A week or so ago Parade magazine ran a feature by Jeanne Wolf called Advice to the Young Me, in which a handful of celebrities pondered what it is they wished they’d known sooner. In a fluffy and taboid-y way, it reminded me of the excellent book, I Wish I’d Known Then: Women in Their 20’s and 30’s Write Letters to Their Younger Selves by Ellen Spragins. Wise and charming and often powerfully moving, this collection of 35 essays by women in diverse fields – including stars, writers, activists, and athletes – is a revealing peek at the hopes and wishes, fears and doubts, that all of us share. I was particularly touched by Atoosa Rubenstein, the founder of CosmoGirl magazine, writing about an agonizing adolescence marked by bullying and ostracism. Of her adoring and handsome husband, the once-awkward, tormented girl, now a successful businesswoman and entrepreneur writes, “had I known you were waiting for me, I wouldn’t have worried so much.” It’s a sweet moment, and a validation that love is as worthy an ambition as any other.
It got me to thinking about what I might say to my younger self, today, at this very moment. Because of course the advice changes as you go, life being a continually unwinding spool and not a static portrait. And at what age would I like to grab myself for a good talking-to? I settled on 14, one year after my parents’ catastrophic divorce, one year into what would become nearly a decade and a half of grieving for my absent mother. Age 14, the age at which I decided that if I did everything exactly right, then everything would turn out okay. Age 14: the birth of my perfectionism and co-dependency. That was the year I erected my own personal Berlin Wall, not understanding that when you try so hard to protect yourself from the bad things, you unwittingly lock out the good things as well.
Dear Sheri,
It’s okay to cry, you know. You may be 14 now, but you’re a little girl, so young for your age – you were still playing with dolls not so very long ago. You miss your mom. That’s normal. You’re supposed to miss your mom. Missing her doesn’t mean you don’t love your brothers or your grandmother, or even your father, though that relationship is one you’ll have to fight to keep from being poisoned by. It’s not disloyal to grieve. And it’s okay to be angry. You should be angry. You are angry. Here’s the good news: this anger is going to do wonderful things for you for a long time. It’s going to motivate you, drive you to push yourself far past what you’ll be told is permitted. This anger is like a rocket booster, and it’s going to propel you into an amazing life. But a time will come when all of the good fuel in that anger is spent, and you’ll need to jettison the weight. Try not to wait as long as I did, okay? Let it fall away, and trust you’ll fly higher without it.
Hate to tell you this next thing, but you might as well hear it from me. You’re not going to be lucky in love – at least, not for a long time. Oh, don’t feel sorry for yourself! You’re going to learn an awful lot along the way, and the biggest lesson for you is: don’t merely allow yourself to be chosen. Do the choosing. Here’s a riddle for you to puzzle over for the next several decades: the unbreakable heart is the one most broken. Doesn’t make sense right now, does it? It will, and at a high cost. But not so high you can’t pay it. And I promise, while there’s both more and less time than you think to figure it out, you will figure it out. And when you do, wow. You are going to have so much fun. You – fun! Imagine that. I can’t wait for you to get there.
From what I can see here in 2008, you’re going to live what amounts to two lives. And I’m not talking about job changes or relationship changes or moving to new places, either. Confusing, huh? It will be, until the month of August, in the year 2007. (Freaky to even think about that far-off future isn’t it?) In August 2007, something spectacular and amazing is going to happen to you. It will radically and completely change you. I want to tell you more, tell you everything, but I love you too much to let you peek under the wrapping of what is going to be the most glorious gift you will ever receive. In fact, forget I even mentioned it, okay?
Speaking of gifts, don’t fret over having children. You will. They’ll be everything you wish for, everything. No, I will not tell you how many! They’re waiting for you somewhere right now, waiting for their moment to come. Trust that it will, and don’t waste time with questions or regrets. That probably sounds impossible, I know. I know how you are. Such the little planner! Always living in the future! You’ll get over that, believe it or not. Your babies have a lot to teach you. And stop worrying about whether or not you can ever be a good mother. What happened to you is just something happened to you; it’s not who you are. Start telling yourself that now, today. Practice saying it over and over until you believe it. It’s the truth.
The last important thing I want to tell you is that what you’re learning right now is going to be the very thing that gives your life wings. It may feel now that you are all alone, that it all depends on you, and that where others seem to have shortcuts or cheats, you have only a steep uphill path to climb. That’s true for you, but it’s also your classic blessing in disguise, Sher. You’re learning now that it takes work to move forward, and belief in yourself, and a refusal to quit. Wait till you sit down to write your first book – oops! I gave that one away, didn’t I? You do grow up to be a writer, among other things, and that’s got precious little to do with talent, and lots to do with just sitting down and doing the work, one word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time. No shortcuts. Having this knowledge now is the single luckiest thing that’s ever come your way, believe it or not.
