*Jazz Hands* Mom

I counted this morning. I moved 13 times between the ages of 10 and 25. 13 times in 15 years. I’ve been in the same place now for almost 18 years…but, if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling that tug for many, many years…it’s just harder to pick up and go when you have a child.

So…WHY? Why have I moved so much? A couple of them were normal moves, but mostly…I’ve always been searching for home.

I want to say that I thought I had it until I was 10. My childhood vision thought I did…I thought that was what home just looked like. My mother’s mental illness aside, my stepfather (who I thought was my daddy) treated me like a princess and my brothers were the pains in the ass they were supposed to be. Now I know that wasn’t a home…it was a mirage and a lie…but I think it warped my view of what home should look like. Not because I had the things I should, but because if that HUGE of a lie could exist…then the TV realities could, too, right?

I could have parents who loved me. I could have siblings that were my best friends. I could be teased and picked on, but still be enough to be loved.

I searched for that home. But…I never fit. I was too much a girl. I was not enough like others. I was too heavy. I wasn’t pretty. I was smart, but that wasn’t exactly something that made people want me around. I was too responsible. I became funny as hell…but that only gets you so far. I was simultaneously too much and not enough.

So…I searched. And searched and searched and searched.

I searched for a place that felt like home, but places aren’t home.

I searched for family that made me feel like home, but sometimes you’ll never fit no matter how much any of you want it to happen.

I searched in relationships…which is about the dumbest move a person can make.

I searched in large groups. If others could find home there, why couldn’t I? But I couldn’t.

Why? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be enough? Why am I always too much?

There was a cycle that I recognized fully this morning.  I search for home…I think I found it…I jump in…I embrace it…I start to feel like I’m the only one embracing it…so I leave. I may look back, but I leave.

I try to leave this feeling behind.

And therein lies the rub. You can’t leave yourself behind. I am the common denominator of the places I don’t fit. Not just in a way of I must really be too much and not enough (I vascillate on whether these things are true about me). In the way that…

I’m always ready to run.

That’s not anything anyone else is doing. That’s not the decision that anyone else is making.

They stay where they are.

I am the one who runs away.

Am I running from them? Or am I running away from myself?

I believe I’m running to find a home…but, in reality, I am an eternal Toby Tyler…running away to join the circus…

Who else moves that many times? Lol

I’m fair enough to myself to know that the homes I’ve run from really were not meant for me. That wasn’t in my imagination.

But…I’m hoping I’ve reached a place inside of myself where I can recognize home when I finally find it…and be willing to stay still and fight for it.

This is something that has been weighing on my heart for a very long time.  Possibly most of my life, but definitely the past year.  It’s time for it to come out.

Dear Nopes,

You probably wonder why I call you that.  You may even wonder if you are a Nope.  You…singularly…are not.  You…with other women…maybe?

A “Nope” is what I’ve always called large groups of women.  Those groups that you see having lunches together.  Those groups you see having large girls nights out.  Those groups that you see doing life together. 

Why do I call them a Nope?  For two reasons:

1. Nope, I can’t deal with the cattiness that comes along with that many times.  (I’ve always had a theory that someone who will gossip to me will gossip about me.)
2. Nope, they don’t want anything to do with me anyway.

So…Nopes…here’s what I wish you knew.

• I wish you knew that I constantly feel like I’m on the outside looking in. 
• I wish you understood that, even if I’m not like you, I still have worth…and, if you gave me a chance, you just might like me. 
• No, I don’t have a husband. 
• No, I don’t have small children. 
• No, my teenager has no urge to be a prom queen. 
• No, I don’t own a fancy car and spend my evenings at soccer practice. 
• Yes, I do have a highly inappropriate sense of humor.  Yes, I do everything to the extreme because I’m passionate and I care. 
• Yes, I have anxiety and so I either talk to much or not at all. 
• Yes, I have feelings.
• And, mostly…Yes, I know you don’t like me…even when you try to hide it.

Just as you wish that people could see you for who you are, I wish you would give me the chance to show you who I really am.  I’m obnoxious, when I care too much not to be.  I’m loud, when I’m fighting for what I believe in.  I joke too much, because laughter is a bright spot in dark days and I want to make everyone I come across have a better day today than yesterday.  I overshare because you never know who NEEDS to hear your story so they know they’re not alone.

Nopes, I don’t think you’re bad people.  I think you have hopes and fears and hearts that feel everything…maybe a little too much, just like me. 

