Nightmares, Fear, and the Coming Healing

The other night, I was chatting with some friends. Somehow we ended up on the subject of dreams.

A friend asked something like, "Do you think God speaks in dreams?"

"What do you mean?" we asked for clarification. 

"Do you think you can dream things that will actually happen? Like a glimpse into the future."

I scowled. Straight up scowled. 

My friend shared about writing down dreams and going back through a notebook to see that some of those dreams became real life memories.

I didn't scowl because I think the question was wrong or that the answer is no. 

I scowled because my dreams aren't like that. I scowled because I pray most of my dreams will never become reality.

All I said is, "I hope my nightmares will never actually happen." And I glanced knowingly at another friend who has heard about the variety of my dreams. 

But I couldn't speak it. I couldn't share the nightmares that have happened for more than three years. 

I went home that night, and I cracked open my prayer journal hoping writing out and developing my thoughts would help me calm down. It did. Sort of. But I still can't escape the questions and thoughts and lies that have been swimming in my mind since then. (Because things can most certainly swim in your mind...)

Tonight as I was reminded of my fear, I thought, "Maybe I need to actually tell this story."

I've been learning that sometimes healing involves sharing -- inviting others into the mess and the darkness. And in this case, the embarrassment, the shame. 

Let's back up a little bit. I have three types of dreams. 

1. Obscure, nonsensical dreams. You know, the ones where you wake up and have to text a friend, "Hey. You're not planning on bumping up your wedding to this weekend and changing the location to Vegas, right?" For the record, she wasn't.

2. Dreams that remind me what my heart really desires. Dreams that I would love to say are from God but actually probably aren't. Dreams that show that I haven't fully died to my selfish desires. Dreams that show that I think that one thing would make my life better. 

3. Nightmares. Straight up, deep-rooted fear nightmares. 

That last type comes and goes in seasons. Sometimes I start thinking the nightmares are done forever, but they come back. They're the dreams that made me afraid of the silence before sleeping. The dreams that made me not want to ever fall asleep. The dreams that make me want to puke and cry and crawl into a roommate's bed after I wake up. The dreams that have solidified my emotional connection to my blanket, my pillow, and my teddy bear -- my safe things. 

The nightmares started over three years ago just a few short nights after I broke up with the man I was planning on marrying. The nightmares where I bump into him, the young man who knew me so well and knew how to cut into the bottom of my heart. The nightmares where he begs me to return to our plan, and I concede. The nightmares where he hates me. The terrible, awful nightmares where I bump into his mother, the mother-in-law I desperately wanted, and she hates me. She blames me. He blames me. Everyone blames me, but no one understands. No one knows how bad the relationship was, and no one cares. All anyone cares about is how it's my fault.

And three years later, the nightmares still happen. Now, I bump into him and his wife. And I see how my relationship with him hurt her. I still bump into his mom who despises me after all this time.

Because those nightmares are some of my deepest fears. 

I am terrified that I will bump into them like my family members have bumped into them. 

One more attempt at a healing confession of fear: When I go to Target or Walmart alone, my stomach is queasy, and I have to take a deep breath. 76% of me is confident each time I enter that I will bump into him or his mom or his sister or someone who only knows me because of him. 

It never happens. I never see them. But I live in this place of fear. 

It's not a place of regret. I don't regret ending that relationship. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Ever.

Part of me just still carries some shame. Part of me doesn't know how to share the depth of the brokenness of that season with others, because that man and I didn't share any of our brokenness. 

Part of me doesn't want to share the emotional damage that I still have yet to work through. Because it was my decision. Because it was three years ago. Because I should be over this.

I'm over him. Fully over him. I have been for more than three years. But I'm not over the pain of a broken relationship, of a sinful relationship, of the blame.

And maybe the nightmares still happen because I don't tell people about that pain, because I carry it by myself. Because I have allowed the isolation to continue. 

But not anymore. World, I am not okay. I have nightmares. I have unhealed hurt. And I desperately need to be healed. 

So why am I telling you this? Because I know that healing requires a first step, a confession, an admission, a surrender. Here's my first step. Small progress.

Before you get concerned, let me tell you about the second step that just sort of happened on its own. Last night, I was starting to write this post. I had typed out all except the above paragraph, and one of my roommates walked through the door. She asked, "How are you?" My response was lengthy word vomiting about how I really just want to cry but am trying to write this. This post didn't get posted last night because my roommate asked me good, hard questions and spoke good, forgotten truth to me until past my bedtime. 

There's a post coming about the good truth soon. There is already some healing happening. That fear is dying. There is hope. And it's all found in Jesus. 

More to come soon. Until then, will you take your first step? What parts of your heart need healing? How are you going to invite others into that hard place?