough”…

I can honestly say, without a doubt in my mind or heart, that my mother never loved me and never should have had me. And she spent a solid 25 years making sure I knew it.

I was 5 the first time I remember her telling me I was fat and had to go on a diet.

I was 6 the first time she told me she wouldn’t buy my school pictures (but she did my brother’s) because I was too ugly in them.

I was either 8 or 9 the year that I’m pretty sure she wanted to end me…for taking a bite out of everything in my Easter basket because I knew she was going to give it all away again the next day…like she did every year because I was too fat and didn’t need it.

At 10 she told me I couldn’t have the glasses the doctor said I needed because I was already too ugly without them.

At 17…when I had to call the police because an ex boyfriend was harassing me…she got him Braves tickets to apologize for me being a bitch.

At 22 she told me she didn’t need a daughter.

For a brief period at 23…she was proud of me…as I toyed with an eating disorder…for “FINALLY quitting eating and doing something about my problem”.

At 24 she called my fiancee and told him not to marry me because I’d be a horrible wife and mother.

Even 2 years ago…when she found out I was in school…she told the person who told her, “Ohhhh..that’s cute that they have some kind of certificate program for single moms…” “She’s getting two degrees…” “Oh, well, she’ll fail.” “She’s on the President’s List and on full scholarship.” “Oh…well…she’ll have to quit. She’ll realize she can’t do it all.”

These are the things I can’t get out of my head. These are the things I’m trying to prove wrong.

This feeling that everyone must agree with her and I don’t deserve the air I breathe.

These nightmares where she convinces everyone that she was right all along and takes everyone away.

That’s what I tried to outrun.

There’s a joke with my friends that there’s a Deadpool…what stupid way will Sheri die…

The irony is that, most likely, it will be while trying to prove that I deserve to be alive.

Blog Preface: Some may consider grace religious. Some may consider it humanity. I consider it both. We have a lot more in common with each other than we sometimes want to believe. (Also, this message weighed on me so heavily I’m writing it in a gas station parking lot. Lol)

For what feels like my entire life I have joked that my epitaph should say “She Tried.” Partially a joke, because that’s what I do. Mostly, I mean it.

No matter what bad things anyone could say about me (I’m not perfect) even those who like me least have had to admit…I try.

Every single day I wake up and make a conscious decision to try to be better than I was yesterday.

Do I believe that I will one day be perfect? Good Lord. NO! lol

It’s my imperfections that make me continue to try. It’s my mistakes that make me want to do better.

We all make them. Every single one of us makes mistakes. A wise woman once told me, “I want to see you making mistakes. If you’re not making mistakes you’re not trying anything new and you’re learning nothing.” So I am perfectly OK with saying…I make mistakes.

Sometimes those mistakes hurt people I love. Sometimes those mistakes hurt me. Sometimes those mistakes hurt my God.

And I pray for grace. I pray for God’s grace in knowing my heart and knowing that I’m trying to do better. I pray for my own grace so that I can forgive myself enough to continue to grow. I pray for the grace of my loved ones to forgive me and give me a chance to make it right.

Because, really…what’s the point of trying without grace? If we…or our loved ones…or our God…can’t give us the grace to forgive and BELIEVE that we will do better…if there is no hope of ever being better than our lowest moments…what is the point of trying?

So…we hope for grace…and, yet…how often do we forget to show it?

How often do we write people off and give them no chance to BE BETTER? Please do not get me wrong. There are people you cannot forgive because they do not want your forgiveness. They don’t want to do better. They want to stay in their muck and you should just love them anyway. That is toxic and you owe them nothing. However…what about the ones who actually try?

What about the alcoholic who has been through years of AA and not touched a drop?

What about the former criminal who paid his debt to society and became an upstanding and kind person?

What about the person who hurt us because they were hurting themselves, but have since sought help and struggled to heal and be better?

What about any of our mistakes that we have made…our lowest points where we hurt everyone around us…and then we found our way back and kept doing right?

Do they/we not deserve grace? Was the struggle for naught because we can be no better than our lowest?

