Living in a New City

Let's start off by explaining how cliché I am right now. I am sitting in a busy Starbucks on a busy street in Seattle, WA. I feel like the only way that I could get closer to being a Hipster is if I was typing on typewriter in a vegan underground coffee shop and taking photos of the pages on my new iPhone 6 and uploading to my Tumblr, my blog, and my Instagram (Facebook is too mainstream).

So, here I am; sitting at a table that faces the window on this busy street. There's a woman outside in a white puffy down vest taking a photo of her dog with her new gold iPhone 6 (Ugh, the envy). I've taken a break from my phone and all electronic contact with people, for the weekend. I am finding myself finally feeling the loneliness and the depression of starting over in a new city. Although, I must make it a point to state that it has nothing to do with the gloomy weather. The weather isn't even gloomy by my standards. There are rainy mornings and sunny afternoons. It's perfect weather for leggings - my favorite staple of clothing - and ankle boots - today, mine are Toms suede and lamb lined ankle boots. The weather allows for thin long sleeves shirts and either a vest, a light North Face neon jacket, or a hoodie. I'm loving the weather, so it's not that.

Part of my cheerlessness is credited to my sudden realization that I am the one who left. I left California, and besides my brothers and my best friend, I have been all but forgotten. But, I was the one who left. Now, it's happening again. So many people were sad to see me leave Phoenix, and it left me hopeful that they would all make the effort to keep in touch.

I had all the parents I worked for sad to see a good babysitter walk out of their lives. Their children shed tears with me when I saw them for the last time and said my goodbyes. But, I don't know what I expected from them? Without throwing the world's largest pity party, I guess I expected kids to call me and tell me they miss me. But, they're children. Children are known for short attention spans and letting go of babysitter loyalty in favor of the brand new shiny one. I can hardly blame a child, but it hurts nonetheless. But that being said, I was the one who left.

Another thing that is hard for me are my peers. In Los Angeles, hardly anyone made contact with me in AZ. Arizona is a drab and hot place that no Angelino would willing travel to. No one really understood my reasoning or my entire story and how desperately I had to run away from it. No one asked why I was leaving either. As for peers in Phoenix, when I left, I didn't have many. All of my college colleagues, I had broken ties with way before my move. I was learning who I am as an adult and it was hard to relate to people who were still living life as college ragers. Or there was the friend who married and had a child. As much as I tried to be a part of that, I had to realize that they were building a new life together, and I was no longer the best friend. My guaranteed placed next to the queen, was no longer guaranteed. I had some teaching "peers" but we were not truly peers. We may have worked together, but I was a freshling from college and they were mostly married, with or without kids, and as close as we were at work, I wasn't part of their life outside of those school gates. But again, is that a fault of anyone? It's just how life works.

Lastly, there is my family. All I left in California were my brothers (I had extended family, but at that point in my life I wasn't in contact with much, if any, of them), and left them I sure did. It was the hardest move that I have ever made, and it's one that I have both regrets and contentment about. I regret every living day leaving my youngest brother with his mother. But it was a choice that was not mine to make. I could have fought, kicked and screamed and made a legal battle out of it. But, that would have been for more selfish reasons than for his sake. He is a young innocent who still thinks his parents are worthy of the title. I believed I would be doing more harm than good to begin that battle. At the same time, I wanted freedom for the first time in my life. I loved my brothers as if they were my own sons. I took responsibility for them as if they were. But, I had never been my own person and lived my own life. I had never strived for goals that were purely selfish. With them in mind, however, I knew that if I stayed, I would have never strived for more for myself and in turn more for them. I would have given my life over to being a mother and struggling every step of the way. My biggest goal in life was to be educated, and I knew that was the only path to my freedom, so I left.

In terms of my oldest younger brother, if that makes any sense, I am satisfied with my decision to leave. I loved him just as much, of course, and I had a much longer history with him. But, he was at his own crossroads of life. I wanted to live it for him and take away all the pain and struggle and give him a good life, but by doing that I was taking away his ability to take care of himself. He has grown into more than I could ever wish for and has proved that he didn't need me after all. Now, I even turn to him with my weaknesses. He's the only one who has seen my stronger times and I often need reminding to be that person again.

I left LA, in a way, to be a part of a family in Phoenix. My godmother has been and always will be my hero and savior. That being said, she has the most power to unknowingly break my heart. I am so damn sensitive when it comes to her love and attention that I am often found sitting in a pool of my lonely tears when I don't have her attention. It is so childish and such a weakness of mine, but I have yet to learn how to find my own strength and not turn to her for every bad moment that I have. I haven't told anyone, but my bff, that a large reason that I decided so easily to leave Phoenix was because I spent so much of my time waiting for her attention and affection. Now, I must say, she has never withheld it from me. She has never been unkind and selfish with her love. But she is a mother, a true mother of her own flesh and blood. I realized, early in my life in Phoenix, that I will never be her child. I have disowned my own parents, and for good reasons, but that leaves an emptiness inside me that I would have never expected. Even with shitty parents, they were my parents, and I belong to someone. But I hated belonging to them. Once I cut them out, I had this gaping hole inside me for someone, anyone, to guide me. I often filled that hole with men, but thank the Lord that I realized how vile and self-harming that could end up. With the excitement of moving to Phoenix, I felt like I was finally going to be a part of a true and good family. And I was, like a bastard child from a previous love affair. They did their best, they truly did. They gave me love, they gave me guidance, they gave financial assistance from time to time. But I was a grown adult, no matter how battered and ruined I was, I was my own keeper.

