The Beat of My Own Drum (33 page)

My forgiveness doesn’t equal an excuse for their abhorrent behavior. But somehow it has set me free from their grasp. I would have eventually been debilitated by depression or even sought relief through self-destructive behaviors like drug and alcohol abuse.

I have come to learn that, at least for me, forgiveness isn’t always finite. Sometimes a memory will emerge when I am sharing my experience in front of a group of kids or even in an interview. For a moment it’s as if I’m right back to square one. The sadness fills my heart and brings me to tears.

I have to allow myself to feel these emotions now. And then it is as if a soft wind blows gently over my tears, comforting five-year-old Sheila. And the bitterness I feel turns into the sweet smell of forgiveness. I tap into my heart, forgiving the abusers again. By doing so, I embrace little Sheila, as well as adult Sheila, once more. And all those thoughts and experiences that are not of God disappear.

The conversations I had with my cousins had a powerful ripple effect within my family and eventually led to some much-needed dialogues about putting an end to poisonous family secrets. By my early thirties I began to realize that there were several others in my very large extended family who also had experienced sexual abuse, even intergenerational incest. One family member had been raped at age eight by her grandfather. Her immediate family turned on her when she told on him. Her grandfather was never arrested or went to prison; they just tried to sort it all out within the family.

Not everyone knew about these instances of abuse, and some of those who did know didn’t want to talk about it. Discussing it made them sick. It seemed like no one knew what to do about it. But I
was done with everyone being so hush-hush about the subject and decided to do my part to bring it out of the darkness, hoping that standing with the abused, I could help both the victims and the victimizers step out of denial.

I began to realize that we could all help each other if we’d just be honest and deal with it. Certainly, I wasn’t received as some heroic healer. In fact, my coming forward initially caused quite a bit of turbulence. But I did begin a much-needed process and simultaneously received the kind of support that I needed so much myself.

As I began to experience the relief that came with talking to my family members and trusted friends about the sexual abuse I suffered as a young child, I eventually found the courage to speak about it to much larger audiences. I realized that as a public figure, I have the opportunity to reach many people and encourage them to embark on their own healing process. Just knowing that I have inspired even one person to seek help makes any fame I have more meaningful. In this respect, I have become completely different from the teenager I once was, who tried to ignore the pain of the past and focused solely on the joy of playing music.

Before I felt able to tell my story, it was as if I was carrying around countless heavy bags, so many that I could barely walk. Now each time I share, even to this day, I feel like I’m letting go of another bag. In doing so, I send a message to the little girl in
that
house that none of it was her fault.

My parents always want to support me in all my endeavors, including my ministry work, but, understandably, it’s almost unbearable for them to hear about the abuse. Even now, Moms will walk out of the room when I talk about what happened to me. She relives the guilt of her not being there for me. She still blames herself. I wish I could free them from any self-blame. It was such a long time ago and it wasn’t their fault, just as much as it wasn’t mine.

I am always careful to emphasize that what happened is no reflection on their parenting. They were both wonderful parents who took excellent care of us. We were with them so much: there was no need for babysitters most of the time. If Pops was out, Moms was usually home with us. If Moms was working, we were with Pops. They provided constant care and a home filled with love and laughter. What happened on those distinct occasions was beyond their control. Despite my making this clear, I’m sure it’s beyond painful for them to hear me tell my story, since they are powerless to go back in time to protect me from the abuse.

I was so blessed to have come from such a loving, nurturing family. Imperfect as they are—as all families are—they provided me with the foundation for growth and spirituality. They were always providing us with those simple pleasures in life that most could only dream to share as a family. And, last but never least, they passed on their lifelong commitment to fun!

In 2001 I released an album,
Heaven
, inspired by my spiritual breakthrough and my path of forgiveness. On it is a song by Nichole Nordeman called “River God,” in which she describes the surface of little stones, smoothed only once the water passes over them. The constant movement of the water from the river breaks down all the rough edges. Some of the words read:
Rolling river God, little stones are smooth only once the water passes through. So I am a stone, rough and grainy still, trying to reconcile this river’s chill.

Love is the water that breaks down everything else. Love is what smoothes it all away. I am imperfect, “rough and grainy still.” But I am being cleansed with love—the love of God, the love of my family, the love of my friends, and the love I feel when making music. Thanks to this abundance of love, I have learned to endure this river’s chill.

27
. E-Drums

Electronic drums with sensors that create sounds

My soul was meant to fly . . .

“GLORIOUS TRAIN”

SHEILA E, ANGIE APARO, JAMES SLATER

N
ever in a million years did I think I’d ever agree to take part in a reality show. While I’d enjoyed my stint as a judge on a TV show called
The Next Great American Band
(which could technically be considered a reality show), I was jaded by the onslaught of totally
unreal
depictions of folks in “real life” situations.

With this mind-set, I turned down any offers to appear on the kinds of reality shows that featured celebrities thrown together for some contrived reason. And when I was initially approached in 2009 to be a part of CMT’s
Gone Country
(which I hadn’t even heard of ), I didn’t have much interest. When they told me that this would involve celebrities living in a house together while competing to become a country music singer, I immediately declined. However, when I found out that it would also mean working with
real country music writers in Nashville, I was more than a little intrigued. I actually got a small case of the butterflies—always a sign that something special was presenting itself.

I’m a big fan of country music and had long dreamed of doing my own country music project. I’m moved by the melodies and the expressive lyrics—the honesty, the vulnerability, and the stories. It’s both soothing to listen to and comforting to
feel
to—it’s down home and it’s real. I had a blast performing with Brooks & Dunn at the 2002 Academy of Country Music Awards, and I was waiting for the right time to collaborate with some of the country writers.