I can’t believe that’s true, because I don’t want it to be true about me. I can’t believe that’s true because I’ve lost so many people in life because they WON’T try to be better…I don’t want to lose people who are trying.

You see…those mistakes I made…those people I hurt…it’s not just their grace I want. I want their grace because their love matters to me.

I want to have grace for myself so I can be deserving of self love.

I want the grace of my loved ones so I never stop trying to be worthy of their love.

And, yes, I pray for the grace of God because I want to truly deserve his undying love.

The point of trying IS grace. The point of grace is love.

And I want to give as much as I want to receive.

Blog Preface: I speak a lot about gaslighting, because that was my experience. However, I’m not sure whether it was my history or just merely society and my gender that taught me to never be proud. So, please, feel free to let me know if this resonates with you even without a specific history.

PRIDE. I think a lot about pride. It feels like it’s been my lifelong goal. To just have someone…anyone…be proud of me. I’ve dreamt of making my family proud…of making them believe that I’m worthy of their pride. I’ve wanted to make my friends proud to know me. I’ve held this relationship goal in my heart that I wanted to be with someone who was proud to be with me (just as I would be proud to be with them).

That’s terrible, right? Pride cometh before a fall. We’ve all heard it. Don’t be proud. Be humble.

Or as I heard it…

There’s nothing special about you. Don’t brag, no one likes that. You’re doing what’s expected of you, why should you be proud of that? You should feel lucky I love you, but don’t expect me to have any pride in you.

So…I tried harder…and harder…and harder…

I gave everything I could in every relationship. I constantly strived to be the best. I constantly pushed to be perfect. Anything I could do…to make someone proud…and happy enough that I was there, that they would never leave.

It didn’t work. And, up until this morning, I’m not sure I fully grasped why it didn’t work. But this morning it hit me.

What kind of pride was I showing in myself by saying that I needed to do more and more and more and more to make someone proud of me?

The fact that THEY weren’t proud of me…I took that to mean that I shouldn’t be proud of me…which led them back to wondering why they should be proud of me….and around and around we go.

So, I lived in this cycle. This cycle of trying too hard…of trying to show that I was humble and giving and worthy…only to find myself alone and with zero pride in my own self. I begged for familial pride so hard that I constantly felt like I wasn’t enough. I allowed myself to be in relationships where I so desperately wanted my partner to be as proud to be with me as I was to be with them. ..but I always felt like they just believed that I should feel lucky that they stayed…there was nothing special about me, after all.

4 years ago I started a journey to find my pride…through the one place that I had ever believed in my own abilities…academia.

This December I graduate…and I have been TERRIFIED of this looming graduation. I have been so scared that I was going to find out that I wasted these last years and that I was still this broken person who wouldn’t believe in herself anymore and who would go back to making the same mistakes.

Until this morning.

I was feeling anxious. I was thinking about how I shouldn’t bother with a graduation ceremony. At my age that is stupid and prideful and no one cares. No one wants to celebrate something like that. “Ooooh…Sheri did something that she should have done 20 years ago…way to go…” <insert eye roll>

I caught myself thinking…I just want to matter. I want to KNOW that I matter to someone enough that they wouldn’t be there just because they figure they have to…but because they are so proud of me that they can’t imagine NOT being there.

I caught myself believing that this is something I’ll never have. I KNOW my friends are proud of me. PLEASE know that I know that. But…I caught myself hurting because of what I feel like I’m lacking. Pride from my family…pride of someone who chooses me every day because he feels so proud to be with me that he wants the world to know…the kind of pride that, lets be honest, we all search for from our parents or our forever partners.

And then…I caught myself being irritated…because why am I basing my pride on myself on whether any particular people can be proud of me? I’d be HELLA proud if I was my daughter. I’d be shouting from the rooftops with pride if I got to be with me.

Not because I’m awesome.

But because, no matter what, I TRY.

I try to be kind to everyone I meet (even those I don’t like…lol).

I try to be a friend to those in need.

I try to succeed at everything I do so that people know they can rely on me.

I try to leave this world a little better every day than I found it that morning.

I try. So hard.

