Sheri's Place - Companioning Life's Unchosen Chapters

08/11/2026

Reflections of Motherhood - The Grief of a Mother

There are many parts and ways of becoming a mother. One of these is a journey full of wonder, of possibility and of hopes and dreams.

Every mother I've ever met has dreams of who their child will become.
Dreams of who they themselves will be as a mother.

And some journeys through motherhood is watching this unfold...

Others are met with watching the light fade from your child's eyes.

As you sit and wonder
What did I miss?
What did I do?
How couldn’t I see this?
Is there a way back?
How do I help?
Questioning the journey, reflecting, dissecting, trying desperately to find what can be fixed.

As the weight of their light loss sits on your chest; you would do anything to find it. The grief of knowing you can't.

Your photo memories remind you of the belly laugh... that now lingers in the distance.
Of the glow and wonder that once filled their eyes.

As a mother one wonders if it's a phase; childhood can be hard. The silent, unspoken ache that rests in your ribs, that somehow, this is your failure.

You hope, you pray, you find the resources, and you hold the grief of a mother.

The contrast of your dreams, your reality and your hope. In a world where the perception is perfection is the standard.
You crave a world where perfectly human could be enough

08/08/2026

Sorrow as a blessing.

There are times you feel the blessing in the moment, and times you only come to see it later.

This page is from the book Saying Goodbye: A Guide to Coping with a Loved One’s Terminal Illness.

Does that sorrow feel like a blessing?
Sometimes.
Sometimes it swallows you whole.

What you may not know about me is our family has navigated incurable cancer for a decade.

That I was the primary caregiver to my father after his stroke, until his passing three years later.

I have walked this path, as many others have.

In the beginning, all I could feel was fear.
The fear of being a mother to three children under five as she looked her husband’s cancer in the eye.

It never felt like a blessing.
It felt like prayers on skinned knees from a woman who held too much.

As we journeyed through treatment and found moments to laugh, and the “worst day” was met with cookies for breakfast, the blessings were there.

Through tear‑stained clothes after a treatment gone well, the blessing was there.
Each day I gaze upon his face, a blessing is there.

The day will come when goodbye will fall from my eyes, and I can only hope that, like the goodbye spent with my father, the blessing is there.

Grief is more than sad.

Mourning is the act of love after loss.

And loss is found in more than death.
I am often told, Don’t think that way. They’re still here.

Well‑meant phrases that cannot hold the depth of:
The unchosen chapter of a life well lived,

in a room that doesn’t beg for comfort.

08/03/2026

Good morning. ✨️

Sunrises like these bring such peace to my heart.

07/26/2026

Companionship and grief work isn't always sad.

In fact, the word grief feels more closely aligned to recent loss or death. Some of us look at life events as just life because strength is all we know.

We don't think, Gosh, I'm grieving. We think:
I'm tired.
I miss my old self.
After this, it'll get better. I just need to get through this season.

We tighten our boots, pull up our big‑girl panties, and keep going.

A mentality I know all too well, because same.

If we're honest with ourselves, we know underneath the strength is a whisper of need.

I know, I know — we don't need anyone, but hear me out...

There's a moment you've tried to express yourself, and you leave with a sigh because that bid, that need, goes unheld, unseen, or met with, You're so strong.

In that moment, you realize you're the strongest one in the room. So you tuck it away once again and carry the weight, while the whisper of needing to be witnessed sits in your chest.

The need for a safe place to rest the bag at your feet as you beg to leave.

The desire for a place that is just as strong as your pillow as you close your eyes with hope for tomorrow.

Too many times you're met with well‑intentioned pity.
The “I'm sorry,” or the “Oh man, that's hard.”
Cue the eye roll. I'm not weak. Stop.

I know. You've got this. Because again, same.

But imagine for a moment...

Somewhere that meets you like hot morning coffee and sunshine.

Not to hear your story unless you want to tell it.
Not to ask you to cry unless you want to (because let's face it, tears aren't public knowledge.)
Not to ask you to perform, because masks aren't required.

But a place where you
just you
can enter and be.

Be strong.
Be vulnerable.
Be happy.
Be content.
Be whatever it is you are that day, that moment, that minute.

No judgment, no demand.
Just like that morning coffee with the sun, but a human who is willing to do the same.

A place to put the pieces of life together as randomly as they occur.
Or hell, just a place to pause, because even the strong need rest.

06/11/2026

Good morning! From my place to yours
🌿💜🌿

06/09/2026

Some losses take a life.
Some take a relationship you thought was unbreakable.
Some take the version of you that existed before a diagnosis.
Some take the ease you imagined motherhood would have.
Some take the dog who greeted you at the door.
Some take a father’s laugh.
All of them change the way the world sounds.

Lately, memories and moments have been tapping on my shoulder
the kind that make your breath catch,
the kind that remind you how quickly “fine” can turn into before everything shifted,
the kind that settle under the surface of ordinary days.

I don’t share this for sympathy.
I share it because this is the terrain I walk
in my own life, and beside others.

Grief isn’t only about death.
It’s the ache of family estrangement,
the quiet mourning of the mother you thought you’d be,
the weight of raising sensitive children in a world that feels too loud,
the identity you lose when life hands you a chapter you never asked for.

It’s the grief of what didn’t happen,
what should have happened,
what you hoped would happen.

