I forced my eyes open.
Before I could even start the process of recollecting what just happened, I glanced down at my dog at the foot of my bed staring at me.
“Damn, how long has she been right there?” I said to myself. Kinda creepy, but not out of her behavior considering she had been hella clingy lately.
Throwing my body to the left and off my back in an effort to avoid somehow getting trapped in the trancelike state I had been slipping into the past few days, it all hit me. I got a little nauseous and let out a few silent tears as I realized that I finally could fully recall what was important from my dream – my inner child, my subconscious talking to me.
About what? You’re probably wondering. Well, everything.
The dreams I had been having all had the same theme of some really wild and irrational situations that I knew weren’t necessarily nightmares but also didn’t feel that great to participate in either. They were heavy; they made me feel trapped, shamed, rejected, and alone. I felt like I couldn’t escape my dreams but I had the option to leave each time. I was around others but it always seemed like they couldn’t hear me or help me.
Was I willingly participating in experiencing negative emotions that I can barely deal with in real life? Probably so. Each time I would wake up feeling perfectly fine and not being able to remember anything I dreamt.. so I felt reluctant to pray in a sense because I knew it was my doing…but why?
Why would I intentionally force myself to feel like this in my dreams?
There was only one dream I could remember vividly though – My father’s house. For the past few years I kept having dreams about being in his house alone and in the recent weeks they had been reoccurring heavily. From being in the living area going through his collection of jet magazines laid on the glass coffee table next to the purple potpourri basket and laying back on his cream leather recliner couch, to perusing through his empty bedroom recalling where every piece of furniture used to be like I was giving an empty house tour, to gazing outside through the kitchen window above the fridge into the heavily wooded backyard trying to see the owl that lived in the tree I was terrified but intrigued by.
The funny thing is.. even though I was alone each time here I felt a sense of peace that I was not able to have in any other dreams. I tweeted about it, tried to look up dream interpretations, and prayed but yet nothing resonated as to why I kept going back there. Why there?
I let out a deep breath and buried my head in my pillow. Bits and pieces of the dream I had just experienced came to me and instead of trying to write them down in my phone since it was about to die, I just paid attention to each emotional reaction I felt while what seemed like a old movie reel with blotchy visuals flashed through my head.
What I received from those dreams was heartbreaking but I forced myself to sit there and not fight it. I finally found the correlation between my father’s house and the dreams I had been having.
I saw and felt a little girl that started staying silent, becoming introverted, and did what was expected as her level of greatness in an effort to receive some type of love, acknowledgment, and acceptance. The little girl normalized being misunderstood and let the fear of rejection put her through a life path she lied to herself about continuously. The little girl that grew into a woman that had a resentment towards herself for being weak in her own eyes.
That little girl was me.
My dad affectionately labeled me as “little girl” even through my teenage years up until his passing. Every emotional reaction I had remembering my dreams triggered the same feelings I had as a little girl.
The mind is an interesting place.
In that moment of vulnerability I gently spoke to my inner child. “I forgive you, little girl. It’s okay to be different; it’s okay to have layers. It’s not your responsibility to make others understand you or love you. I love you little girl, I want you to be happy, and I want you to live in your truth.”
I lifted my head up, turned to lay on my back looking directly at the ceiling and let out an exhilarating sigh of relief.
It took me a while to see it but I’m thankful the little girl never gave up on me even when I gave up on her. Now we have work to do together.
-b.