Just for fun: you’re allergic to milk. You were born allergic, you stay allergic, and no matter what anyone in your crazy family thinks, do yourself a favor and stop eating dairy. Also, you have curly hair. Accept that now and save yourself aggravation and time. And you are going to be totally right about stirrup pants, by the way – they’re horrid on everyone but pro jockeys. Try to have more first kisses, even if it seems kind of gross to you right now. (Oh my gosh, you are so innocent at 14!) Kissing is something you are going to absolutely love and one of the sad truths of being a grown-up is this: you don’t always get all the kisses you want in this world. Why not? Who knows? People are so weird and walled-off. You will be too, but not for always.
I’ll leave you with this last message from your future, knowing it will seem as vague and as cryptic as the horoscopes you will always be so fond of reading: trust that wherever you are, you are exactly where you are meant to be.
Love,
Sheri - June, 2008
Sheri - you are so kind to share your life and your experiences with us - it helps us to grow. When the lady came on whose therapist told her to listen to ya'll, I was not surprised. I love your off the top of your head speeches - be it to the kids, the husbands, wifes, mourners or law-breakers you always make sense, you are on point and with such passion. You are a great writer and a great speaker and fortunate to have turned your life into something great.
I too have been wondering about Mark and you have not mentioned Eric - I hope all is well.
Posted by: Kathleen | June 22, 2008 at 09:49 AM
Dear Sheri,
My mental health counselor told me to read your blog today. She has been trying to get me to write many kinds of letters to myself and my parents. Doing so is not easy, at least not for me. Your letter was so sweet and eloquent; it brought tears to my eyes. Seeing the bigger picture of what we have been, and are going through is more hopeful than dwelling on the individual events themselves. Your letter reminded me of that. The one thing that has always given me hope is that there is a purpose to our lives. Lately I've been stuck on the negatives of my life. So thanks for the reminder, I think I can finish those letters now...
Posted by: Nicole | June 23, 2008 at 04:08 PM
I too agree with most of what has been said, the way I live it is ~ not one of us has asked to be born, but here we are, little beings on this Earth for such a short time ~~ let's make the best of it. We have Jesus as our example to love one another, try to live a good fair life.
I feel it is not my business but I am curious too about you and Mark and Bob and Kristen, we listeners spend (iPod for me - 4 segments about 40 minutes long) 160 minutes a day with you two and we care.
Posted by: Mary Kay Harris | June 25, 2008 at 03:36 PM
I had the same thoughts as Jeanne posted above...I was wondering if you and Mark are ok, you never mention him, when you had your accident with the tooth you called a friend for help. Hope all is well. Believe it or not I have listened to you on the radio for almost 15 years now (since around '93 or '94 when you started with Bob), so I always hope for success in your marriage and personal life as you now seem like a member of the family! :-)
Posted by: Mimi | June 25, 2008 at 06:31 PM
Wow! You know you are like a sister or a best friend to many of us women out here on the other side of the line. So, when you say let your hair go, it helps so much of us. How about a letter for the future? My letter will say: You are a teacher; you were born a teacher; and I know you love it :). I hope you are enjoying your new house.
Posted by: Laura Ray | June 26, 2008 at 06:15 PM
Thank you for sharing your intimate thoughts with the rest of us. You really do touch the lives of so many.
I like so many others feel very connected to you. I have listened to your show since the beginning which has seen me through college, the beginning of my career, marriage, pregnancy (ironically enough at the same time you were), and now raising my two children, 4 1/2 and 7 while working full time. You have always made waking in the morning a lot more entertaining!
For those questioning Aug. 2007. The World Vision trip to Dominican Republic was more than likely an experience no one could walk away from and not be changed forever.
Posted by: gayle | June 27, 2008 at 04:30 AM
Sheri, love reading your letter to younger self - I think teens maybe the hardest years to get through.
We recently had a visit here in Plano from a Charlotte friend and yearned for good old Cedar Hill times. Best regards to the family from S&D, Bill and me.
