Skip to main content

the first time

The first time.
It was not what I expected. I mean, if anyone really has an expectation of what it might be like. I was aware that the day would come. I was naive, but I also saw the signs. It was a progression of events. Events leading up to that time.
The first time.
So many feelings, so many emotions rushing through me. Disbelief. Mistrust. Sadness. Anger. Defeat. Brokenness. Had that really just happened? Did the man I love just hit me? 
The first time.
It was just the first of many more times. Always with the same results. I apologized. I changed. I took responsibility. He felt justified.
The first time.
Today's Sherri would love to go back to that day and tell that Sherri, "You are smart, and beautiful, and worthy. You deserve to be treated as such. You cannot save him. You can only save yourself. Believe in yourself. Love yourself. Walk away now. This will not be the only time, this will just be the first time."


************************************************************************************
There are many reasons why I chose to stay for four years in an abusive relationship. I blame no one, not even him. I made decisions based on who I was at that time. Looking back, they may not have been the best decisions, but it's impossible to change them now. They made me who I am today. Even though this is a part of my past that few know about, it played a big part in shaping the Sherri that you know now - both in bad and good ways. Life is full of lessons, and when I finally had the courage to leave that situation for good, I had learned a lot. I try hard to find the good in everything. I refuse to believe that that period of my life was all bad. It wasn't. I made friends during that time that I still have. I learned. I loved. I grew. I changed. And I stayed the same.

~~ I'm hoping that I've made it clear enough, but in case I didn't : This is about my past. This is not about the man I love now.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

the deconstruction of my life and other not-so-fun moments : reckless love

    About ten years ago, I caught on to this revolutionary (to me) idea of radical love. I wanted more than anything to be   Love, the mouthpiece, the hands, the feet of Jesus, the very embodiment of all that love is. I spoke about love and forgiveness, acceptance and grace. I was the voice. I helped feed the hungry and clothe the poor. I was the hands. I went about my life, in my own town, in another country, spreading this newfound love. I was the feet. The more I swam in the deep of this reckless sea of unadulterated love, the freer I was. It was liberating like no other point of my christian walk had been. I knew authenticity and openness and joy in limitless ways. This love was overflowing and I gave it away freely. but The church is not in the free business. It became quite clear that I was being too   free with my approach. Yes, god gives grace, BUT... Yes, god forgives, BUT... Yes, god accepts all, BUT... Of course god loves all, BUT... So, I tempered my love...

the deconstruction of my life and other not-so-fun moments : forgiveness

Forgiveness. It isn't always simple. It definitely should never be expected. And, there are times that it is given without ever having been asked for. But, for me, for the instances that I shall detail in this Deconstruction series, I am actively applying it as a monthly meditation. I found this beautiful forgiveness intention written by Michael B. Beckwith: "I forgive you and set you free. Your actions no longer have power over me. I acknowledge that you are doing the best that you can, and I honor you in your process of unfoldment. You are free and I am free. All is well between us. Peace is the order of the day." I wrote about two very specific people in my last post (you can read that  here ). Part of my process of deconstructing my life is to take these experiences and flip the narrative. I am taking apart the whole, laying it out for introspection, and reassembling it my   way, for my   benefit. I am healing in the places I have been wounded. And so, I quieted my s...

and the honor goes to...part 1

This will be a series of posts in which I honor people who have made an impact in my life, both in my past and in my present. I am blessed to still have some of these people in my life; others have left this life for their next one; others are no longer a part of my close circle, yet still made a difference to me. I want to share them with you. I want to honor them. I want them to know how much I love and respect them. The first one is dedicated to my childhood babysitter, Pat B. Growing up, both of my parents worked. This meant that my sister and I went to a babysitter when we were younger. We had a few, but the one that we spent the most time with, and that I remember the most, lived right up the road from us. We were actually neighbors, but being in the country, that meant a cornfield separated us. I recall being there when I was in kindergarten until I was old enough to stay by myself, probably around 12 or 13. I love to reminisce about my time there. It was my home away from ...