And…you know what? I’m proud of that.

And I don’t need other people to tell me that I should be proud of that…or that I shouldn’t.

I AM PROUD.

And the best part of that? It means that I accomplished what I really set out to do 4 years ago. Degrees…no degrees…it’s not the point.

I found myself. I learned to love myself. I learned to be proud to be me.

And I suddenly feel overwhelmingly confident that I won’t backslide as soon as I graduate. Because this is who I am now.

And I’m proud of me.

𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝗼𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐒𝐡𝗼𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝗺𝗼𝐬𝐭 𝗼𝐟 𝐮𝐬, 𝗺𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐧, 𝐟𝗼𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝗼𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭.

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, “𝐍𝗼…𝐈 𝐝𝗼𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝗼 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭…” 𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞, 𝐈 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝 𝐲𝗼𝐮. 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝗼 𝐢𝐭.

𝐈𝐭 𝐝𝗼𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝗺𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝗼 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐀𝐌…𝗼𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭.

𝐈’𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝗺𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝. 𝐈’𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝗼 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝗼. 𝐈’𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐈’𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭…𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫… 𝐓𝗼𝐧𝐬 𝗼𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐝, 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤…𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝗼𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭…𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝗼𝗼 𝗺𝐮𝐜𝐡. 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝗺𝐩𝐥𝗼𝐲𝐞𝐞. 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭…𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝗼𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭…𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭…

𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝗼 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝗼𝐧𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞…𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥…𝗺𝐞.

𝐒𝗼, 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝗼 𝐟𝗼𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝗺𝗼𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝗺 𝐧𝗼𝐭. 𝐈’𝗺 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝗼 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝗺𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝗺𝐞𝗺𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐎𝐊.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝗼𝐮𝐠𝐡.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝗼𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝗺𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝗺𝐲 𝐆𝗼𝐝.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐚 𝐠𝗼𝗼𝐝 𝗺𝗼𝗺.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐬𝗺𝐚𝐫𝐭.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝗼𝗼𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝… 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝗼𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝗺𝐞𝗺𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝗼 𝐟𝗼𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝗼𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝗺𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝗼𝐧𝐠.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺…𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤.

𝐈 𝐚𝗺 𝗺𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝…𝐭𝗼 𝐭𝐡𝗼𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝗺𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫…𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝗼𝐮𝐠𝐡.

𝐒𝗼…𝐈’𝗺 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝗼 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝗺𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝗼𝐟 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞…𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝗺 𝗺𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝗼𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧. 𝐅𝗼𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 4 𝗺𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬…𝐈’𝗺 𝐟𝗼𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝗼𝐧 𝐌𝐄 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝗺. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝗺𝗼𝗺 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞…𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞…𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝗺𝐩𝐥𝗼𝐲𝐞𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞…𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭…𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐛𝐞…𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐣𝐮𝗺𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝗼𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝗼 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝗼 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝗼𝐧𝐞.

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝗼𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝗼𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝗼𝐫 𝗺𝐞. 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝗼 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝗼𝐧𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞.

𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝗺𝗼𝐬𝐭 𝗼𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝗼 𝗺𝐞.

Lord,

Grant me 

THE SERENITY...
To remember that this teenaged girl used to love me...
even when she pushes my buttons...
and screams, 
"WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!?!?!" 
at the top of her lungs at least once a day...
while simultaneously refusing to leave my side long enough to let me pee...

THE COURAGE...
to enter her room without a hazmat suit...
to tell her that one day she WILL care about the effects of today's decisions...
to deny her demands for GrubHub because, 
"THERE'S NOTHING TO EAT!!!!"...
to teach her how to drive when she's angry enough to possibly crash on purpose to end it for both of us...

And...

THE WISDOM...
to know that this is normal...
that she actually loves me just as much as she did at 5...
that she knows I love her even when she screams that I'm ruining her life...
and that one day...
one glorious, beautiful, heavenly day...
you will grant me grandchildren 
to whom I will be able to whisper things like, 
"Your mom shouldn't make you clean your room...
she told me only TERRIBLE mothers would do such a thing..." 
as I load them up with sugar before sending them home 
with this prayer 
written on a napkin 
for her to blow her nose in as she cries the next generation of, 
"Where am I going so wrong?!?!" tears.

AMEN

About half of the people in my world call me Domino. It’s a nickname that was given to me a couple of years ago by some ladies I was working out with…because one of the first things the group does is give you a nickname based on who you are.