But I think I scare you.  I am the epitome of everything that you are afraid to be…and maybe a little bit of what you wish you were.  I challenge your happy little bubbles and your beliefs that all pegs must fit into the same hole. 

But…Nopes…I never tried to hurt you, upset you, offend you…Quite often, on an individual level…even if you have hurt me…I’ve tried to be the voice of reason when others are hurt by your actions.  Because just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to be liked.

I wish you felt the same way about me.

I wish you didn’t feel the need to gossip about me.  I wish you didn’t feel the need to ignore me and shy away as if you fear my life is going to rub off on you.  I wish that if there is a real reason you don’t like me and that I’ve done something to hurt you, that you’d tell me so we can clear the air and try again.

I’m not ever going to fit.  I know this.  I will always be slightly on the outside looking in.

But, maybe could crack the window just enough to let me be a little part of it?

Except the gossiping.  That will always be a nope.

Love,

The Invisible-Ish Woman

Last night I made a statement. “I don’t want to be me anymore.”

You know what? Nothing could be further from the truth.

What I want is to stop feeling like others think there is something wrong with being me.

I have always been a passionate person. Everything I do…everything I feel…is with passion. And, similarly, I bring out passion in people. Either they passionately love me or they passionately dislike me. There really doesn’t seem to be much middle ground…probably because I, myself, never find middle ground.

But…as for me…I really, REALLY like me.

So…even when I feel like a round peg trying to fit in a square hole…I don’t wish I was square…I wish the hole was more round.

I don’t want to be like you…but I do wish you were more like me.

I wish that no matter how many times you’ve been hurt, you still find ways to love fully.

I wish that no matter how many times you’ve been betrayed, you still find ways to let people in.

I wish that no matter how many times you’ve felt judged, you choose to live a life where you refuse to sit in judgment.

I wish that you could find your inner child…I wish that you could feed that inner child with stupid jokes…as you laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of life.

I wish that you would allow yourself, with a sense of wonder, to be weird…to think the thoughts that make you even laugh at yourself…but that feed your creativity.

I wish you could do all of these things and be well…well rounded.

It is my absolute absurdity and passion…and SHEER REFUSAL to give up that makes me actually quite happy being me.

I just wish that you could see that maybe…just maybe…not only is it ok to be like me, but the world could use a little more of me.

Hi. My name is Sheri. And I’m a recovering Helper.

Helping is good, right? We learned that in kindergarten. We should always offer to help those who need us.

But helping is like sex…if it’s not consensual on both sides, it doesn’t really make the recipient feel warm and fuzzy. It makes them feel mauled and violated.

Mauled and violated by…THE HELPER.

I know I’m not the only one. How many times have you done it?

You see a friend who…if they would just LISTEN…would make better choices. You can HELP them!!

You have a friend going through a hard time…LET ME DO SOMETHING TO HELP!!!!!!

You have a friend who needs you to hear them vent, but…wait for it…wait for it…you can’t do that because you’re gonna HELP!!!!!!!

YOU ARE ALMIGHTY AND BRILLIANT AND KNOW WHAT EVERYONE ELSE NEEDS!!!!!!!

Is that really what you believe? Of course not.

Is that really what I believe? Nope.

But that’s how we come across.

Offered help is a beautiful thing…and I think more people could have used not missing that day of kindergarten…

But…when your (*cough* my) offer of help is declined…and then we force them to accept our help anyway…we are nonverbally saying, “I know what you need more than you do.”

I caught myself doing that again today. Luckily it was with one of my best friends, but I caught myself thinking…well, I don’t know if she wants this help, but she’s gonna get it!

Yeah…that’s not help…

And I’m trying to do better.

So? Can I help you make Shake & Bake? Please? Because it would make me feel as good as you feel just knowing that I want to.

And that’s how I’m going to ask from now on.

Two running jokes in my life that go back as far as I can remember…

“Sheri can’t ride a bicycle to save her life…hahahaha”

“Oh, look…Sheri is apologizing again…hahahaha”

Yup. I may not be able to ride a bicycle near traffic without fearing for my life, but I am DAMN good at riding the Sorrycycle.

Because that’s what it is…a cycle.

My…person (for lack of a better term at this time…labels, yo…lol)…got upset with me the other day for always apologizing. He told me later,

“I swear…it’s like you’re apologizing for existing.”

