Animals of Projection
- Sheridan Guerrette
- Jun 3
- 9 min read
She Hit Me, Yelled the N-Word, and Lied to 911… Did I Press Charges?
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Previously on What Sheridan Said...
Sheridan gets bitten by the confidence bug in a big way. Amid the chaos of shifting leases, watching friends battle job losses in a brutal economy, and confronting her own long struggle with tying her worth to impressive job titles, she’s rethinking what really defines her value. After years of hiding behind roles, she’s learning to lead with the fuller story — the poet, the dreamer, the community builder, the curious soul who’s always been more than one clean label.
That quiet confidence sparks something major. As she reminds everyone around her (and herself) that our real power lives in the in-between parts we usually leave out, then Sheridan opens up about a nerve-wracking but exhilarating step forward in her writing journey— one that has her shedding happy tears, kicking her legs like she’s on a talk show couch, and finally seeing validation in the most validating way possible.
Bitten by the Confidence Bug
May 20th, 2026
Why 98 Poems Made Me Feel More Naked Than a Nude Editorial
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Animals of Projection
She Hit Me, Yelled the N-Word, and Lied to 911… Did I Press Charges?
I’m feeling perceptive today. A lot is circulating throughout my mind— some of it wise, most of it probably not. I’ve had a catastrophic week, not necessarily in the tragic sense, but chaos has sure found its way over to me.
Many of the avenues, attributes, and values circulating in my personal and work life are teetering between limbo and just above my reach. My love life isn’t the best. My personal life could use more friends. My work always seems to be waiting. Even when I do have work, I’m waiting on the next person’s word, some contract to fall into place, for the company to email me back. There’s only so much respectful follow-up you can do.
I don’t want to paint myself as impatient, but I’m reflecting on the fact that everything in my life is subject to change. I’m not sure if it’s going to change on a whim, by an email, or by a decision I make. What I do know is that I am ready, even if sometimes I feel as though I am not.
I believe in the mantra “what is meant for me will stay, will allow me to grow, and if set free and still meant for me, it will find its way back.” As everyone around me is either ending a relationship, beginning one, or— most commonly— simultaneously moving to a new place with or without ‘their person,’ I search for the deeper lessons that slide in between it all.
Wisdom, I’ve realized, is the ability to know when to withhold. Today I’m withholding quite a bit. Not knowledge exactly — more like information. There’s a difference. Knowledge is understanding. Information is just data. And I believe the people who achieve real wisdom are the ones who choose life over data.
For a long time, I operated on data over life. I’d dress scholarly for happy hour— business dress, stilettos— and position myself against the edge of the bar. I’d wait for my prey. And like clockwork, they’d appear: the ones wearing the cheapest Rolex their father could gift them. They never asked for my name. They just propped themselves next to me and started unloading facts they’d probably pre-memorized for their morning suck-up meeting.
But what was my mission? You could say I was on a knowledge war. My prey would ramble on, getting dumber, more flustered, more illiterate with every sentence. Their brain cells seemed to vanish as I stared at them in silence. And I waited — for the exact moment the fluster set in, when their rehearsed lines ran out. That, my pretty prey, is when I’d attack.
I felt okay about it at the time. Hell, they were obviously players, late-stage douche frat boys who never quite grew into maturity. They could memorize facts and swipe a credit card, so what did it matter? But when my silence forced them to outrun their script, and they finally fumbled, that’s when I’d speak— usually the first time they’d heard my voice all night. I’d calmly tell them exactly how wrong they were, then drop a piece of rehearsed data that made it very clear: they simply weren’t as smart as I was.
I see it now, the disdain I had. Even though I had somehow moralized my actions, it kept real wisdom hidden. It was just my routine to feel better after years of dumbing myself down for men who made me feel so incredibly small.
As I said before, I feel rather perceptive today. Many of the things that pain us come out in patterns of moralized disdain— whether passing a nice house and speaking ill of the people inside because their comfort highlights our shame, or seeing a woman with the figure we wish we had and instantly thinking ‘she must be starving herself.’ The reality is we are animals of projections. We stamp them on our walls, our screens, our days. We are so surrounded by them that escaping our own feels nearly impossible.
But that’s what we’ve become. And maybe wisdom is not only the ability to withhold knowledge, but the ability to see between the projections— to let the raw view come through.
I find myself noticing more of my own projections lately. Change is hard, and so many people around me are moving through big shifts in relationships and homes. With all the external pressure and new emotions, it’s easy to let projections run wild— and much harder to see what’s actually there.