About three quarters of the people that call me Domino have absolutely no idea why they call me that.

Is it because I love pizza? No. (I mean…I do, but no…)

Is it because I fall down a lot? No. (Stop laughing. Yes, we all know that I DO, in fact, fall down a lot. But that’s not the why.)

Ok. So…why Domino?

I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately, to be honest. Actually I keep going through this thing where I HATE my name and internally flinch when I hear it.

Right now…I’m not the woman they named Domino.

Or am I?

You see…Domino…the one that I am named for…is a Marvel antihero.  (Please don’t think of the one in Deadpool 2…that is not who Domino is supposed to be.)

Domino is pretty badass.  Which…is why I flinch at that name now.  Because I am NOT badass.  I don’t feel like I’m Domino anymore.

But, this morning I was thinking about it and….

I’m EXACTLY all the reasons that I was originally named Domino…and maybe even a little something more…

You see…that first day…those ladies asked me to talk about myself.  Of course, one of the first things I told them is that I love all things superhero.  Especially Marvel.  So they asked who my favorite character was and why.

That was easy.

DOMINO.

And the why… (I’ll be honest, for the sake of ease, I’m copying most of this next part from an article I already wrote about her a few years ago.  lol)

Domino’s power is luck.  Yes, luck would be the coolest superpower ever…but even the best luck comes with pain. How many times have we gone through life thinking, “I know I’m going to make it through this…but I also know it’s going to hurt.”? I know I have on many different occasions.  So, even Domino’s specific power…I get it.  Luck will be on her side and she will survive anything that gets thrown at her (sometimes literally thrown at her), but that surviving is likely going to hurt. 

Through that luck and through that survival, she has created her own family. Yup. Been there, too.

She’s closed off parts of herself that she only allows her most trusted confidantes to see. Got it.

She uses humor to make it through the pain, because life hurts less when you can laugh. Uh-huh.

And, finally, she’s a mutant.  And, as she stated rather eloquently in a mutant support group that she ran…even in that room full of mutants…who were all even different from each other…

“Because outside of this room – For whatever reason – We all feel alone.  Each one of us feels like some kind of freak.  Rejects.  At least in here we can be alone together.”

Which actually leads me to the epiphany that I had this morning.

Why do I MOST still feel like Domino (besides the statements above which….I think most of you who know me well already know pretty much nail me…)?

Domino doesn’t look THAT different.  Her physical mutation (the pale white skin and dark spot around her eye) could be seen as makeup.  People around her may think she’s just like them, but a little weird.  But…once they get to know her…they find out that that is really who she is…a mutant.  Not in a bad way.  She’s a rather heroic mutant.  But, at her core, she is a mutant who feels alone.  Who, at times, feels like the rest of the world is better off without her because they get hurt when she’s around. 

I am more Domino today than I ever have been before. 

Y’all. I’m an ornery person. I just am. There are moments when I desperately want things…that later I just stand there holding going, “Well, what the fuck am I going to do with this now????”

Compliments and Friendship are the two biggest of those things.

Compliments….that’s the part most of you will probably understand. Whether we admit it or not…we WANT people to think highly of us. Be it that we’re pretty or we’re smart or we’re funny….whatever it is. We want people to think highly of us because we think highly of them. And yet…at the same time…someone gives us a compliment and it’s like deer in headlights. Or, as an ex told me once, I look down and to the right and laugh with an uncomfortable “thanks”. (He wasn’t wrong…I still catch myself…Every. Damn. Time. someone gives me a compliment…head goes down…pointed towards the right shoulder…hiding the eyes…wait for it…wait for it… *uncomfortable laugh*…Hahahahaa….Thanks….

Why? Because the nice things that people say to me? They’re not how I see myself. I’m not ugly…I’m not especially attractive, either. I can be “cute”, but nothing worth compliments. I’m smart. I know I am. But a compliment is like a pedestal that I’ll fall off of when I do something stupid. Funny…ok, you can call me funny whenever you want. Not everyone appreciates my particular brand of humor, but…dude…I’m hilarious. 😉

But the rest of the compliments? Because that’s not how I see me…it feels…wrong when other people say they see me in those ways…it feels like they can’t really mean it.