On top of that, Nashville has always been one of my favorite cities. Years ago I’d even considered buying a home there where I could live part-time. (There’s a lot of cute men there, too, so “going country” in the romantic department was always a possibility. I’m just sayin’ . . .)

Before making a decision, I had to do some research. First, I went online to check out the past two seasons’ episodes of
Gone Country
. I was surprised and pleased to see that some great artists had participated before, all of whom had been given the opportunity to work with some excellent writers. That was a major pro for sure. The con was huge, though. There’d be no hotel to go home to at the end of a long day of shooting and competing against the other contestants; no private respite where I could—as poet Sara Teasdale wrote—“gather myself into myself again.”

Gone Country
was one of those live-with-everyone-and-be-filmed-24/7 reality shows. It was to be every man and woman for themselves as they went head to head on physical, musical, and emotional challenges on and off the stage to see who was best suited to pursuing a career in country music. I value my privacy so much—always have. When I was young I begged for my own bedroom (which usually wasn’t possible). Although I was afraid of silence for a long time, I still couldn’t wait to live in a house by
myself one day. And even now, I love socializing, but at the end of the day, give me a quiet space by myself and maybe some music or a drum set or a good poker game to unquiet it with, and I’m good to go. So my first response when Lynn asked me if I wanted to take part in
Gone Country
was, “Heck no!”

But no matter how much the idea of sharing a house with strangers (and the nation!) appalled me, I couldn’t stop thinking about the promise of working with great country music writers. And when I did, those butterflies persisted. So I did some more inquiring. The only time they wouldn’t film, I was told, was when we were in the bathroom. Yikes. They’d even be filming when the lights were off in our rooms, in case we said or did anything that warranted airtime. If they saw any movement, since we didn’t have packs on at that time, camera guys would be coming in with boom mics.

They wouldn’t tell me who else was going to be on the show, another aspect that made me wary. That was, they explained, an important part of the filmed surprise: watching each of us discover who else was there.

After much soul-searching, I took a leap of faith and agreed to do season three of
Gone Country
. It was only two weeks, after all, but the opportunities it presented were too great to miss. I was so nervous preparing to fly to Nashville, knowing I was about to throw myself into the world of reality television, but I kept being pulled by the promise of writing a country song.

And from what I gathered while watching the past shows online, the host—singer-songwriter John Rich—seemed like an awesome person to work with. John was the only person I knew I’d meet when I walked into that house, and I was really looking forward to meeting him. He had an impressive career, was a very talented musician, and seemed to command a great deal of respect on the show. I liked his hard-core approach and the way he persuaded
participants to rise to the challenge. I didn’t predict that he’d have any reason to yell at me, though. I was going to win, or else I wouldn’t be going at all.

I was completely self-conscious about the cameras when I first got into the house—a beautiful mansion that had once been owned by Barbara Mandrell. The good news was, the first thing I saw was a drum set. The bad news was that I couldn’t get used to cameras following my every move. But once I saw Taylor Dayne inside, I forgot about the cameras for a moment because I was so overwhelmed with excitement. There was my friend from way back, a great woman with some breathtaking chops. Then I saw Micky Dolenz and was thrilled, since I used to watch the TV show
The Monkees
.

When my good friend George Clinton walked in (a man I called Uncle George), I was overjoyed. Seeing him immediately made me feel at home. As a kid, I would do whatever I could to see his group, Parliament-Funkadelic, play live. That man pioneered a musical movement, and Lynn had been in his Brides of Funkenstein band. I was surprised to find out that he was actually a really big country music fan, and he knew a great deal about its history. I also enjoyed meeting the other contestants—Tara Conner, Richard Grieco, and Justin Guarini.

Once the excitement of greeting everyone died down, I was full of questions, wondering what challenges would present themselves and what the dynamics between everybody would be. All the many unknowns kept me on my toes and eager to find out what was next.

When I found out I’d be rooming with the girls, I had mixed feelings. I was excited to hang with my girl Taylor, and I looked forward to getting to know Tara, who was very sweet. But sharing a room? Where would I find solitude and solace? I quickly figured out that I wouldn’t.

I’ll admit I had some vanity-related concerns, too. Like, how
would I manage to look good, television ready, 24/7? Would they capture me looking less than my best? I had brought an entire suitcase of shoes—fourteen pairs (and that was me being conservative)!

One activity that brought me a sense of solace and allowed me to center myself night and morning was reading my Bible. I had a little light and I’d read underneath my covers so I didn’t keep anyone up.

There were very strict rules regarding noncommunication with the outside world. We weren’t allowed to use our cell phones, and any phone calls we might make from within the house were recorded. (I’d already warned my family that if I called them, they better be careful about what they said or it could end up on TV. That was a mistake, and became an exciting challenge. Just how embarrassing and goofy could they be? They couldn’t wait for my call.)

We were given daily tasks that were never revealed until the last minute. They’d wake us up early each morning, sometimes four or five
A.M.
(which is hecka early to me!), and they’d tell us how to dress. And then, well, let the games begin. We had some amazing experiences, including flying in a Black Hawk helicopter and jumping out of a tree hoping that the team would help with the landing. One task that stands out the most was creating a painting based on the general theme of the song we would write and present in the final show. I love to paint, but I don’t have the skills like Pops, who’s a professional. It took me a minute to adjust to the canvas and free myself up enough to begin. I painted a train and its passengers going up to heaven. I was moved when someone bought it at the charity auction that is part of the TV show.

Another task that stands out involved the president of the United States. The producers told us to learn a song quickly and that we’d be performing it soon. Little did we know we’d end up
on a warship singing for President George W. Bush just a few hours later. I couldn’t believe what was happening most of the time. Was this for real? If so, then reality television was starting to grow on me.