Something more on the negative side of catastrophic happened this week. Among many other things, but this one topped the cake, complete with flashing lights. I was in a very public area, many cameras, many eye witnesses, when a woman, stained t-shirt, frizzy hair, a few missing teeth, and a whole lot of meat to her— slapped me across the face.
Did I deserve it? No. Her husband, also in a worn-down t-shirt with stains, frizzy hair, a few missing teeth, and not a lot of meat to him, started yelling racial slurs. So I promptly began recording with my phone as they were verbally attacking those around them. They had four or five young children, also in worn-down, stained t-shirts, running around the storage unit, hopscotching over strangers’ belongings in the hallway. There were a lot of people there that day—two families unloading, a newlywed couple, and another man minding his business. The doorways were busy, and all the moving carts were in use.
Their sons, after running a full lap, caught their breath together before walking out the doors in a straight line. A man walks around the corner carrying a bunch of things and bumps into the young boy. The man didn’t notice; his belongings barely grazed the boy’s shoulder.
I came out of the building, and there were the parents yelling, “My child was assaulted!” There isn’t much way to wiggle around the family. They demanded an apology, and when they got one, they demanded more and called 911. That’s when I began recording. Her child was not assaulted. I’m not sure who pissed in their cornflakes this morning, but this lady is full of shit. I start recording as she is talking to the 911 operator, when her husband decides to yell the n-word aloud. The wife asks if I’d like to get fucked up, and then, in between lying to the 911 operator, she swings her hand across my face. SLAP
I wasn’t sure necessarily what to do in that moment, but she was currently on the phone with 911, so I sought it best to narrate what was happening: “He just threatened him.” “She just threatened me.” “She just slapped me.”
I step aside and call 911 myself. I wasn’t sure if that was the best move, but I assumed it couldn’t hurt, as she’s transitioned into her call to “My children are being assaulted and videotaped by strangers.” The police arrive as I’m on the phone—there are around five cars and ten officers. Each one speaks to both of us. At this time, I wasn’t thinking whether or not anyone would get in trouble. I was more in the mindset of, this bitch is not getting away with lying. It wasn’t until the police watched the video of her slapping me in slow-motion that they said, “Whoa, she slapped you? Would you like to press charges?”
Every single officer watched the slap over and over in slow motion. I was shocked it was only a backhand because my god, did it hurt. Leading up to the slap and thereafter, in the video, you can see her children dancing around my feet, singing, ‘Karen, Karen, Karen.’ Which was extremely difficult not to laugh at despite the situation. They asked again if I’d like to press charges. I said to the officers, “My main concern is that they understand you cannot say racial slurs and assault people.” The officers assured me they are going to give them a difficult, stern talking-to, but ‘people like that don’t learn.’
I stepped aside from the officers and thought it over. In the end, I went with my gut. The number of times previously I wish I had followed through with a complaint, a filing, or that a friend had. I thought it over, not with a projection, but with raw reality. I didn’t want to get someone into trouble. I didn’t want children to see their mother get in trouble. I didn’t know if it would be a court date later, or if she would be taken away with cuffs in front of her little ones.
So I walked back over to the officers and asked what protocol would be, if I were to press charges. They assured me nothing would happen in front of the children, the mom would be escorted out of the building, and the officer gave me their information. With raw reality, I went with my gut and decided to press charges.
This chaotic week has forced me to look at the projections for what they truly are. The same woman who once dressed up for bar knowledge wars, weaponizing silence and facts just to feel superior after years of feeling small, is the same one who stood in a storage unit parking lot choosing raw reality over another cycle of disdain.
I could have projected every frustration from my own limbo onto her and her family. Instead, I chose to press charges not out of anger, but out of clarity. Sometimes wisdom isn’t just withholding knowledge—it’s knowing when to act from truth rather than pain.
Currently, I’m drinking a strawberry seltzer with my pup’s head on my lap, fighting for space on my keyboard. I’m still waiting on emails, still figuring out love and friendships, but I’m not waiting to become ready. Real growth happens in the moments between— when the character is off-camera, having an existential crisis while the script isn’t ready. It happens when you stop performing intelligence, stop moralizing your projections, and choose the harder, clearer path even when it’s uncomfortable.
I’m learning to lead with that version of myself— not just in the chaos, but in the quiet days too. At the end of the day, life isn’t data. It’s how we respond when the projections fall away, and we’re left standing only with what’s real.
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
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You (thinking out loud): “I mean, I could support her, but I’m lame. Well, I don’t want to be lame, I want to be cool, you know? Like that girl Sheridan, my god, she’s so cool. — If only there were a way to be as cool as her? — idk —oh yeah, I guess by becoming a member, I’d become so cool, maybe, Sheridan will hit me in the face.”
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