Oh! Ok! I get why that could be upsetting. So…let me explain…you see…ummmm..

“I am.”

I AM apologizing for existing and I’m pretty sure I have been from my first word.

I’m sorry for not being pretty enough.

I’m sorry for not being smart enough.

I’m sorry for not being the daughter you wanted.

Actually, I’m sorry for being a girl at all when you only like boys.

I’m sorry for being too quiet.

I’m sorry for being too loud.

I’m sorry for being too fat.

I’m sorry for being too thin.

I’m sorry for needing food and air that someone else deserves more.

I’m sorry. If I say it enough, will you please love me?

Obnoxious, right? Weak. Needy. Insecure. I’ve heard it all. None of it true. It actually takes enormous strength to live the life that causes this.

What life?

A life of narcissistic abuse.

I was looking for a definition of narcissistic abuse to explain, but found this.

Basically? “You’re not enough…you’ll never be enough…you should feel lucky to be allowed to breathe.”

Ok. I’m sorry.

But, Sheri…you’re not a kid anymore…you don’t live with that anymore…get over it!

Well, yes and no.

I don’t live with my initial abusers anymore. However, those who grow up in this manage to keep the cycle going by being magnetically pulled to new narcissists.

But even beyond that…

Telling someone to get off the sorrycycle is like telling someone to stop breathing.

Geez, Sheri. Dramatic much?

Nope.

Being sorry…apologizing for our existence…that’s what kept us alive. My friend quite accurately used the term “de-escalation” this morning.

The words, “I’m sorry” tells your abuser, “I’m taking the blame. You don’t need to keep hurting me to prove it’s my fault. I know I’m lucky you put up with me, so please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry” kept us alive as surely as breathing did.

So…stop saying I’m sorry…

This person is angry. I can’t breathe. They’re going to hurt me. I’m sorry.

This person is disappointed. I can’t breathe. I know I’m lucky you put up with me. I’ll try to do better. I’m sorry.

This person is inconvenienced. I can’t breathe. I should have done something to avoid this. I’m worthless. I’m sorry.

This person wishes I didn’t exist. They’re right. I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.

You leave the abuse (if you’re lucky), but unless you leave humanity you will never leave behind the emotions of others…and ALL emotions are healthy in the right dosage…but we didn’t live around the right dosage…we lived in a pool of other people’s emotions that threatened to drown us at every turn.

I can’t breathe.

I shouldn’t exist.

I’m sorry.

Having left that environment behind (mostly)…I’m one of the luckier ones…I still can’t get off the sorrycycle.

Anger frightens me. More than I think anyone in my world understands. So I strive to deescalate. I’m sorry.

Disappointment terrifies me. So I strive to deescalate. I’m sorry.

Apathy is one step from abandonment. So I deescalate. I’m sorry.

So…yeah…I KNOW how annoying it is that I do this. I KNOW that my loved ones want me to know that I’m safe…I’m secure…I’m loved…and they’re GLAD I exist….

But, until one day when I finally feel truly safe…

I’m sorry.

I will never forget the day that I finally snapped at Bella for constantly telling me, “One sec!!!!” as I tried to get her moving towards my plans for the day. She was only about 8…she was being a normal 8 year old…but I needed to get us where we were supposed to be…and she kept yelling, “One sec!!!!” for about 10 minutes every time I tried to get her attention. Aaaaaannnnddddd….I snapped…

“NO MORE SECS!!!!!!”

Both of our eyes got really big…and then we both lost it…but we finally headed towards our correct destination. 

I realized this morning…

October 2020 to present has basically been the year where God snapped…

“NO MORE SECS!!!”

If I’m honest, God has been trying to get me out the door to His planned destination for years.

“Ok, Sheri, it’s time to set boundaries…” “One sec!!! I need to see this cute boy!”

“Sheri…focus…it’s time to start treating yourself the way you treat others…” “One sec! I swear! I just need to finish doing this for someone!”

“Sheri, it’s time to start listening to the body I gave you when it says it needs rest…” “Ok!! I hear you!! Geez!! One sec!!! I just REALLY want to hit this speed PR!!”

“Sheri, I’m trying to get you out the door to dealing with your anxiety so you can love yourself…” “I know, God, and I trust your path. Just one more sec…I’m too sad to leave right now…:

“ME DANGIT, SHERI, NO MORE SECS!!!”

