DON'T LOOK AT ME!

But please see me

“If womanhood, motherhood, heck…humanhood feels like a sacred spiral, part spiritual practice, part primal scream,🪷 MOMTEMPLATIVE🕯️, is where you’ll feel seen, heard, and hopefully a little less alone in this human family we all find ourselves in. I invite readers to slow down, give yourself a lot of grace as you contemplate life, and everything in between. Because, let’s be honest, there’s a lot of life that happens in the in-between.”

“Do you ever feel like the big secret is that we are gods? We fuc-ing create life. We are so powerful.” Rachel Yoder

I’ve always been afraid of the dark since I was a little girl all the way into adulthood. Bad things happened in the dark. Scary things that, as a little girl, I couldn’t understand.

I was an extremely shy and sensitive girl. I lived in a home with a father who was bigger than life and was the life of the party. He loved his children but didn’t know how to be a father in the way a child needs, understanding how each child’s sensitivities were affected by his huge personality. I learned early that being noticed could feel like love, even when my body felt something else entirely.

Me and my family. I’m the one not smiling.

He would proudly parade us in front of his friends at the parties he hosted. “Dance Sherry, shake that head!,” he would boast as we performed for them to the back sounds of Motown music as they drank their beers and smoked their cigarettes, laughing and cheering us on.

Something about being on display felt uncomfortable, but at the same time, I liked the applause.

I was afraid of the dark.

I slept in my own room across from my parents, and I remember at certain times I would sneak into their room with my pillow and blanket and sleep on the floor at the side of their bed. I couldn’t really tell you what it was that scared me.

Monsters in the dark.

Spiritual feelings that the dark could only bring on, and light would disappear them.

As I grew, I found myself always wanting to hide, to not be seen. I was such a self contained little girl. Always afraid. I can’t remember the times I felt safe. I wish I could remember. Perhaps it was on the playground on the merry go round where I could spin and spin and look up at the sky. Or running up and down the street barefoot with my brothers and sisters as they yelled “FASTER FASTER!” as I ran as fast as I could to beat all the other kids on the block in a relay race.

Maybe that’s why I ended up running track through high school, running as fast as I could from feelings I couldn’t keep at bay. The feelings of shame and guilt for wanting to be seen and applauded. Or the shame of being looked at and the bad things that sometimes happened afterward.

Don’t look at me.

Unwanted looks and touches. Nasty comments from men bigger and older than me who should have known better, or so I thought. My underdeveloped brain and body couldn’t understand these uncomfortable exchanges.

“Kiss me,” the man said as he threw a sheet over us to hide his intentions from his young son. I was babysitting that evening and helping him build a wall in his basement.

In the dark, secrets.

Shame developed in me. A quiet belief that something about me brought on these unwanted advances, which would not be the last.

I won’t go into detail about all the other times I found myself in situations that brought shame and guilt, which later developed into deep insecurities.

Ironically, I chose a career in modeling that was all about being seen, yet carried the shame of never feeling good enough. And the precarious situations I would sometimes put myself in after drinking too much.

Why did I do that?

DON’T LOOK AT ME, BUT PLEASE SEE ME!

I still struggle with that shame and guilt to this day, but the wounds have healed. What I must do is stop hiding myself. The struggle continues even in a profession as a writer, wanting to be seen but not looked at.

Looked at like the dancing little girl who performed for the enjoyment of adults who didn’t know she was terrified and didn’t want to be looked at, but deeply wanted to be seen.

With Love.

Sherry🪷

Thanks for reading 🪷MOMTEMPLATIVE🕯️If this piece made you pause, smile, or think, comment, like, and pass it along — it might do the same for someone else and help them light their way home. Sharing is caring.😉

DREAMS COMING TRUE

If you’d like to help shape the next chapter of my writing life — supporting my future self in attending my dream writer’s residency in France this coming April, a place I know will shape the stories I get to share with you — you can do so here:

👉🏾Sherry’s Dream Writers Residency in France

Your support could help carry this dream across the finish line.

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My Debut Book:

If you would like to meet Harriet Honeybee and friends, you can find her book here:

While searching for her missing family, Harriet, an introverted girl, stumbles into a hidden magical world, discovers she comes from a powerful line of seers, and is called to become something she doesn’t yet feel ready to be.

👉🏾Harriet Honeybee and the Testament of Seers

To know that Harriet’s and my story will find its way into your hands and hopefully your heart brings me so much joy!

Here’s to continued acts of kindness.