I spent six years in Phoenix. For six years, I searched for myself and for the most part I found more than I ever hoped for, and learned some parts of myself that I would have rather left hidden. I gained friends and I lost them. I loved, I truly loved a man and to a certain extent, and I think it's fair to say that at the time he loved me back as best as he knew how. I learned so much about who I am, but much about what I have learned is that I am hurting. I found some things to fulfill me, but I also opened the doors that lead to cavernous halls of black echoes. Who the hell am I and who am I meant to be? The biggest question of them all is, How do let go of all this pain and become that person? How do I get over this period of sorrow for my own life and find strength to climb my mountains again? For six years, I turned to my godmother as if she had the answers for me. She had great guidance, but in those six year I learned a huge lesson, she's only human as well. She's not a magical mythical creature who knows all the answers and who has a magical love that could fill my emptiness and cure me of all my weaknesses. She has hugs, she has sass, she has gifts, and she has wit. But, she does not have my answers. I wish, in the least, she had more time for me. But I have learned how amazingly and unfortunately similar we are. She has her own caves, her own fears, her own sorrows that she battles daily. She also has her own joys, her own children, her own responsibility. It's the hardest lesson to learn and understand that I am no longer her responsibility and I probably leaned on her and her family with too much desperation. I can only hope that this break from me, however much sadness may come with it, also comes with a breath of fresh air.

That leaves me here, in Seattle, alone and forever wondering. I want nothing more than for someone to call me and tell me that they are thinking of me and missing me as desperately as I miss them. But this week, that voice inside myself had made it loud and clear that I am the one who left. I am the one who must make the effort. I am a Scorpio and I have a huge air of my own self-importance and I need to hush that a bit. I need confidence and not arrogance. No one person owes me anything. No one owes me love or friendship, I must earn it and make the first steps. I must reach out, and be okay with not everyone having time or desire to extend an arm back to me. It may be personal, if truth be told, or it may be that others are having struggles in their lives as I am. I have to refocus my looking glass. It can't always be pointing it toward myself. I've lived in my head for nearly 29 years, and it's exhausting. I need to open up to the needs of others and through service and exploration I am bound to find what I am looking for.

Xoxo Sheri

Let's Talk About Anxiety

One of the first topics that I want to discuss here is something that has been poking at me lately.

I'm not sure when I first started to feel the symptoms of anxiety. I don't know if I'm genetically anxious or if it's the residue of one of my many childhood traumas. It's probably some wonderfully lucky combination of the two.

I can remember what it felt like as a child and some of the big triggers. My parents used to leave me in the after school program for hours, and often past the closing hours. I used to sit just within the school fence, staring at the parking lot...waiting. I would ask the after school "coach" what time it was about every 5 minutes. I'm sure I drove him crazy. That's one of the more tame attacks at my mental state of mind.

What did it feel it like? I felt like that feeling of eagerness the night before you're going to Disneyland, but minus the euphoria and mixed with the dread of not knowing what kind of mood your parents were going to be in. The excited of maybe I will do the right thing and they will love me today, meeting the reality of I don't even show up on their radar as anything more than a burden. I would hope that my mother would ask me about my day so I could tell her about being called names for being chubby and quiet and a goody-two-shoes. That never happened. I learned to sit quietly in the backseat. Or, it would be my dad, with a beer in his hand, and definitely not the first of the day.

I don't know why I was in such a rush to get home. It was horrible. There was so much mental manipulation and crazy mind games between my parents that they involved me in it at times. There were so many things that went wrong and were detrimental to my mental and emotional state of mind, which led to me always waiting for something even worse to happen. It usually did.

I started having panic attacks when I was young, maybe around ten. I didn't know what it was at the time; I didn't know why I felt the way I did, what it was called, or what to do about it. I wouldn't be able to sleep and I would feel like my skin was crawling. I felt like I wanted to run away forever, but at the same time I was trapped in my bed. I would crawl into a ball on the lower bunk in the room that I shared with my brother. I would be able to hold it together all day, but when it came time to try to turn off my brain and get to sleep, I would just lose my shit and cry. I had no idea what I was crying about. I wasn't sad or hurt physically. I knew a lot of things that were wrong but couldn't put my finger on exactly what I was upset about. It was nothing and everything at the same time. My parents would come into my room and sometimes try to ask me what was wrong. But, I couldn't tell them; I didn't know. They soon became really tired of the tears and noise and were really irritated with me. Meth addicts aren't exactly known for their patience and understanding. My mother used to scream through the walls for me to shut up. My father would open the door and tell me I better stop.

