A Dreamer in the Worst Way

 

The day starts like any other day. I wake up in my bed and as I turn toward my nightstand to reach for my glasses, it’s there. Fresh memories begin saturating my thoughts in discombobulated segments.  A series of scenarios that my sleeping mind made up. A dream. An experience that feels so real that many times it demands my attention and emotions upon waking up. 

 

You see, I’m a dreamer, but not in a good way. I don’t typically struggle to let my aspirations fly away to seemingly unreachable heights. I’m a realist. I’m practical. I try to be as grounded as the dirt under my feet, but when I sleep, I dream. 

 

Every night, I dream and I remember.

 

I suppose referring to these images and stories in my head while I’m asleep shouldn’t technically be called “dreams”. Most involve situations that I would rather never experience in real life. It’s like my imagination is constantly wading through the waters of confusion, loss, and grief. 

 

Trying to make sense of it all.

 

When I’m awake, I can work to process my thoughts and memories in a healthy way, but when I fall asleep, my brain has a party. Actually, the times I felt I was making the biggest strides in healing, the more my subconscious mind needed to process while I slept. It’s been a frustrating reoccurrence.

 

Since being excommunicated, I have dreamt of being in a church more times than I can count. The very first thought after realizing my location is, “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m going to get in trouble.” In the depths of my unconscious mind, I understand that I am not wanted or allowed in this spiritual setting. 

 

Many times, as I am trying to exit the premises I see faces of once dear friends that seemingly ignore my existence. My chest gets heavier as I move about and around them with their families, desperate for their acknowledgment. Even a confrontation would be better than being seemingly invisible. 

 

“Why won’t they confront me? Why do they just smile and pretend as if I’m not here?” I wonder, in my dream. 

 

My former lead pastor is a recurring character in my unwanted play scripts. Once I know he is in the vicinity, I look for him and contemplate having a conversation. He is almost always hiding and never approaches me. In the times that I have been given the opportunity to engage with him in my dreams, some of the things I’ve said to him in those moments surprise me. The Amanda in my dreams knows exactly what she wants to say or even ask. She has perceptions that my conscious self had never thought about before.

 

But each time this happens, he rarely answers me or even looks me in the eye. He didn’t have to answer my concerns in real life and he doesn’t have to here.

 

The more fake conversations I have with him in my sleep the less reactive my emotions are upon waking. My mind’s uninhibited storyteller is playing too many reruns. Can we move on to another episode already?

 

However, the dreams that are still the hardest for me to shake are the ones of our estranged family. The family relationships that we lost in the catastrophic mess of this church conflict. This loss for me was and is unfathomable. I believe that’s why my brain keeps going back to it.

 

In those REM-saturated moments, I get to see my little nieces and nephew again. Sometimes they are much older, sometimes they are the same age as when I last saw them. 

 

When I last saw them…

 

Let me pause there for just a moment and take a deep breath.

 

These were the babies, toddlers, and young kiddos that I cared for ever since they entered this world. I love them just about as much as my own children. This is why the grief associated with losing my relationship with our family has felt like flat-out death. It’s been agonizing.

 

Those are the most grueling mornings. I wake up and my mind is flooded with deep sadness. My thinking is foggy and unable to focus on the tasks in front of me. Many times I feel desperate, so desperate that all my mind can do is try to figure out how to fix it. Several times, instead of moving on to serve breakfast to the kids, I have asked my husband to feed them while I take some time to sort out my thoughts. 

 

In those moments I have to try my hardest to grab a hold of reality. Lysa Terkurst from Proverbs 31 Ministries has a meaningful quote that says, “Mental health is a commitment to reality at all costs.” But in those moments, my mind wants to tell me a different story. A story that says we didn’t do enough to make things work. I scan my thoughts to find some hidden path to reconciliation that we never saw before. Surely, it’s here. We just didn’t see it before. 

 

After some time and many tears, I finally land in the place I know I’m supposed to be, acceptance of the things I cannot control. 

 

Do not pass go. Do not collect your family. Sigh. I send up another prayer for the impossible. Please, Lord.

 

I gradually coach myself back into real life and acknowledge that for today, I will miss them extra. 

 

Regardless of the circumstances that led to this soul-crushing divide, I’ve learned that sorrow and hard feelings can coexist but also be individually felt. I remind myself of this truth if I ever am urged to “move on.” It’s well-meaning advice, but the significance of those relationships deserves my grief. 

 

Their lives were and are valuable to me. 

 

As time moves on, I’ve realized that grief will live inside of me for quite a while, maybe forever, and I don’t need to fear it or run away from it. I just need to go back to the Lord to be comforted yet again. 

 

As I write this, I wonder if anyone else has so many active storylines running through their head as they sleep. Do you ever gain insight into your dreams? Do you think processing dreams is a meaningless distraction?