I Used To Be A Dreamer.

....so when did I stop?

I was sitting on my couch, warm latte in hand and thinking about how simple life used to be when I believed nothing could get better than what it was at that very moment. The days where I used to dream, of a life better than the one I was living. I dreamed of a love that didn’t hurt, a love that felt like summer rain - warm yet refreshing. The kind of weather that made you revert back to being a child, so healing you felt like Drew Barrymore laughing as the rain hit her face. I miss that version of me, when dreaming felt like a lifeline instead of a punchline to a joke that isn’t all that funny. I often wonder when the dreams slowly transitioned into nightmares, when the love that once felt sweet and new turned sour and cold. Had it always been that way and I just did a great job at pretending?

Recently my therapist asked me what my dreams looked like these days and I immediately felt that thick feeling in the back of my throat that signaled I was about to start sobbing and sob I did. I felt put on the spot and scared. Scared I was going to have to explain to her that I didn’t dream anymore and when I did it felt like I was dreaming about a life that was completely out of my reach. A life I wasn’t sure had ever truly been mine or if it was a world I created to protect me from processing the hurt and trauma I had acquired in this one.

I used to dream about a life that included kids, a home, and a love that you could feel seeping through the walls the moment you stepped inside of it. If I sit back and look at the life I have built now…I feel like I’m missing it all. But am I really? If we dive deep enough I can tell you that I have built a home, mine. This home I have created is filled with love and safety. It is full of the things that held me together on some of my darkest days, there are books on the shelves and my favorite snacks in the cupboard. There is safety when I unlock my doors, and when I lay in a bed that has only ever been mine. That is a dream come true.

I may not have birthed a child myself but I see my old dreams slowly coming alive when I look at my niece, a toddler so perfectly created she reminds me that my capacity to love is so vast I can hardly contain it, she has taught me or should I say reminded me that my love can be channeled through this innocent bean my sister fought to have. Her laughter reminds me what a joy it is to be alive and a soft reminder that dreams come to fruition in so many different ways.

And love, whew. That’s a hard one. My dreams of living a life so full of love I can’t imagine leaving it behind is alive and well. I see that that love reflected when I stare at myself in the mirror and give her a pep talk, I see it when my boyfriend looks at me as if he’s shocked I’m his, when he holds my hands as if I’M his lifeline, a love that makes me want to stay and bask in it because it feels so peaceful it has lulled me into a sense of safety I don’t need to question.

As I reread these words I think I can tell my therapist that I don’t dream anymore because I am beginning to live…and for the first time in a long time, I actually want to.