This is why I call myself a grief companion.
Not a coach.
Not someone with a formula.
Just a person who knows the shape of these unchosen chapters
and is willing to sit in them with you.

If your days carry a quiet ache,
if your memories fall down your cheeks sometimes,
if you’re learning how to live with the empty spaces,
the new realities,
or the relationships that no longer exist
you’re not alone in that.

You’re simply human, loving what was,
and trying to make sense of what is.

This is the work I do:
walking with people through the chapters they never asked for,
the ones that reshape them,
the ones that still whisper,
“God, I wish things were different.”

05/28/2026

There are times in life where the grief comes out sideways.

Where the pages of every unchosen chapter stack upon eachother and create turmoil so deep you aren't even sure where it started.

It wasn't one thing, it was many.

It was every swallowed word
Every broken hearted conversation and
Every attempt at finding yourself
Only to sit in the silence of a life forever changed.

The pages stolen by unchosen chapters, the detour of contentment which feels empty upon the comparison of yesteryears.

Finding emptiness in the hollowness of a page drained of all its words is easy.

Pages that held plans, hopes, dreams and a life you once knew to be your future, now, become blank.

It is within that blank page that grief sits silently heavy as it screams in the background of your scramble to find a pen. Somehow your ability to write, to even choose what pen to use becomes paralyzing.

Does one use a pencil to tread softly on the page to erase the mistakes and try again... or to simply enter the story subtlety?

Or does one use a pen, to be bold and unmistakable? To claim the pages and the life, to move with the story as it unfolds? And by what color should one do this?

Or perhaps one uses both a pencil and a pen and all the colors for the story has become richer than it was before.
In the hallowed out pages one finds the words the hopes and the dreams that once existed though this time tainted by the silent screams of grief.

Rewriting over used pages whilst the world looks at them as fresh. The story is faded on the page as you begin to write, you can still see it, though no one else can.

The desperation of a clean fresh page, yet the loyalty to the pages already used creates a story within the story that is only held by the author and is often left unshared...

Afterall, people forget you're writing a story on worn paper as they continue theirs on fresh pages.

Though some of life's most treasured books are those with worn pages, old ink, and leather backs. Just even being graced with such a book holds honor and you havent even begun the story.

So, as one must... we begin to write, we begin to become the imperfect, broken hearted authors of our story, of our lives...

And as you begin on that hallowed page...
Trust the healing is happening.
Your people are coming.
And contentment is being built in every refusal to quit writing on a worn page, even if the ink starts to dry.

05/13/2026

I adore Avi Kaplan's music, it's often a toss-up between Kaleo and Avi for my delight.

As I was on my way home, First Place I go, came through the speakers. I've heard this song countless times, but this time was different.

Our home is no stranger to anxiety.
Unchosen chapters have a way of shifting the soul.
Estrangement mixed with CPTSD can create self-sabotage, and a narrative in your mind you work hard to escape.

This song didn't just play.. it landed.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of an unexpected chapter, or the quiet work of rebuilding your inner world, take a listen and tell me what it brings up for you.

First Place I Go - Avi Kaplan

https://youtu.be/ILGLfo233EA?si=TnHyc_-ahmJGcrnX

Song by Avi Kaplan

05/08/2026

How to Work With Me (Because Trying to Write the “Perfect” Post Clearly Isn’t Working)🙃
I haven’t posted because I keep trying to write the “perfect” thing, and shockingly… that has not worked.
I see influencers and polished businesses doing their thing and, well... surprise... I don’t fit in.

So let’s just approach this like regular life: imperfect and real.

Here’s what I offer:

🌿Companionship for Life’s Unchosen Chapters
What does that even mean?
It means if you’re having a hard time and need someone to talk to, come on in.
You might be a caregiver, estranged from family, navigating a cancer diagnosis, carrying old grief, or just… dealing with life being life.
If you need an ear, I’m here.

✨Reiki
The magical state of relaxation — like the nap you fantasize about where your whole body finally exhales.
A reset for your nervous system.

🌿Intuitive Guidance
For the weird and wonderful.
For the spiritual-but-not-aesthetic, the ones who don’t fit in boxes, and the ones who don’t buy into the “just raise your vibe” pressure.
Real intuition, real grounding, real conversation.

☕️“Coffee’s On Me” Meeting
If you have no idea what you need, start here.
No pressure, no sales pitch, no performance — just two humans getting to know each other and seeing what fits.

How to Book:
DM or via the Link in the comments.

Sessions In Person & Online

03/31/2026

Stepping outside to go to the bus my heart swelled.

The sun peaking through the trees with promise of warmer days.

One cannot help but close their eyes and soak in the breath of fresh air, the gratitude of a bright day, and the way the air touches your skin.

Like many I dream of the softness that warm air brings, however today, I held the bite of the cold on my skin, this to shall pass and the beauty in the stillness will once again fade.

Today as I gazed at the sun through the trees I noticed the misty air that float through the branches and wondered if what I was feeling, sensing and thinking was that too of the trees.

How wonderful it is to be surrounded by such beauty.
Some may see just plain trees, some may see those frickin poplars, I see so many friends, so many secrets, so much of everything I am and every story I've told to the branches of beauty I dream of.
This yard whilst it isn't me, it's everything in me.