in the midst of metamorphosis

doors. Life is like a series of doors and hallways leading towards, away from, and in between the rooms they guard. I've heard all of the analogies that say : when one door closes, another opens every closed door has helped make you into who you are you suppose that you are the lock...but you are the key  love opens the doors into everything* but, honestly, doors intimidate me. What awaits me behind them? Are they entryways into rooms where I am at ease? filled with objects that support who I am? where I am comfortable to walk in my own skin? I have walked through a variety of doors in my lifetime. Some were perfect for that time, some were wrong from the start, and others were like Cinderella's stepsisters trying to force that beautiful slipper that brought the promise of a different ( better? ) life onto feet that were created for a separate path. I wanted that room. I thought that I needed that room. Life though, she had another plan for me but that didn't e...

Remember the movie Freaky Friday   in which the mother and daughter inhabit each others body and chaos ensues until, finally, they have a deeper understanding of the other? Anyone else feel like they are living that right now? No? Just me? Okay. I have been using this time of Covid-19 and quarantining ( I talk about that here ) to delve even deeper into this new direction that I am headed; to sift through the pieces that no longer serve me and to gather the ones that will; to draw closer to those that support my goals and to become aware of those who don't. My dreams are big and new and intimidating at times, and I am discovering a fresh determination welling up on the inside. This time has been good and necessary. And here is where the freaky friday reel begins to play, except there is no one else. Just the me before the corona virus and the me during. It's like I know who I was then, and I can see the shift into who I am now. and there is a gap that I am unsure of how t...

We have grown apart. I have heard this as a reason to end relationships, both of the married and of the friend kind. We are no longer on the same path. We no longer see eye to eye on this, or any, matter.  He changed, she changed, they changed, I changed. We all change. If a person doesn't change, I am concerned for them. honestly. Every new day brings more opportunities for growth, for an expansion of who we are, a progressive transformation into who we are becoming. I understand the fear of change. I spent too much time stuck in the miry mess of worry over who I was, anxiety over who I could be, frozen in a state of doing what I thought was expected, while never being who I was created to be. Being liberated from that chaos has brought a freedom to not only accept this metamorphosis of mine, but to welcome it. As I have traveled this road of transition, I have learned so many lessons. Among them is the lesson that change is indeed beautiful. As I give myself permis...

The journey for us started 21 months ago. It has been one of the best gifts that we have ever given ourselves. We’ve grown in ways that we only imagined before and can honestly say that our marriage is stronger, deeper, and better than ever before. We are living in the best, that elusive place we longed for. I don’t mind sharing our journey with all of you. Sooner or later, all of the pieces of my life make it into these pages. This post is one of those pieces that I’ve kept to myself and my close others for awhile. This part of our journey has been mine alone. ... 5 sessions in and I knew. We couldn’t continue until I found some healing. What I was searching for with us - a whole, healthy relationship - was being hindered by my own brokenness. I was dragging every piece of my shattered life, from childhood on, into this marriage and expecting... ...Expecting him to fix me, to fix all the tarnished and busted parts; to climb down from his white horse, in his shiny armor, and...

Rejection formed a lot of my earliest thoughts about my worth, and it was from that atmosphere that people pleasing was birthed. I didn't know my truth. I simply knew theirs, and adjusted who I was accordingly. I accepted their thoughts, their opinions, their words about who I was, and I swallowed it all, deep within me, until I was all those people. and none of them. an inaccurate representation of who I was created to be. Two years ago, I felt the shift coming. I knew that change was on the horizon, but it was hazy, unclear. Still, I welcomed it with open arms. I journeyed into my known and my unknown, into my remaining masks and my authored identity, into who I thought I should be and who I was created to be. It was here that I quieted all other voices. It was here that I removed all that was hindering my sight. It was here that I shifted my priorities, smashed my idols, surrendered my self, and gave my all, to sink, unhindered, wholly, into Love's heart.  It was compl...

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; and still 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 second one is dedicated to my first spiritual mentor, Kathy O. She is the most dynamic person that I have ever met. She just oozes Love through every one of her pores. And it isn't anything about what she does, it is who she is . I am convinced that even during the lowest times in her life, that she still exudes Love in every way. Her love for all others was beautiful to observe as she walked with me through life as a newlywed and as a new mom, all while walking through these same areas herself. She stretched me to want more, to de...

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...

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 ...

You may wonder what that is behind me. Let me introduce you. It's my closet. I take it with me wherever I go. Like Superman, I walk in, then reappear in costume. I have a lot. Too many. So tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet. . There's some old ones shoved way in the back. They haven't been worn in years, but occasionally make their way to the front. They taunt me. I did my best to do them proud. I failed. . There are worn ones. I wear them often. They don't fit me, but they do fit other's ideas of me. Grudgingly, I put them on and become what they want me to be. Each time, I lose a little piece of me. I hate them. . There are fancy ones. The good ones. Reserved for times where I need to impress others with who I am, or who I think that I want to be. I keep these separate. In my mind that somehow makes them better. They're not. . There are tight ones. Constricting. There is no flexibility, no room for growth, and change, and newness, and creativity. ...

At the beginning of this year(2010), I heard someone speak about the Golden Buddha encased in plaster (google it if you don't know the story). This post details my struggle to rid myself of my own plaster encasing in order to be the me that I was always intended to be.   Year after year. Layer upon layer. It continues to build up. More, more, more. Outsiders contribute some, with their demands, expectations, thoughtless words, rejection. More, more, more. I can't help but add to it myself, in a hopeless attempt to preserve the vulnerable core. More, more, more. The plaster shell is rock hard. It has to be. How else will I protect myself? Inside, I hide, unsure if the real me even wants to venture out. What is waiting for me? The unknown can be frightening, intimidating. If I stay here, I have a chance at protection, at anonymity. But, locked inside, I am growing weaker, emaciated. I want to kick out, break loose, take off these bindings, tear down the wall...

*In 1967, the year that interracial marriage was legalized everywhere in the United States, 72% of Americans were opposed to it, and 48% felt that it should be prosecuted as a criminal act. *In 1991, the percentage of people opposed to interracial marriage (finally) became the minority. ................................................................................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................................................................... Growing up multiracial in this white part of the world was difficult, to say the least. My parents married only one year after it was legal for them to do so. My dad is white, of German and Swiss descent, and my mom is black, with a heritage that has traced our roots back to Africa, and also includes Native American and white. I was born into an era where the majority of peo...

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