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Sherry Barton Poem
Race Track Thinking
16… little did I know the initiation began. 16 is hard enough navigating adolescence. Hormone dumping, the anguishing struggle to fit in any way—- relinquishing my individuality, and being true to myself. Unbeknownst, this was at my expense.
I didn't choose these ADHD and BPAD diagnoses, and the other Alphabet Soup “ingredients.” They chose me… I didn't choose mind racing… sometimes feeling my thoughts were out of control - well !!!
Most of the time a random whispered thought, barely connected, pops in uninvited and insistent to be acknowledged and immediately included in my conversation… Most of the time it's a detour with posted signs that helps bring me back to the conversation, with minimal disruption. Thoughts drift, and barely nudges the adjacent car, our cars wobble… we stay on course… on topic… a tweak of adrenaline seeps through… Many of my family and friends are used to these and take it in stride.
Sometimes, my thoughts feel hijacked, suddenly split off into several lanes racing side by side… three, four wide… round a race track… I lose track of how many laps… although I know there are connections to the original topic. They're tenuous wisps of smoke, can be seen, yet not grasped.
They're the moments of confusion… for everyone. The smooth glide of the conversation hits an air pocket… a temporary jostle… the conversation's back on course. Whew, a possible disaster averted… No harm no foul… much… It's undeniable and can't be overlooked by anyone, especially me. Many times I'll “joke” about a brain fart. I may joke about it. It's not really a joke, it's distressing and embarrassing.
Yet… I know I'm responsible… and sometimes I'm completely at a loss what to do, much less, how to prevent it.
It's Groundhog Day again… endless recycled racing around the track… No! Absolutely not… it’s not a “okay………. let's go do that again” situation!!!
There are times, the urgency intensifies… a random thought's magnetic pull, strengthens… An internal fight ensues… my wheels take a turn… seemingly as if I'm no longer the only one driving. Onlookers witness a verbal spectacular crash worthy of a NASCAR race… everyone walks away… bruised, sore, limping… the conversation is in shambles. Others shake their heads… I'm questioning, how in the hell did I get here? What are the consequences I'm responsible for? Sometimes I'm left feeling terrified.
Or... Instead the battle for control is so fierce, I no longer have any control of the steering wheel. Everyone… especially myself, other adjacent drivers, and onlookers watch in horror as the cars burst into flame… horrifically sometimes… someone doesn't walk away. What the do I do with this?
Knowing what I want to say or how to act, and that my body seemingly won't let me sensation - isn't a state anyone would knowingly choose.
Regardless, I'm totally responsible for the consequences. Is this the skin you'd choose?
Even 53 years later, my mind sometimes leaves me feeling confused, embarrassed, ashamed, and even betrayed… that my thoughts once again… derailed? Are the consequences irreparable or irreversible? Past losses were devastating. If so, sometimes I fear I ed up things and relationships I value the most. Especially the promising ones, ones barely starting. The most painful consequences are the loss of important relationships. I have no choice but to just deal with it!
Then there are my far more frequent slightly amusing fuddlings… My family and friends understand these occasional thought detours. The conversation returns with their gentle redirecting me back on course.
Then, there's another group, the best possible group… those members speak varying degrees of “Sherryese.” Those fluent in “Sherryese” follow my tangential threads…trusting those threads will return and weave back into the conversation’s tapestry. Then the connections are revealed. I treasure my “all weather friends”… I'm truly understood!
So which title fits the best? Some days, if I'm lucky, only one fits, those “Sherryese” detours. Other days? It's a combination…
I could feel sorry for myself and indulge in a pity party (I've done that far too often and far too long)… or put on my big girl panties and forge on, muttering under my breath… bummer heavy sigh…
Sherry Barton
February 22, 2025
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
The Look Is Fast As The Speed of Light
I got the look!
Instantaneous…eyes snap sidewise faster than the speed of light…
Freeze tag pinned in place…
Duh da da duh… I'm in trouble, blown something…
No question… no room for doubt… Yet not really…
Dad's unique cue… falling in between traditional parenting cracks… Straddling between discipline and time to nip this one in the bud…
That I can't believe _____ (fill in the blank) … I'm annoyed… to… well.. fits almost any category
A genetic predisposition… or inheritance?
Who cares? I got it! It's mine!
The girls got the look…
Doug. He's more than a worthy mention. Countless outcries… Don't give me the look!
Too late, once you said “don't” ….it's fait accompli!