And, so….ooopsie…did I blow up those compliments? Mah bad….

But I do this with friendship, too. I want to be liked. I want to be loved. I want people to WANT to be around me. I also know that people never stay. And, especially when I’m facing things that I don’t know how to handle…and I can’t be the person that they originally liked because I can barely survive each day…and I become more and more ornery and miserable and hermit-like…I stand there…holding these friendships that have been handed to me…that they won’t take back…and laugh uncomfortably…as I wonder how fast I can run if I just chuck it in the air and go.

For the same reason as compliments…

When I’m struggling with something that I don’t know how to get through…I know that people don’t stay in my life…they may love me for a little while, but they will leave. Because I’m not a loveable person…ESPECIALLY when I can’t be the person taking care of everyone else and making them laugh. So…their love and friendship…handed to me…I don’t know what to do with it because it scares me. Now…instead of blowing it up, like the compliments…I feel like it’s a bomb in my hands. I’m going to begin to trust it…I’m going to hold onto it…and then…when it blows up…it’s going to hurt that much more because I was holding on.

Now…while I don’t particularly love my face…I don’t really want it being blown off, either.

Basically, the more I think about it as I write…I want to deserve these things. I want to be deserving of compliments. I want to be these things that other people say they see in me. I want to be deserving of love and friendship. I want to be someone worth sticking around for.

But until I believe that I DO deserve them and can have them?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes each of us special. I’ll start with the Why.

I…could not tell you what makes me special. I can tell you what I feel makes me weird. I can tell you what I feel makes me annoying…too much…not enough…all the other things that I tell myself on a daily basis. But, special? Nah. Heck, a few years ago I had to write a paper for school about what makes me special…I asked my boyfriend at the time and his response was, “Honestly? Nothing. You’re not special.” Oh…ok….

BUT I HAVE THESE FRIENDS who, for some reason, see something special in me. No matter how much I say, “Hey, I’ll understand if you go away…” or “Seriously, no one is cute enough to make up for THIS personality…”…they just laugh and say they’re not going anywhere. They see SOMETHING special in me.

(Or I’m just a trainwreck they can’t look away from. #TomatoNobodySaysTomahto 🤷‍♀️)

So, that’s the why. But it got me thinking…what do other people think makes THEM special? Guess what…

Most people cracked a joke or said nothing made them special.

And every one of them was wrong.

Every person in my life is special. Not just to me, but…there is something TRULY special about them. Their loyalty…their selflessness…their intellect…their humor…their strength…

Every single person that I love, I can tell them EXACTLY what I see that makes them special.

But somewhere along the way they were convinced that they aren’t special. That what makes them different makes them weird.

So I will always remind them.

And, I bet if you look around, your loved ones have forgotten what makes them special, too. So I’m challenging all of you to make sure you point these things out every chance you get.

Because it’s a lot easier for people to understand why you love them enough to stick around when they understand why you’d want to.

A number of years ago, some online friends and I were playing a game. “What’s a phrase you would use to describe me.” Someone came along and said, “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”. I had no idea what he meant, but for some damn reason I respected his opinion enough to go look it up. And…I. Was. Pissed.

What is a Manic Pixie Dream Girl? It’s a movie trope. The exact terms used to describe her are: “the MPDG exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures” and “has no discernible inner life and usually exists only to provide the protagonist some important life lessons.”

What. The. Fuck?

The examples given were Jess (New Girl) or basically any Zooey Deschanel character…Ruby Sparks…any other QUIRKY female film character. Apparently being quirky means you have no point to your existence?

Seriously, this bothered me for A LONG ASS TIME.

But why? Why did it bother me so much? First of all, I get compared to Zooey Deschanel characters A LOT. lol Secondly…dude…sometimes I WISH I had less of a discernible inner life. Lol

But, mostly…it hurt because I could see how he got there.