Posted by: GoodOldKT | June 27, 2008 at 12:53 PM
Sheri, As many have already stated, You are a magnificient writer. I run a runaway shelter in Daytona Beach and I wish so many of the girls that come through here could have a letter from themselves. These girls don't realize that they can be ok. You are a incredible example that in you don't have to come from a great homelife to do wonderful things. Thank you for always sharing your experiences. I have been a listener for years and I plan on listening for many years to come...
Posted by: Heather | June 27, 2008 at 01:05 PM
Hi Sheri,
What a great letter.You are an amazing writer. I love hearing stories about your girls. Like the other listeners I have been worried about you and Mark. You do not mention him as much any more with the excption of Olivia's birthday dinner but then you were in 2 different cars. I keep you and the rest of the show in my prayers. You are an insperation to all the women who listen to you daily . I have been listening to you since day one. I hope that your trip with your girls to Philly is grand and safe. It has been a few years since I was back there visiting family. Take care and stay strong.
Beth
Posted by: Beth | June 27, 2008 at 06:35 PM
"what happened to you to you is something that happened to you, not who you are." You have put it perfectly, younger women take heed!!!!
Posted by: connie | June 29, 2008 at 11:31 AM
Excellent read. I love your personality through words and on air. I miss listening to you in the mornings. Thanks so much for sharing!
Will you be writing another book soon? I hope!!!
Posted by: Tricia | June 29, 2008 at 01:19 PM
Wonderful blog entry. Like an earlier reader said, I think a book about your growing-up years would be great.
Like some other posters, I've wondered a bit about Mark-you haven't said much lately about him. As much as I love your show, I can't help but feel a bit uneasy when you and Bob share so much of your lives with listeners. Has Mark always been okay with that?
Finally, I have to ask--has your cast been approached by any bigger markets or maybe Sirius radio? You've got a fair number of affiliates--if I owned a large station, I'd be after y'all bigtime!
Posted by: Cynthia | July 04, 2008 at 08:41 AM
This is a wonderful letter, and one I wish I could write to myself, but I would write one like the earlier poster that said her kids would find it and say "yep, she WAS crazy!"
Between this post and the discussion of the research this morning about the reason some people like animals more than people I have had quite the "ah-ha" day.
I just now, at the age of 45, realized that everytime I feel overwhelmed or in need of a friend, I spend a lot of time looking at animal shelter pages. I guess I could have been quite the subject for their research.
Anyway, I wish you the best, my virtual friend. (I am almost afraid to meet in person, I feel it would be a disappointment, I would feel unworthy)
:)
Posted by: Nancy | July 07, 2008 at 10:38 PM
Sheri, I'm new to the Raleigh area and have been listening to your show and reading your blogs now. You are such a wonderful, insightful, intelligent writer. One of my favorite poets, Pablo Neruda, wrote these words in his essay titled "Childhood and Poetry". I thought you might enjoy it. Thank you for the many gifts you have given us all!
- Dennis
One time, investigating in the backyard of our house in Temuco the tiny objects and minuscule beings of my world, I came upon a hole in one of the boards of the fence. I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared, a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white sheep.
The sheep's wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went into the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pinecone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.
I never saw either the hand or the boy again. And I have never again seen a sheep like that either. The toy I lost finally in a fire. But even now, in 1954, almost fifty years old, whenever I pass a toy shop, I look furtively into the window, but it's no use. They don't make sheep like that anymore.
I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses, that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
That exchange brought home to me for the first time a precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together. That experience came to me again much later; this time it stood out strikingly against a background of trouble and persecution.
It won't surprise you then that I attempted to give something resiny, earthlike, and fragrant in exchange for human brotherhood. Just as I once left the pinecone by the fence, I have since left my words on the door of so many people who were unknown to me, people in prison, or hunted, or alone.
That is the great lesson I learned in my childhood, in the backyard of a lonely house. Maybe it was nothing but a game two boys played who didn't know each other and wanted to pass to the other some good things of life. Yet maybe this small and mysterious exchange of gifts remained inside me also, deep and indestructible, giving my poetry light.
Posted by: Dennis | July 09, 2008 at 09:20 AM
was checking out those pics from Paul Stanley's visit. Which one's Sheri and which one's Paul Stanley?
Posted by: Tom | July 09, 2008 at 09:15 PM
This is my first time posting, and in all honesty, my first time visiting your website. With virginity now non-existant, I can say I have listened to your show countless mornings over the past three years, and have enjoyed it time after time.
