I’m finally back home on the East Coast after bouncing between cities and borrowed guest rooms, and let me tell you, there’s nothing like the slap of humid July air to remind you where you belong. Dino barreled into me the moment I stepped through the door, tail wagging so hard I thought he’d take off, and Shadow greeted me with that slow, sleepy grin that says, finally you’re back. I’ve spent half my life chasing my internal deadlines and inspirations, and as much as I’ve loved the thrill of new skylines, coming back to my own walls feels like breathing again.
Since I last wrote, I’ve attempted to reshape old poems into songs. And honestly, some of these are hits. So with that being said, my poetry book is evolving in real time: pages once destined for shelves are now teasing with becoming a reality as a melody through your speakers. I’m pushing myself harder to be the fullest, most muchness version of Sheridan I can be. And I’ve realized that selfishly, I want my words in every corner of your life, in bookstores, in your speakers, on your television, maybe haunt some of your dreams 💋. It feels like one of my purposes is to scatter pieces of my story through different lenses, to all of you. I think that’s beautiful.
I came back to my little corner of the world just a few days ago, and now with my pups sleeping at my feet and the soft bug hum of an East Coast night outside my window, I’ve been thinking about vulnerability. I spent months feeling each city’s pulse under my shoes: writing poems in dim hotel lobbies, turning them into songs before the sun rose, and scribbling new plot lines of chapters between makeup checks on a night out. All that frolicking, and of course the self-reflection that ties alongside writing, it has has shown me how rare it is to feel truly safe. It seems rare these days for someone to have a radar that only tunes into genuine threats, and when you are that person, you lose patience for anyone exaggerating distress just to grab attention. So before I dive in, know that this isn’t another unsolicited life lesson; it’s a fire‑lit warning from a restless heart that’s trying to make sure you don’t get hurt.
Maybe a month ago, I was out with a few friends, a good night out, with laughter and music, and then my phone erupted with panic. My friend’s messages poured in like a storm: “Please help. Something’s wrong.” I could practically feel her heart pounding through the screen. I dropped everything, ready to sprint out the door, only to hear her voice, not breathless, not trembling, and not with terror. Instead, she asked if she could borrow something. In that moment, I saw it.
False alarms aren’t harmless; they chip away at trust and leave us vulnerable when it really counts. The boy who cried wolf learned this the hard way, and as I’m a big believer in you receive what you give to the world, please stop waving phantom distress flags. Someday, they may become true, and nobody wants that to happen. Honestly, we’ve all done it at some point in some form. We cry wolf because we’re craving care, but those 2 AM “help me” pings do more damage than you think.
Each false alarm chips away at trust. People begin to wonder if your next crisis will be genuine or just another drama plot line. Your frantic messages start going unanswered, and when you finally face real danger, be it a break‑in, an attack, or a medical emergency, you’ll be calling into the void.
There’s a better way. If you’re feeling lonely or overwhelmed at 2 AM, say so outright: “I’m anxious and could really use someone to talk to.”
If people continue to broadcast threats when there are none, sooner or later, there will be real danger, and nobody, not even you, will know what to do. People will learn to ignore your pleas, chalking them up to drama or attention‑seeking, and when you do face true evil, your scream may fall to no ears.
So please, save your alarms for moments that truly matter. Speak your fears honestly and don’t weaponize panic for attention. Your friends want to help; they just need to know when it’s life‑and‑death, and they need the honest version. Protect each other by protecting your own truth.
So please, everyone, stop this behavior.
Well, having just laid that all out there, ranted,
pleaded, and probably even ruffled some of your feathers, I’ll circle back to where we began. To the same home that reminds me how sweet a well‑earned sigh can be, it also fuels my urgency as a storyteller. I hope you find my words in a poetry collection, floating through your favorite playlist, etched on your TV screen, and know that I’m speaking from the place between my late‑night panics and my morning calm.
Now, I have my pajamas on, and I’m all washed up for bed.
Thank you for being with me while I face many fears and continue to be the most ‘Sheridan’ I can be. I’ll continue writing, living, sharing my many mistakes along the way, and now, go to sleep!
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C