*trusted person sexually harasses me and removes sense of safety*

*broken leg stops ability to emotionally ‘run’ away*

*physically broken heart forces time of reflection on what’s important* 

*lost friends…tears cried…rock bottom reached*

“Ok…geez, God…no more secs…I’m listening…dang…”

“Thank you. Now let’s go.”

All of these things…yeah…He let them happen…because I WOULD. NOT. LISTEN. while I could still be distracted…while I could still yell…

“ONE MORE SEC, GOD!”

Nope. No more secs. Time to go.

Time to go learn that when someone steals your safety, you set boundaries…you stand firm in what how God believes you deserve to be respected.

Time to learn that when you run from the lessons God needs you to learn, you only elongate your own pain.

Time to learn that life is short and even faith and stubborn tenacity can’t keep a body whole when it needs you to listen.

Time to learn that you need to show yourself the love that you show others and wish for in return…time to learn that people treat us as they see us treat ourselves.

Time to learn that forgiveness and strength go hand in hand.

No more secs. It was time to go.

And I learned. The hard way. Because it was the only way I’d stop…focus…and listen.

And, now…this morning…I sit here…listening to the sounds of my beloved nature…watching my dogs play…in a place that only forgiveness, strength and boundaries could have brought me to…ruminating on recent events and changes…reveling in a sense of peace as no anxieties sit heavy in my chest…and, I think,

“Ok, God. You were right. No more secs.”

Alright, you guys. I have to admit something to you. Are you ready? Are you sitting? Maybe hold onto something to steady yourself. Ok…here it goes…

I…am not perfect.

WHAAAAATTT?!?!

Ok. Has everyone’s shock subsided yet?

But…really. I’m not perfect. No one is perfect. And the ones I’m closest to are the ones who can admit that.

I often say that we don’t connect through our perfections, but rather through our imperfections.

And I CRAVE connection.

More importantly?

I TRUST connection. I FEAR attempted perfection.

Why is that? Easy…

Since we all know that perfection isn’t possible…CONSTANT positivity isn’t possible…those who attempt to maintain either are eventually going to blow. I’d rather they not blow up on me. I’ve been the dark secret of a “perfect” and “positively positive and cute” person. I’ve been the emotional punching bag for who they really were. I’ve watched them eventually blow up when they feel they’ve been wronged. And I’ve watched the devastation they left behind with those that weren’t at least lucky enough to already know the truth.

So, while I will always try to find silver linings (for myself and others) I will never pretend a life of perfection. And I will shy away in fear of those who do.

So, here is my promise to you.

On the days that you feel like you’re breaking, I will be there to hold your hand…if you reach out with your imperfection.

On the days when you fear you can’t live up to the world’s expectations, I will show you how you far exceed them…if you reach out with your imperfection.

On the days that you feel ugly and unloved, I will show you how you are all that us beautiful and beloved in this world…if you reach out with your imperfection.

I promise that I will be there to hold you up and support you and love you…if you promise to allow the imperfection connection.

And…I promise…I’m never gonna give you up…never gonnq let you down…never gonna run around and desert you… (Hi, Robyn, I know you’re reading this…enjoy the Rick Roll.)

I have been pretty much obnoxious about my new puppy this week.

Which is borderline hilarious because I’ve really never been a huge dog person…and I had ZERO intention of getting a puppy.

But…here we are…

See.. what had happened was…

I went for a run…didn’t even make it a half mile…when suddenly…I GET ATTACKED BY A PILE OF CUTENESS!!

So I giggle and play with the puppies and start back on my way. But the pile of cuteness kept coming…

They chased for a little ways and then they turned around and went back to where I found them. Well…most of them did…but not this little guy…

Well, I mean…I couldn’t just LEAVE him there…2 miles from where we started…So, I HAD to carry him home!!

And that’s how Bolt adopted me…

But here’s the thing…Bolt didn’t just adopt me…Bolt didn’t just BOLT away from his family to be with me…

Like a BOLT of lightning in a pop-up storm…Bolt showed up when I needed him most.

I didn’t adopt him. He adopted me.

I didn’t rescue him. He rescued me.

When I have spent this year in survival mode…day by day…just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other…

Suddenly I’m happy…not fake it til you make it…but HAPPY and excited for each day…and Bolt gave me something to truly laugh about and love about life again.

And I believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bolt was sent to that spot like a tiny tail wagging angel to meet me at the moment that I needed him most.

To rescue me.

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.