The subject of this blog is indeed, something to ponder. If I could get one message to my much younger self...only one message, that could help my younger self grow into a productive adult, I would know what best to say, being me, of course. That message to my younger self Would contain the following. Beauty is only skin deep for those with a great doctor. Keeping up with the Jones is a waste of time and resources as they are keeping up with the Smiths. Just because you can squeeze into a size small, does not mean you are a size small. Fat people have less wrinkles and it is far more enjoyable to eat those wrinkles away. If you get embarrassed easily by your rear shaking more going down hill, then avoid downward slopes. Do not ever buy a Yorkie. They are over priced even if free. Telling an officer when he pulls you over for speeding, "My, what big feet you have!" Will get you out of a ticket! Don't tell him your license in in the pocket of the body in the trunk when trying to make a joke. He will not think it is funny, and neither will you after he reacts. Telling your father that he has had his butt on his shoulders so long, his breath stinks is not a good idea, even though very funny. Do not wear a shirt to work that has a patch on the back that says, " If you can read this...my supervisor fell off." Again it is funny but unless you want a three-day vactaion, unpaid...don't. And most important message is that this life will be great. You will be so content if you go through life with tiny fist-fulls of valium
Posted by: Richard | July 14, 2008 at 08:40 PM
I think I was you as a child. Thank you for posting such a personal letter for all of us to read. You're an amazing writer.
Posted by: Christy | July 16, 2008 at 06:54 PM
This will be your year for good things. Congratulations on the Marconi nomination.
Posted by: Lynele | July 20, 2008 at 04:47 AM
What an incredible letter you have written to your younger self! It confirmed all the reasons why I have felt such a connection to you through your show even though we have never met. I was so moved when I read it and found it a coincidence that I came across it tonight. Coincidental because, for the first time, today I called your show hoping to share my story about my mother. This morning's topic for the chat room was 'how a movie had changed your life'.
While I did not get through in time to talk, I had hoped to share how I came to forgive my emotionally distant alcoholic mother several years ago upon seeing "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants." In the movie, Sandra Bullock finds herself coming to terms with her childhood and her mentally ill mother. I wept for hours when I left that theater, all the tears I never let myself cry as a girl. Grieving for the mother's love I didn't get. I was releasing it and finally forgiving her. It was so freeing to let her and all her demons go.
Ironically, I was also forgiving myself as I too had struggled for years with depression in my twenties and ended up in a psych ward with a breakdown ten years ago. Now at age 42 with three children and a divorce behind me, I can honestly say it was all suppose to happen that way...all a part of the lessons I came here to learn. What you said about the anger was so poignant... to not hang on to it too long.
I just had to write to you and tell you about the serendipity of this day and finding your story about truth, forgiveness, and gratitude for even the tough times and the lessons. Thank you for telling your story, Sheri.
Posted by: Kristine | August 15, 2008 at 10:33 PM
Oops! In my post above, I realized that I put the wrong title of the movie. I meant to write, "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood".
Posted by: Kristine | August 16, 2008 at 04:26 AM
I've seen these on other blogs but they were kind of cheesy. Yours, though, is great, and inspiring.
This is my first time reading your blog, and I really like it. Love the show.
Posted by: Cyndy | August 18, 2008 at 06:28 PM
Wow Sheri - I know you wrote this a while ago but I'm just catching up and boy is it timely for me. My family is having a rough time right now due to job loss and I'm trying to look ahead and see what good may come. I won't whine about the details but thanks for writing this...I think in a few months I could do a letter to myself just 2 months younger...anyway...thanks!
Posted by: Debbie | September 03, 2008 at 10:26 PM
Wow Sheri - I know you wrote this a while ago but I'm just catching up and boy is it timely for me. My family is having a rough time right now due to job loss and I'm trying to look ahead and see what good may come. I won't whine about the details but thanks for writing this...I think in a few months I could do a letter to myself just 2 months younger...anyway...thanks!
Posted by: Debbie | September 03, 2008 at 10:40 PM
Wow Sheri - I know you wrote this a while ago but I'm just catching up and boy is it timely for me. My family is having a rough time right now due to job loss and I'm trying to look ahead and see what good may come. I won't whine about the details but thanks for writing this...I think in a few months I could do a letter to myself just 2 months younger...anyway...thanks!
Posted by: Debbie | September 03, 2008 at 10:40 PM
Oh My God! We must have been separated from birth...My life would have been so much easier to deal with along the way if I would have had a letter such as this...I cried as I read how much alike we are and how much we all go through to get from point a to point b...My Dear Ms. Lynch, consider yourself part of the club, the humanity one...
Posted by: Lynne Stevenson | September 07, 2008 at 12:16 PM