Sherry Barton
May 10, 2024
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
"Fierce Review"
Hindsight reviews tells me so much of what I want to keep, change, or completely drop.
My fierce review of my marriage and how my best fell short giving Doug what he earned and deserved… A review only as a widow, not as a divorcee, or in the middle of a dying marriage.
This was my self-imposed solitary journey review… shameful... regret… sadness… which theme this time? Or all of them?
Leaving me open to harsh judgment, constant reminders, recriminations and unrelenting examples of my transgressions voiced aloud by others, outsiders looking in. Refusing to consider he had a role, any role for my deep disappointment and hurt. A state of unfulfillment, private between a man and woman, partners…
Roles I’d never articulate. Our private conversations, dynamics, roles, frustrations, etc., are private. I will not tarnish their opinions and views about Doug. In their eyes, he could do very little wrong.
Outsiders looking in aren't necessarily wrong. Doug was one of these rare individuals whose nurturing and nonjudgmental acceptance of people where they're at. He gave me that, and it was vital to my healing, sometimes at the expense of his happiness and fulfillment in our marriage. He knew I gave 100% of my capacity, and sadly and regretfully it fell short for him and his needs.
Time to figure out… was my review objective and valid? Or was it based on a lifetime pattern of pervasive guilt, assuming guilt for problems I don't own? In my heart, I know all are correct.
The path to healing begins with forgiveness, forgiving myself for being human. Giving 100% is all a person can do, even when it falls short.
Sherry Barton
February 22, 2025
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Alphabet Soup Stigma
A multitude of letters bob and undulate as I stir the soup.
I gaze confused when I notice the letters haphazardly merge together…Magnetized letters repel and pull together.
Slowly familiar acronyms form. PTSD, GAD, BPAD, MDD, and more.
I recognized DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) acronyms.
My feelings are mixed. Why does society still shun and stigmatize people diagnosed with these letter formations?
Or, has society finally learned that mental health disorders are chemical imbalances? Am I understood and accepted as I am? Am I stigmatized? And by who? Yes, unfortunately, it goes without saying.
Sadly, my professional mental health co-workers and colleagues are the worst. You'd think they'd be more supportive…
No, unless you are a published author or a recognized expert in the field. Yet, are these published and expert consumer providers stigmatized by their professional co-workers and colleagues? Probably…
It's more likely society will come around before the professional mental health co-workers and colleagues do. You'd think it'd be the other way around.
Other chemical imbalances aren't stigmatized… Why is that?
It's in YOUR head!!! We're still trying to figure out the answers.
Sherry Barton
May 10, 2024
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Second Guessing In To Out
Sometimes, I wish… my ears to brain to mouth worked as close to normal as possible. These are the times when I second guess the communication process. Life and communication would be much easier.
I often second guess the whole process of information coming in and what I say going out. This is more prevalent when I'm stressed, in pain, or exhausted.
First, I need to determine if the words (transcript) I hear are correct.
Second, determine if I understand the actual intent of the words… Did their non-verbals match their words? Is my interpretation and summarization accurate? Did I really understand the person, and their intended message? Am I successful and they felt “heard”?
Now, based on numbers 1 and 2…what do I think? Sorting through my thoughts and feelings first. Figuring out how to “say what I mean, mean what I say, and not say it mean?”
Finally, do the words I speak match what I'm thinking?
A great deal of energy is required within seconds to process.
It gets complicated when I feel peppered with information, I don't have enough time to sort it all out. At some point, I'm unaware that I retreated behind an opaque boundary. Words are muffled and I can't clearly see the non-verbal cues to see if they match. Usually within minutes I'm back. However, I'm trying to catch up with the full conversation.
Fortunately, this happens less often.
Sherry Barton
February 23, 2025
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Vying for Dominance
… 16 is hard enough for anyone navigating adolescence… my 16 wasn't “typical.”
…16, I simultaneously experienced a trifecta of physical, emotional, and mental illnesses, fueled by an onslaught of catastrophe and epic proportions. This doesn't include the onslaught of hormones that were dumped into my body…
Add in sexual molestation, it was if a bomb went off.
Sometimes I felt like there were two of me residing together… similar to The Cherokee parable of The Two Wolves… vying for dominance.
Normal sadness, anger, mood swings, etc. seemed to morph into an unrecognizable me. Subliminally the good wolf watched over and shielded me, ensuring that my fears never overrode my reality.
