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Today’s conversation is important because it reminds us that not every struggle is visible, and not every hard day has a clear explanation.

I’m joined by Sheri Melody. Sheri is not a stroke survivor, but her story matters deeply here because mental and emotional health plays a huge role in how we cope, how we support others, and how we survive difficult seasons.

Sheri, thank you for being here.

Sheri:

Thank you for having me. I’m glad to be here — and a little nervous.

Bill:

Nervous is more than okay here.

Sheri, you’ve been open about living with depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Can you talk a little about what hard days look like for you?

Sheri:

Hard days are the ones where everything feels heavier than it should.

Even simple things take effort — decisions, focus, motivation. Sometimes my mind just won’t slow down, and other times it feels like it’s shut off completely.

From the outside, people might not notice anything is wrong. But inside, it can feel overwhelming.

Bill:

That invisible part is so important. A lot of people listening — especially caregivers, survivors, and family members — know what it’s like to carry something others can’t see.

There’s often pressure to “push through” or “stay positive,” but that’s not always realistic.

Sheri:

Exactly. And that pressure can make things worse.

Some days, just getting through the day is the accomplishment. And learning to accept that took time.

I had to learn that rest isn’t failure, and needing support doesn’t mean I’m weak.

Bill:

That’s such an important message.

On this show, we talk a lot about resilience — not the Instagram version, but the real kind. The kind that shows up quietly, on days when no one’s clapping.

What helps you get through those days?

Sheri:

Being honest with myself.

Letting myself say, “Today is hard,” without judging it.

And leaning on people I trust. Even just one person who understands can make a difference.

Bill:

That honesty is powerful.

And it connects directly to what so many people listening are dealing with — whether they’re recovering from a stroke, supporting someone who is, or managing their own mental health.

Sheri, what would you want someone listening — someone having a really hard day — to hear right now?

Sheri:

I’d want them to know they’re not broken.

Struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.

And tomorrow doesn’t have to be solved today.

Bill:

That’s beautifully said.

Sheri, thank you for sharing your story and your honesty. Conversations like this remind us that strength doesn’t always look like progress — sometimes it just looks like staying.

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Still Here: A New Year Message

A new year doesn’t erase what we’ve been through — it reminds us that the story continues.

This message is for every survivor, caregiver, and listener who kept going when the path wasn’t clear. For those learning to live in a changed body, a changed rhythm, or a changed life. Strength doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it just looks like staying.

At ScrambledEggs&Ham, we enter this new year with gratitude for your stories, your honesty, and your presence. Recovery isn’t linear. Healing isn’t rushed. And hope doesn’t require perfection.

If you’re still here — you’re doing enough.

Thank you for walking this road with us.

Here’s to a brave new year.

— Bill Clarke

ScrambledEggs&Ham

Survival • Recovery • Hope

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Osborne is more than a bike rider — he’s a survivor, a motivator, and a man who carries history with every mile he pedals. After facing down cancer, Osborne turned to cycling not only as a way to rebuild his strength, but also as a way to inspire others to reclaim their health and discover freedom on two wheels.

He has spent years encouraging friends, family, and community members to ride, showing that the road can heal as much as it challenges. But this ride — from Tulsa’s Black Wall Street to New York’s Wall Street — was different. This wasn’t just about endurance or distance. It was a journey that connected survival with legacy, resilience with history, and personal recovery with the collective story of Black America.

In the 1920s, there was more land held by black people than all of the states combined, according to Celestain, who stated that Oklahoma is the owner of the Black town story.

According to the Oklahoma Historical Society, there is no other place in the world where such a large number of African-American men and women came together to establish, occupy, and be in charge of their own town

Osborne rides not just for himself, but for everyone who’s ever been told they couldn’t make it. His story is one of strength, faith, and the power of movement.

Bill: That’s powerful. Can you talk about the experience of the ride itself?

Osborne: I was covered on the bike. Everybody else had a beautiful glance climbing that mountain.

The crew was at the top cheering. For them, it was the best moment. For me, it was the worst — physically I was drained. But it was also my best moment because I saw my teammates do so well. Everyone came together, everyone owned that climb.

It wasn’t my best day on the bike, but it was right up there. I’ll never forget it.

Bill: And your riders, this was a multicultural group?

Osborne: Yes. We had Richard Kaiser out of Detroit, he’s Jewish. Beth Livingston out of Detroit, also Jewish. Pam from California, she’s Black. In total, probably six Jewish riders and six Black riders.

As we rolled out of Tulsa, people joined and left the group each day. Beth rode for three weeks, went home, then came back to finish. We met amazing people, made amazing friends.

The oldest rider was Richard at 70. I was 67 — the two strongest riders. The youngest was Junior, a 28-year-old mechanic. The six who made it all the way to New York were Richard (72), me (67), Linda (57), and Marcus (60). So yes, age is just a number.

Bill: That’s inspiring. Tell us about the people you rode with.

Osborne: Richard is a cancer surgeon. He built an earthquake-proof home in Nepal at the base of Mount Everest. He’s also the executive advisor for the Black Leaders of Detroit. Beth Livingston runs the Make-A-Wish ride in Michigan — they raised $4 million this year.

We were in the company of some real heavy hitters, people doing amazing things. And we all rode together, ate together, and became family.

Bill: Survivor to survivor — what role does cycling play in your recovery, physically, mentally, and spiritually?

Osborne: I’ve been cycling since 2006. But my biggest recovery wasn’t from the bike — it was from building a new life.

Cancer is God’s way of saying: make changes. I didn’t just change my diet, I changed my lifestyle. The way I live, the way I think, the way I appreciate life. I slowed down. I realized I couldn’t keep poisoning myself. I had to take care of the children God gave me.

So yes, c

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