Daily Crumbs : A Dream Pulled at the Seams

Last night, I had a dream that I was murdered in the ocean. I woke feeling void, remembering that I had been impaled and drowned by a woman. Through the years, I've grown accustomed to my chase nightmares – the ones in which I'm literally being chased. While the environment itself changes, the types of places I'm chased through are always the same – large buildings that are complex to navigate, and easy to get lost in. Hotels and abandoned factories are the most common. Historically in these dreams, I'm being chased by a man. Sometimes I'm within inches of being captured, but I always get away or I wake up before it gets too bad. This was the first chase dream I've had in which I was being chased by a woman.

It didn't take me too long this morning to pull apart the events of my dream. It was a frenzied game of cat and mouse, which led to the ocean. The woman struck me with a piece of driftwood, then I watched as my body began to sink in the shallow water. My eyes shot open, and I was back in my body. There she was – standing above me, holding me down beneath the water. She was drowning me. My dream cut to her explaining to another what had happened. "I tried to save her!" She cried out, but dead me shook my head and said "no, you're the one who hit me and held me down."

Over the years, I've routinely used water as a metaphor for my mental state. In the Ocean, Outside My Window was a lengthy piece I wrote back in 2022 about my window of tolerance, and how often I'm floating in the ocean trying to enjoy the view above before I'm inevitably pulled under again and drowning. Navigating murky waters has been the visual for my mental state for quite some time now. While I don't get pulled under as deep or as frequently as I used to, that darkness still surfaces and tries to wrap itself around me.

At first, I felt rather disturbed by this dream because I had been murdered. As I noted out loud that the person chasing me this time was a woman, I immediately got an image of myself in my mind. This dream I had didn't feel like the others, running in terror from another. It wasn't about the chase. It was about the culmination – a battle between two parts of a whole, with one trying to silence the other while feeling immense guilt. Guilt is never a word I associate with my chase nightmares, but there was a blindly apparent feeling of guilt when she cried out saying she tried to save me. She didn't want to drown me, but she felt that she had no choice.

This dream that I had leaves me feeling unsettled, which is why I'm writing. It feels so true. For years, I've been working towards integration with the polarized parts within me. At times, it has felt like a life and death battle. It does often feel like one part of me is being silenced by another, held down, or killed off. I've worked diligently with each of these parts to help them feel seen, understood, and welcome. It truly breaks my heart when I notice the mass of the void that still exists between some of these parts. It highlights how prominently that feeling of not belonging still is within me. It surfaces narratives that tell me I can't be whole, and that all of what makes me me isn't acceptable.

Yes, I could easily brush it off and say that this dream means absolutely nothing . . . but I'm the type of person who looks for meaning in everything. Finding meaning is a personal choice, one that some find value in while others may avoid or even laugh at. For me, asking why and finding meaning gives me a roadmap of sorts. It helps propel me forward, rather than keeping me stuck or stagnant in the same place, doing the same things.

When I pull apart this dream, it's layered with meaning. At the core of it all, I see a part of myself who so strongly believes they aren't accepted and welcome that, to them, it can feel as if they're being silenced and killed off. I see another part of myself who is desperate to keep me safe, and the only way they know how to do that is to keep me quiet and out of view. Despite all the work I've done – the hours I've spent in therapy, support group, and writing voraciously – these beliefs are still pulling at my seams. It can be hard to accept that there are still parts within me that feel like they don't belong, and aren't wanted or welcome. Equally so, that there are parts who feel that it's their responsibility to hide what isn't wanted or welcome.

I once despised and hated parts of myself, referring to them as demons that haunt me. I ran from them. I silenced them. I numbed myself to them. Over the years, I've learned to see their pain and the burdens they carry, and understand why they do what they do. I've grown to love each and every part within me, and to value their presence. The trick is getting each of those parts to believe it.

That belief that I'm wanted and welcome, and that I'm loved and valued, doesn't end with me though–it can't only come from me. It has to be externalized as well. In order to feel whole, I, and those parts within me, have to believe that's true from others outside of myself as well. In order for that to happen, I have to be brave enough to show them to others. After a lifetime of masking, and years of trying to ignore my own experiences and emotions, it will take years, if not the rest of my lifetime, to do the opposite in making those parts now feel welcome, accepted, and loved.

We all know that there's a difference between saying something and truly believing it. There are these things that have routinely come up for me through healing work, where I've had to acknowledge "this is one of those things that one part of me can rationally conceptualize and agree with, while another part of me doesn't hold an inherent belief in it." It's like there's a wall in the way that I can't simply walk around.

Cognitive dissonance draws the line between belief and behavior, and we have to bridge the gap. Changing these contradictory beliefs and how we show up takes immense time and effort, and requires a level of self-compassion that's foreign to most. It can feel impossible at times. This dream, this writing, these crumbs – these are the moments that set the course and pave the way – we just have to be willing to notice them and make space.

To my sweet little ones, and to my strong-headed and protective ones : as goosebumps ripple through my body, I see you. I feel you. I love you. You can be scared for as long as you need, and I will remind you just as much that you are welcome and wanted and loved. I will always make space for you to be and breathe, and I sure as hell won't let anyone drown you.