in the midst of metamorphosis

Riding the bus during my childhood school years became my first memories of boys and bullying and the inexcusable being excused. These boys were older and they were, by far, worse than any "mean girls" I've encountered since. They were persistent and loud. They were relentless and aggressive. and they were never stopped. My first encounter of being groped was on that very same bus. A different boy but just as aggressive, just as persistent, just as relentless. A foundation had already been formed. I was less than and had no voice, no backbone, no knowledge to fight this surrounding system of boys will be boys. and I never stopped him. Years later, I would encounter this same attitude in the workplace, the one that had me trying to avoid the handsy cook in the walk-in, that had me laughing off customers advances so that I could make enough tips to support myself, that had me scared because a forceful patron had followed me home from my job at the bar and now knew whe...

That night is shrouded in a dense, alcohol fueled fog. I remember most of it, but it is the feelings that stand out as markers throughout the experience. I cannot tell you what he looked like, but I can tell you how he made me feel. Comforted, accepted, whole, safe, wanted. I didn't know him at all. He showed up at a party. I was feeling sad, alone, insecure. He said all the right words, did all the right things. I had no reason to fear him. yet. I cannot tell you what his car looked like, but I can tell you that my intuition screamed at me the moment I was inside of it.   Get. Out! I ignored her, as I unfortunately do at times. Besides, the charm was still there - why would I worry? We talked and drove and I remember thinking, 'well maybe this night isn't a total bust'. I cannot tell you where we were, but I can tell you that fear was making her presence known. And when I asked to go back and he refused, she settled into the pit of my stomach. and some days, I...

As I was reading Brene Brown's latest book, Braving The Wilderness , this literally jumped off the page and into my heart. This explained my latest lesson perfectly. Let me rephrase it the way that my brain saw it : If spouses really want their loved one to show up, speak out, take chances, and innovate, we each have to create cultures where the other feels safe - where their belonging is not threatened by speaking out and they are supported when they make the decision to brave the wilderness, stand alone, and speak truth to bullshit.   I want to show up and speak out, with a transparency that begs for a deeper intimacy. I want to take chances and bring new ideas to our relationship that catapults us even higher. I want to be vulnerable and open and speak honestly. And I want all of those things for him as well. When I first met my hubby, I was fresh out of an abusive relationship. Like 3 weeks fresh. I was a walking mess of fear and insecurity. I didn...

*October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month I could rummage through the memories, pinpointing exact moments, specific events or words, that, undoubtedly, led this younger me to fall prey to an abusive man.  ...and I have. I could lay blame at the feet of circumstances or people in my life, shrugging off the cover of responsibility, and live under the banner of victim. ...and I have. I could absolve it all, each contributor to the broken me, and allow guilt and condemnation to weigh me down, into darkness, where I justify him, where I excuse him, and live under the banner of unworthy. ...and I have. I have, at one time or another, processed through all of these, trying desperately to find answers, to find reasons, to find healing. And, I just can't. Not anymore. It happened. There may be a hundred reasons. There may only be one. But, life happens. I'm tired of putting my newfound freedom on hold while I travel back in time to fix what can...

Once again, it is in the spotlight. Famous people, youtube videos, the month of October being Domestic Violence Awareness Month, all of this lending more insight into this issue. or not. Because, I'll just be honest, while I know what the words mean, while I spent years involved in an abusive relationship, I'm not sure that I have any more insight as to the whys - why I didn't leave, why I didn't tell, why I protected him, why I didn't fight back, why I did, why I stayed so long after that first time, why when I finally did leave, it wasn't even a factor in my decision. This is what I do know : it seemed to be all around me at that time. I'm not sure if I ever saw it played out in front of my eyes - more like a perception that it was there, lurking behind everyone's closed doors. It was in the way that they (the guys) acted, in the way that we (the girls) reacted. It was in the motions, the looks, the words that weren't being said. It was al...

The area reverberated with gunshots. Shell casings littered the floor. In the far corner, I felt trapped. Too many people lined the narrow room, preventing my escape. I wanted out. I needed out. I couldn't breathe. Uncontrollable fear was pushing its way to the surface. The room was cold. I was sweating. Tears were threatening to fall but I knew that that would be the action that would cause the dam to break. The tiny shred of control that I had would then be lost and chaos would ensue. I knew what was happening. I knew that I was in the grip of a panic attack. I just didn't know why. and at that moment, I didn't care why. I knew that I had to restrain these feelings, compose myself. Long minutes passed by while the rest of my class continued with their target practice. By the time my turn came, I was collected enough to shoot again. I had elected to participate in this gun safety course. I own a gun. I had shot guns before. So, why was this happening now? A...

What am I going to do? I'm sitting in the office waiting for the results of the test. My mind is racing. My palms are sweating. Heck, I'm sweating all over. I'm scared. and nervous. and feel like throwing up. Or is that just a symptom? I'm making promises to god, which is pretty funny since I haven't talked to him in awhile. Not since the last time I needed help. What am I going to do? Time is dragging. Where is that nurse? Shouldn't she be back by now? Is that a good sign or a bad one? I need to know the answer. No wait, I don't want to know (yes, I do). I can't bury my head in the sand (or can I?). I can't pretend like this isn't happening (right?). I have to know one way or the other. Yes or no. Positive or negative. What am I going to do? This is crazy. How did I get here? I'm too young for this. I'm just a teen. This only happens to other people. This can't be happening to me (can it?). I did what I was supposed to do (or didn...

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 ." *****************************...