I had a therapist once who begged me to get a Masters in Psychology. “You have this ability…to understand people…their motives…who they can be…that is beyond anything I’ve seen. It’s HORRIBLE for you because it makes it very hard for you to get angry, because you can understand the why of their view and actions. But it’s great for the people around you.”

That trait of mine…is the base root of my relationship issues. That was my real epiphany this morning.

I was thinking about a conversation I had with a friend about an ex the other day. About who they have decided to be. And I was thinking, “I’ll always love that person because he mattered to me once and because I know who he is deep down…but, MAN, I don’t like him.”

That’s when it hit me. I can say that about pretty much everyone I’ve ever dated. I love them for who they are inside, but I sincerely dislike who they choose to be.

This led me back to the MPDG trope.

In many past relationships, I’ve lost myself. I gave up things that mattered to me to support the things that mattered to them. I lost things and people I loved as I tried to be there for my person.

I forgot to keep being my own person.

Then I went the opposite direction. I remember a couple of summers ago. I had gone out with someone a few times. I was stressed about things I needed to do. He told me, “Ok. We need to sit down together and refigure your priorities.” The. FUCK. We. Do! My priorities are just fine, but you just became not one! (You guys know me…I always go to the extreme…lol)

I kind of became a Manic Pixie Fuck Off Girl.

But, even on both ends of the extreme, I always have had my own thoughts…my own wishes…my own dreams.

I’m Quirky as hell, but I am most definitely not here only for the benefit of helping someone become their best self.

If I help them find their best self in the process of being my own best self, bonus.

But no one will ever again say to me that I make a great partner because I’m “so easy to be with”, “malleable” or “too nice”.

I’ll be the Manic Pixie I Hope We Fit In Each Other’s Worlds Girl.

It’s funny. I had part of this blog planned out before I saw that memory from two years ago. Now it’s going to be a mix of all my thoughts. Weird, right? Sheri posting a jumble of thoughts? Whodathunkit?

So…a few years ago…I found myself. I didn’t do a lot of peopling…because I tend not to fit…but I had come to peace with that and had honestly really started to be happy with who I was. I had what I called “the weirdest self confidence in the world…I love me…I just don’t expect that anyone else will.” 🤷‍♀️

But…over the past almost 2 years, I lost that somewhere. I started trying to fit.

I started putting myself around round holes…and, me being oval, kept trying to JAM myself into those round holes to show that I could fit just as well as the circles…but I’m not a circle. I just kept battering myself…but it just couldn’t work.

This weekend I spent approximately 17 hours in a car. I’m a firm believer that you can solve world peace on a road trip…or you can work yourself up into starting WWIII…it could go either way. 🤷‍♀️😂

Today I pretty much hit WWIII…AND World Peace.

First…I got really freaking mad about feeling like I don’t fit. Mostly at myself…with lots of, “it’s not supposed to be this HARD!!!”s thrown in. Then at people who make me feel…less than…for being an oval.

But something also occurred to me.

Grace. We all deserve some grace.

It is not my fault that I don’t fit. It’s not theirs either.

You see…when most people were learning how to “fit in”…I was being hidden. I wasn’t allowed to have friends really…we didn’t even have a phone. We were on the run and being popular wasn’t good for that. So…I was by myself a lot.

When people were learning how to socialize away from their parents…I had just been found not long before that…and I didn’t even know who I was and knew everyone else saw me as the weird kidnapped girl who was too shy to speak.

When people were learning how to interact with the opposite sex…I was struggling with my past and present…and being consistently told that I wasn’t worthy of any form of attention or love…

When people were getting married and making healthy forever choices, I was finally escaping abuse and trying to learn who I was.

And all I learned was that who I was…was really weird…and didn’t fit.

It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t fit.

It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t let me fit.

Just as now…it’s not my fault that I don’t fit.

It isn’t (always) their fault that they look at me like I’m a science experiment rather than a person.

But…that girl…who said that to that guy 2 years ago…man, she didn’t give a flying fuck if she fit. She was awesome and anyone would be lucky to know her.

I’m going to find her again. No matter what it takes.

I’m finding my way back to grace.