Peering into the bathroom triple door mirrors, I saw three images. On the left was the girl I knew before puberty, and the hurricane of hormones that invaded my body. On the right was a slightly out of focus woman I envisioned I'd become. I knew I would need to work hard to bring that woman into focus so she'd become my reality. In the middle I was caught in a kaleidoscope, transitioning and transforming into multiple versions of myself. Sometimes erratic twists into dark and ugly versions I abhorred and feared.
Yet, most of the time there were fluid and smooth turns that revealed bright and colorful visions of me. A tiny voice filled with the promise, “this too shall pass.” I had no idea of the good wolf's presence, and how she embraced me as if I were her pup. She fiercely protected me, as I tried to protect my family and friends. The good wolf made sure that my fear of hurting others would never come close to my worst daymare.
I have no idea when or how… completely unaware that I found myself on the outside looking in… my nose pressed against the window pane… aghast at the wolves fighting to dominate my life and… terrified the bad wolf, gathering remnants of traumatic events, the raging hormonal dump, and the unknown maelstrom of mental illnesses, would win the battle. Behind the window pane I helplessly watched as I struggled to keep these “aliens” at bay, so as not to inflict them on anyone. Thus, the need to protect others began as the need to protect them from me and the bad wolf's influence.
The good wolf grew stronger and the bad wolf weaker. She drove the bad wolf to the boundary edges. The bad wolf stood on the precipice, its balance unsteady and precarious… refusing to accept defeat.
She failed, the good wolf always had my back.
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Alphabet Soup
Everywhere I look, I see acronyms…
A language all of its own for each category.
A shorthand of sorts.
Outsiders confused and aggravated.
They requested clarification.
Only to be answered with jargon shorthand.
Sherry Emma-Pederson Barton
April 13, 2024
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
ChatGPT
You said:
What type of writing is false ad
False Advertising
No judgment... My truth…
Makeup is to enhance, not to mask or even obliterate
the existing canvas…
Padded bras and body shapers are body makeup…
Plastic surgery is inside out false advertising…
Masks represent unease to shame…
I know…
I used to represent and resemble masks…
Comfortable with and in my own skin is priceless and worthy to pursue…
Sherry Barton
April 27, 2024
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Emergence And Layers
Everyone has layers
Unknown layers… are mysteries of your soul
Peeling back layers brings you closer to your core and soul
Revealing your core shines light on your soul
Your core and soul emerges for others to see and feel
You are known…
Sherry Barton
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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Sherry Barton Poem
Doe In My Yard
I glimpsed out my bedroom window looking for nature's signs giving me clues about what today will bring.
A lone doe was nibbling on the southern lawn grass. She slowly raised her head, vulnerably held still for about 10 seconds, and resumed nibbling the grass.
Her movement was graceful and relaxed. She stood stock still, her head held high as assessing my threat to her. I too, follow her lead.
She shows me that I'm not a threat to her. Her grace and ease reminds me to heighten my awareness of my surroundings. I'm reminded to trust my intuition, tap into my inner voice, and get out of my head.
I tend to get too much inside my head when I feel vulnerable. Late last night I reviewed my day and the events that erroneously lead to my vulnerability. Once again, prolonged unknowns left me feeling off kilter and out of balance. Most of the day mindfulness helped me rebalance.
I struggle to keep regret and subsequent guilt honed by decades keeping these at bay. Doing so keeps me from fully appreciating and living in the now. This reminder motivates me to continue challenging my survival childhood efforts and patterns that clearly no longer serve me. Instead I sometimes allow them to hold me back and falsely fuel my anxiety. As I reflect back it's apparent this old pattern happens less frequently.
Yesterday I erroneously let that insecurity seep into a new relationship. It wasn't fair, all I can do now is take responsibility, make amends, apologize, and strive to approach everything without getting into my head, and trust my inner voice more. History proved when I trust my intuition, my life is better and I'm more at peace.
Life is fluid and dynamic. When I get stuck in my head, I'm living life stuck and torpid. It's okay to feel vulnerable and capable of transformation.
I want to continue following her ability to move through life with ease and adjust to changing circumstances. By tapping into my many strengths, and adapt to life's changes and challenges with resilience and ease. Reminding me to live my life in the now with a balanced blend of innocence, gentleness, self-awareness, and determination. This includes accepting my limitations, weaknesses and mistakes. This is key to continue this path to develop my full potential in all aspects of my life, and I'll feel more fulfilled.
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All of this new found awareness because I saw a doe in my yard.
Sherry Emma-Pederson Barton
March 11, 2025
Copyright © Sherry Barton | Year Posted 2025
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