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Back in the day I was known as Sheri Olson, AKA “Sheri O.” I was a bit of a hellraiser. I went to punk gigs 3 times a week, I danced in gay bars and I used heavy, illicit drugs. I smoked a pack of Marlboro red box a day.

When I was seven, I wanted to be a roller derby queen and the highlight of my life was the newest Elton John and KiKi Dee “45″, Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart. I remember putting it on the turntable in the back yard and either roller skating or hula hooping the entire time it played. I would play it 5, 10, 20 times in a row. If I wasn’t roller skating or hula hooping I was lip synching or dancing.

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Other life-changing tunes from my childhood include: Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder, Play That Funky Music by Wild Cherry, Precious by the Pretenders, Jocko Homo by Devo, Blue Bayou by Linda Ronstadt , Rappers Delight by Sugar Hill Gang, and I Left My Wallet in El Segundo and Can I Kick It by A Tribe Called Quest.

There were the punk and alternative bands of the 80’s like G.B.H., Joy Division, Social Distortion, CH3, T.S.O.L., Shattered Faith, Naked Raygun and more which also had an impact. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the uncategorizible raps and rhymes of the Beastie Boys.

(Here I am at the LAist holiday party singing Pretty Vacant by the Sex Pistols using the Guitar Hero game. Earlier in the evening I sang One Way or Another by Blondie and Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix. I got 79-90% accuracy on all of them.)

The older I got, the more I was scolded for such immature behavior and socially unacceptable music choices. I was trained to be a “proper Christian”. To cross my legs, to wear pigtails and to be skinny. I was trained to be dumb on purpose because “it intimidates the men if you’re too smart.”

I tried to maintain my “self” the best I could. I rebelled against all conformity. But eventually it got to me. The mean looks, the conversations behind my back, the cold shoulders. I was fired more than once just because I spoke my mind and people told me “you’re crazy” for as long as I can remember.

Why bring all that unecessary hardship on myself? I figured it would be easier to just follow the rules and get along.

So I tried to blend in. To be the “me” everyone else says to be. Tried to lose weight even though I love my curves, tried to eat more vegetables, tried not to eat dessert, I made sure to smile just right, to have good breath, to not be too sassy, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

In my 20’s and 30’s I pretty much acted perfect all day then came home and swallowed the refrigerator.

In University I learned how to “say it right, put it in APA format, double-space it and use 12-point font.” I learned big words and a series of scientifically unfounded psychological theories as well as a long list of labels, diagnoses and pharmacuetical cures for all that ails the human mind. I learned to “be professional!” at all costs.

If I was going to maintain this game, I knew it was imperative that I discontinue all connection with night life. Not even time to listen to records. No more time for punk rock gigs. My textbooks were my late-night and early morning reading. My entire life revolved around devouring volumes of research journals and psychology textbooks, getting good grades and regurgitating information the way my instructors wanted me to.

I played the game all the way to the end. I got a master’s degree and I’ll be damned if I ever get a PhD.

What finally happened is that I imploded. I became entirely incapable of performing the act. In some ways, “I” fell apart. The “I” I thought I was that is. I couldn’t do it anymore. Sheri O. was crying out for attention and she was ready to do some crazy shit like roller derby and punk rock to get it. Sheri O. won.

What I want to know is this: are our spunky girls with a creative edge being adequately nurtured these days or are they being stifled by the oh-so-rigorous training for the position of “Queen”?

Are they enjoying and embracing their youth, their skills and their talents or are they busy hating everything about themselves from their eyebrows to their toe nails? Will they have to wait until they’re 40 to realize that being themselves is the easiest and most beautiful thing there is? How many more generations can we afford to let this happen?

The truth is, none of us needs to be a perfect King or Queen, that’s a job reserved for the King and Queen. In England, everyone is very clear that there is only one Queen and Elizabeth is it. Nobody tries to be Queen because they know they can’t be and won’t be. We need to stop trying to be something that we’re not. I don’t say that to defeat progress but instead to encouarge you to be your best self, not some lame imitation of who you think you can and should be. Faking it is a total waste of time, trust me.

If you need help with finding the true you again or if you want to be sure to maintain the real you without crumbling beneath criticism, get my book From Sabotage to Success.