Finding Sherah: Learning to Live, One Muddy, Awkward, ADHD Weekend at a Time

Apparently, my version of a relaxing weekend includes going on a date, playing inappropriate card games in a hotel lobby, running a muddy 5K with 23 obstacles, losing power in a thunderstorm, showering under a rain gutter, shooting pool, doing recovery exercises, farm work, cleaning my office, and meal prepping for an entire week.

You know.

Relaxing.

Welcome to Finding Sherah.

Friday night started with something that is still pretty unfamiliar territory for me.

I went on a date.

An actual, grown-up, one-on-one date.

I don’t go on dates very often (2 in the last 4 years), and because of past relationships and past experiences, dating can feel awkward for me. There are things that probably seem completely normal to other people that my brain can somehow turn into a full-blown internal committee meeting.

Case in point:

Opening a door.

The gentleman I went out with was wonderful. He was kind, attentive, and chivalrous. When we were going through a door, he wanted to open it for me.

Simple, right?

Except apparently I have become so accustomed to taking care of myself that I had forgotten the choreography.

I walked toward the door.

He moved toward the door.

I moved toward the door.

And then somewhere in my head I realized, Ohhh. He’s trying to open the door for me.

So I had to stop, back up, and let him go ahead of me.

And it felt awkward.

Not because of him.

Because of me.

Because somewhere along the way, I became so used to just doing things for myself that allowing someone to do something kind for me—even something as tiny as opening a door—felt foreign.

We joke that chivalry is dead, but sometimes I wonder if we also forget how to receive it.

Relationships get busy. Life gets busy. We get comfortable. We fall into routines. And sometimes the little things we once did to make each other feel special start disappearing.

Holding the door.

Waiting for someone.

Touching their hand.

Saying thank you.

Looking at them when they speak.

Doing something just because you know it will make them feel cared for.

Those things don’t sound huge.

But sometimes the smallest gestures are exactly what make us feel the most seen, valued, and appreciated.

And Friday night reminded me that being strong and independent doesn’t mean I can’t let someone be kind to me.

Apparently Sherah can carry the sword and let somebody hold the door.

I’m working on it.

After my date, the evening took a completely different turn.

I ended up in the lobby of the Moxy Hotel in Springfield, Missouri, with my daughter, her boyfriend, and another friend playing Cards Against Humanity and Bad Therapist.

If you’ve played either one of those games, you already understand that this was not a quiet evening of thoughtful conversation and good manners.

We were laughing.

We were saying things that probably should not be repeated in public.

And we were doing all of it right there in the hotel lobby where absolutely anyone could walk by.

And here’s the best part:

I didn’t care.

There we were, just living our lives.

Not worrying about who might be looking at us.

Not wondering whether somebody thought we were too loud, too weird, too inappropriate, or just plain ridiculous.

There have been times in my life when I would have spent half the evening wondering what everyone around me thought.

This time?

Nope.

I was having fun.

And maybe that’s part of learning to live too.

Sometimes freedom is realizing that the strangers in the hotel lobby don’t get a vote.

Then came Saturday.

Now, for a normal person, Saturday morning might involve sleeping in, drinking coffee, maybe reading a book.

For my ADHD brain?

Apparently relaxation means:

LET’S GO RUN A 5K THROUGH MUD AND CLIMB OVER 23 OBSTACLES.

Seems reasonable.

My daughter taking My picture

We got up, rushed around trying to find somewhere to eat, scarfed down some food, and headed to Republic, Missouri, for the mud run with my daughter her boyfriend, and another friend.

And honestly, it was a blast.

There was mud.

There was running (I am lying there was no running).

There were obstacles.

There were probably moments when my body questioned every life decision that had brought me to that exact location.

And when it was over, my muscles had opinions.

A lot of opinions.

There were so much laughter, mud throwing, muddy smiles, mud in our noses and every place you can imagine and others.

So naturally, instead of calmly going home and resting, I hurried to a friend’s house because she was going to work on me and help with some of the fascial tissue problems and soreness I had created while living out my weekend-warrior fantasy.

Because I was covered in mud, the plan was simple:

Get to her house.

Take a nice hot shower.

