I had a blog for seven years. Before that, I had another blog. And before that? Another.

Well, you get the picture.

I’ve never NOT wanted to write… and share… and create (or participate in) community.

But with that desire comes a certain risk.

You will find that I have stories. So many stories after 65+ years.

I feel one coming on…

In the early 1990s, I was very involved in our neighborhood Baptist church.

We called the minister “Preacher,” and some parishioners didn’t even know his real name. In hindsight, this only solidified his place in the hierarchy, which was (make no mistake about it) at the top of the food chain. The church didn’t buy toilet paper without running it by him first.

I’m not sure who suggested it, but a group of us realized we were dealing with addictions (mine was food) and decided to begin an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)-style weekly meeting to support each other. It was called “The Road to Recovery” (RTR).

Unlike AA, the leaders of the meetings did not rotate. Instead, we had one man leading our meetings. He’d been in AA for years and had the coins rattling in his pocket to prove it. Preacher gave his blessing, and to help facilitate an environment where we would feel comfortable opening up, he was not involved in our meetings.

Like AA, it was made very clear that what we shared in those meetings was confidential.

After several weeks, as we got more comfortable with each other, we all began to let loose a little and get to the nitty-gritty of addiction. As we shared, the embarrassment and fears began to ease, and there were beautiful moments with tears, hugs, and lots of prayer and commiseration.

Then, Preacher’s messages from the pulpit began to change. It seemed (though I dared not consider this!) as though he were bringing up things we’d discussed during our meetings and preaching about them.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Happenstance. Surely! Right? RIGHT?

Um, no. Not right. Not by a long shot.

Turns out, our RTR leader was sharing specific details about our meetings with Preacher.

And tape recorded some.

You likely do not need me to tell you about the sense of betrayal we felt.

For me, it was the beginning of the end (of organized religion and the Baptist faith in particular). In fact, it turned out that many, many shenanigans were going on, all stemming from the top.

But I digress.

My point: Sharing can be scary.

And there’s always risk involved.

As I embark on a brand new blogging journey, I hope to never feel the need to run and hide again. Too many times, I have created something precious and tossed it all away in a fit of… what? Protection? Fear? Yes, and yes.

Not this time! Sherry, lilsten to me. NOT. THIS. TIME.

I also hope that my words help someone else along the way.

And I pray you see this space as sacred. As I do.

For years, I have been walking this path. Sometimes barefoot and vulnerable, sometimes protected in brand new boots.

I have always been on my own Road to Recovery.

Still haven’t healed.

Not the fault of the path.

Walking is a theme in my life, as you will find out along the way.

I hope you will travel with me and maybe, finally, I will heal my relationship with food and also with trusting others to hold my words, heart, and this space tenderly.

Because we’re a community, I want the same for you.

Let us hold a light for each other.

Is it a deal?