This resonates for me. I have struggled my entire life with anxiety and depression. I learned very early on that to be safe, I needed to be quiet and take up as little space as possible. Now, I'm a 56 year old woman who struggles with perfectionism and people pleasing. I have no idea what my dreams ever were. Seriously, not one single clue. I will try sitting quietly with myself but I don't have much faith that I will get any sort of messages that I can act on because I generally don't - even in the stillness. I am angry about it and there is also a lot of grief for lost memories and dreams.
The message that I received in a very quiet moment recently was that I'm coming HOME to myself.
I can't say I'm coming 'back' to myself because... well, just because. Not sure i can say I'm coming *back* because my seat never even got warm there before I was on my way out to someone else's needs and desires.
Once i heard "Welcome home" 💖, my brain started taking over with "Where have you been?"
Then I quickly spoke up, and told my brain to stop re-hashing all of the old stories making justifications.
Once I truly heard "Welcome home" about a half-dozen times without me poo-pooing it, my shoulders dropped and I exhaled.
Coming home to myself has opened memories of dreams I never called dreams before. Or even desires. I never had a name for their category before because I would have to cover them up for someone or something else.
So, my dreams are emerging from an ethereal place some would call my la-la land.
I've been on autopilot for awhile now, but I feel as though I'm waking UP. After going through a series of life crises, I now have the luxury to breathe. Having a sense of hope is miraculous and energizing. Who knows....there might be a new dream waiting for me.
Dreams??? I've sat with this thought many times in the years since my husband passed. Being with him was the only time in my life that I let myself dream....to be really loved, to make a difference in someone's life (I helped him set up his dream business) and then, when the work was all done, to sail off into the sunset together. Well, he sailed off to his next life and left me here.
As a child I used to dream about being a famous chemist, maybe finding a cure for cancer. Or an English teacher as instilling my love of literature, grammar and story telling into others I thought was a noble calling. But all teenage dreams fell by the wayside. I failed my last year of high school and the situation at home with my narcissistic mother and enabling father meant that leaving home was my only option to retain my sanity.
I did want to become a naturopath urars later, but the cost of the course and the loss of my income put paid to that one.
I am not artistic.
I just got sacked from volunteering in a nursing home, which I loved, for getting too close to one resident (broke the rules apparently).
I'm too scared to travel alone.
The only thing that endured was writing. I have journalled since I was a teenager and have always thought there might be a book in me somewhere. A memoir perhaps. Not for anyone else (there are only two significant people I call family left in my life now. No kids, no siblings, parents, uncles and aunts all gone). Not to make money - the husband's insurance keeps me out of trouble financially, but just for me.........food for thought.
This resonates for me. I have struggled my entire life with anxiety and depression. I learned very early on that to be safe, I needed to be quiet and take up as little space as possible. Now, I'm a 56 year old woman who struggles with perfectionism and people pleasing. I have no idea what my dreams ever were. Seriously, not one single clue. I will try sitting quietly with myself but I don't have much faith that I will get any sort of messages that I can act on because I generally don't - even in the stillness. I am angry about it and there is also a lot of grief for lost memories and dreams.
I hear you sister. I was sitting here thinking similar thoughts after reading Monica's post this morning 🙏❤️
The message that I received in a very quiet moment recently was that I'm coming HOME to myself.
I can't say I'm coming 'back' to myself because... well, just because. Not sure i can say I'm coming *back* because my seat never even got warm there before I was on my way out to someone else's needs and desires.
Once i heard "Welcome home" 💖, my brain started taking over with "Where have you been?"
Then I quickly spoke up, and told my brain to stop re-hashing all of the old stories making justifications.
Once I truly heard "Welcome home" about a half-dozen times without me poo-pooing it, my shoulders dropped and I exhaled.
Coming home to myself has opened memories of dreams I never called dreams before. Or even desires. I never had a name for their category before because I would have to cover them up for someone or something else.
So, my dreams are emerging from an ethereal place some would call my la-la land.
I'm calling it my Soul 💖
The place I'm most at Home.
I've been on autopilot for awhile now, but I feel as though I'm waking UP. After going through a series of life crises, I now have the luxury to breathe. Having a sense of hope is miraculous and energizing. Who knows....there might be a new dream waiting for me.
But time is a liar.....great
TIME IS A CRUEL MEASURE....love this
Dreams??? I've sat with this thought many times in the years since my husband passed. Being with him was the only time in my life that I let myself dream....to be really loved, to make a difference in someone's life (I helped him set up his dream business) and then, when the work was all done, to sail off into the sunset together. Well, he sailed off to his next life and left me here.
As a child I used to dream about being a famous chemist, maybe finding a cure for cancer. Or an English teacher as instilling my love of literature, grammar and story telling into others I thought was a noble calling. But all teenage dreams fell by the wayside. I failed my last year of high school and the situation at home with my narcissistic mother and enabling father meant that leaving home was my only option to retain my sanity.
I did want to become a naturopath urars later, but the cost of the course and the loss of my income put paid to that one.
I am not artistic.
I just got sacked from volunteering in a nursing home, which I loved, for getting too close to one resident (broke the rules apparently).
I'm too scared to travel alone.
The only thing that endured was writing. I have journalled since I was a teenager and have always thought there might be a book in me somewhere. A memoir perhaps. Not for anyone else (there are only two significant people I call family left in my life now. No kids, no siblings, parents, uncles and aunts all gone). Not to make money - the husband's insurance keeps me out of trouble financially, but just for me.........food for thought.