Get cleaned up.

Let her work on me.

Perfect plan.

Except while I was driving there, a thunderstorm rolled through.

And when I arrived…

the power went out.

No electricity.

No hot water.

No shower.

At this point, life had options.

I could get frustrated.

I could sit around covered in mud waiting for the power to return.

Or…

I could go full Sherah.

It was absolutely pouring outside.

Water was rushing off the roof and down the rain gutter.

So I grabbed my shampoo and soap and took my shower outside under the rain gutter in the middle of the storm.

Yes.

I washed my hair with rainwater coming off the roof.

Yes.

I stood outside and washed mud off my body while the thunderstorm handled the water pressure.

And honestly?

It was kind of amazing.

Ridiculous?

Absolutely.

But also amazing.

There is something very freeing about reaching a point in life where a thunderstorm ruins your plan and instead of letting it ruin your day, you think:

Well… there’s water right there.

Sometimes Finding Sherah means overcoming emotional barriers.

Sometimes it means letting someone open a door.

And apparently sometimes it means standing under a rain gutter with shampoo.

We contain multitudes.

After getting cleaned up and letting my friend work on me, you would think I would have gone home and rested.

Again…

Have we met?

I did some walking, and later I went to the bar with my son’s girlfriend, shot pool, hung out, wished some people happy birthday, and enjoyed being around people.

Because apparently the ADHD definition of recovery is:

“Let’s do something slightly less exhausting than the thing we just did.”

Mug"s Bar

Then Sunday arrived.

And Sunday became my reset day.

I got up and took care of my goats and my dog.

The goats, by the way, were completely unimpressed by my mud-run accomplishment.

You can crawl through mud, survive 23 obstacles, shower in a thunderstorm, and discover profound things about yourself…

and a goat will still look at you like:

That’s nice. Where’s breakfast?

Then I came into my office to clean and get everything ready for Monday morning.

I did some light exercise and walked on my treadmill.

I used my vibration plate to help loosen up some of the things I had irritated during the run.

I got my collagen in because after everything I had put my body through, I felt like my connective tissue deserved both an apology and a peace offering.

And then I meal prepped.

Healthy Mediterranean-style meals for the entire week.

Salmon.

Chicken.

Vegetables.

All the fixings.

Boiled eggs for breakfast.

Containers everywhere.

My ADHD brain might love spontaneous adventures, but Future Me also really appreciates when Present Me remembers that we’re going to need food on Tuesday.

And somewhere between the date, the card games, the mud, the rain-gutter shower, the pool table, the treadmill, the goats, and the meal-prep containers, I realized something.

This weekend wasn’t really about doing a bunch of things.

It was about learning to live.

• Learning to let someone be kind to me.

• Learning that little gestures still matter.

• Learning that I can be strong without always having to prove I can do everything alone.

• Learning that I can sit in a hotel lobby laughing loudly with people I love and not worry about what strangers think.

• Learning that my ADHD brain may have a slightly unconventional definition of “relaxing weekend.”

• Learning that when Plan A disappears during a thunderstorm, sometimes Plan B involves shampoo and a rain gutter.

• Learning to push my body.

• Learning to take care of it afterward.

• Learning to accept help.

• Learning to laugh at myself.

• Learning to prepare for the week ahead.

And most importantly, learning that healing doesn’t always look the way we imagine it will.

• Sometimes healing is serious.

• Sometimes it’s uncomfortable.

• Sometimes it’s quietly letting someone open a door for you.

• Sometimes it’s laughing over Cards Against Humanity.

• Sometimes it’s crawling through mud.

• Sometimes it’s standing barefoot in a thunderstorm washing your hair with water pouring out of a gutter.

• And sometimes it’s Sunday evening, with your animals fed, your office clean, your body recovering, and your salmon neatly packed into containers for the week.

Maybe Finding Sherah isn’t about becoming some entirely different person.

Maybe she’s been here all along.

Strong.

Messy.

Independent.

Learning how to receive kindness.

Laughing too loudly.

Running toward adventure.

Occasionally covered in mud.

And finally learning that she doesn’t have to worry so much about what everyone else thinks.

She just has to live.