I tried really hard to put my thumb on what it was that I was so sad about. I always was terrified of speaking my mind. I was taught to ignore adult things; to not ask questions, to not open doors, to not listen, to not get involved. So, by that time I was terrified to say anything to anyone. I, of course, had seen a lot by ten that I shouldn't have and so I had a lot of secrets. I just didn't know which of them were MY secrets, which only belonged to my parents, which I should probably tell someone about, which were my fault. I finally thought of something that was all me, and maybe it was what I was upset about.

So, I wrote a note. It was probably covered with my hysterical tears and boogers or something. I wrote "I think I am ugly." I slid it under my door to the hallway. A while later my parents came in yelling at me, "Really?? This is why you've been crying? This is stupid bullshit. Shut up and go to sleep." I may be paraphrasing slightly, but I'm about 85% on point with that. After that I closed myself shut. It wasn't worth sharing how I feel with anyone if I couldn't even talk to my parents about some serious issues that were going on inside of me.

I held all of it inside for a very long time. It ate me up inside. I worked very hard to be shy and sweet and good so no one knew how damaged I was inside. I didn't know what I was doing at the time; but in hindsight, it is pretty clear. I looked for emotional outlets later in life. I looked for ways to ignore what was inside. I found a lot of the wrong answers. It wasn't until I was twenty-five that shit fully hit the fan. I was about to graduate college and truly become an adult. It was terrifying and I still had no strategies for dealing with my anxiety. I'm still not even sure that I knew that's what it was. I gave up on it all because it wasn't worth fighting such a vicious monster inside of me anymore. I was ready for it to stop. I won't get into that story at this point. I only mean to bring light to how real and how harmful anxiety can be, especially to those who don't have a healthy and appropriate way to manage it.

I still struggle with anxiety, daily. I'm struggling in my career choice and I don't know if it's what I want to do forever. I don't know if I'm in the wrong classroom, the wrong peer group, the wrong school, the wrong specialty, or if I'm just not meant to be a teacher. What I do know is that I often dread going into work. I feel the familiarity of not knowing exactly what it is that isn't right for me. I still don't have all the answers for how to deal with the anxiety that I feel. I have some strategies. Sometimes they work, sometimes I don't work with them. Having a two week vacation from the stress I became accustomed to was fantastic, but the closer I came having to go back to work the more my anxiety increased. It was harder to fall asleep and then harder to want to get out of bed. The night before having to go back to work, I had an awful panic attack and was not able to sleep at all. I knew it was coming on, so it was either toss and turn and cry or get up and distract myself. I did a lot of things, cleaned, laundry, watched The Biggest Loser, read a little, browsed the internet. But in the end, it was a lot of tossing and turning and crying and wreaking havoc on my brain. After work that first day back, I slept until the next morning. I think I'm finally back on schedule. It's helpful to be back on a working schedule; to be naturally tired from a long and productive day and be ready to fall asleep on my own. I still go to bed with little scratches of anxiety wanting to take over my brain, but I need to let it go when possible and breathe and distract myself until I'm truly able to fall asleep. I'd rather be a little tired from staying up too late than have a completely sleepless night full of torment.

My advice to those in similar circumstances is to not succumb to the anxiety. Do no let it eat you alive. Do not give up. Figure out what works for you. Watch your favorite show. Laugh. Sleep with a white noise machine or calming music. Exercise. Exercise. Exercise. I need to follow that piece of advice myself. When I get some sunshine and vigorous exercise, I feel great and I sleep a lot better. Also, if it's consistent, getting in shape and becoming healthier is always a positive. Find a hobby and some passion. Do not rely on others to fix you or give you answers. Find your own answers and never let anyone change who you are or make you doubt yourself. Be you. Be unapologetically you with the confidence of queens.

xoxoSheri

Bienvenidos!

 

  Hello to everyone who stumbled to my new blog. My name is Sheri. Welcome! I've had a lot of ideas for blogs in the past; and I've even started a few (check the links in the sidebar). But life always got in the way of keeping up with posting and blah blah blah insert a lot of other excuses.  

  So, here I am, trying again. I want to dedicate this blog to all the women of the world. A bit extravagant, right? Well, I have been known to be super dramatic at times, slash all the time. But yes, this is for all the women of the world. I want to write about my struggles, my successes, my horrifying moments, my DIY tips on being an amazing girl, and lots of other stuff. 

  I intend for this blog to be for women of all ages. But, I'm hoping to reach the young girls who feel lost, who are confused, who are finding themselves, who are searching for answers, and even those who need to be warned about making poor choices and where that can land you. That being said, if you are under 18, please talk to your parents or guardians before reading my blog. Nothing will be R/X rated, but there will be some more serious topics that I would feel more comfortable knowing that I've put out a warning and your parents know what you're reading on the internet. I'm sure there will be a post about that, by the way. 

  If you've gotten this far, brava! Please comment if there's anything specifically you would like to know about, have questions about, suggestions, etc. 

  I'll be back!

xoxo Sheri