Daydreams and Nightmares
“Daydream.
I fell asleep beneath the flowers
For a couple of hours
On a beautiful day”
Occasionally my therapist gives me homework, and as a recovering fixer perfectionist who loves a good checkmark on a to-do list, I’m all in.
Most recently, I was offered “A Renaissance of Our Own,” by Rachel E. Cargle. Listen… go click the “Buy Now.” Trust me.
I’m taking my time with this one. Absorbing every word and letting it resonate, wreck, and rebuild me. My therapist recommended it because of the parallels in my story and desire to reimagine… and Rachel is telling my life. Grounded in and traumatized by faith, finding depth and color in queer love, entrepreneuring, and taking one step at a time on a journey to be everything they told us we couldn’t.
Not quite a spoiler alert, but following the chapters are writing prompts. And in Chapter One, the reader is tasked with analyzing your daydreams…
“Consider the Content of Your Dreams. When your attention wanders, what comes to mind?”
I read. And re-read the word daydream. And on my next morning walk, I asked my dog son, “what do I daydream about?” Of course, he didn’t respond, but he’s still a great partner for difficult questions.
On my own, I Rolodexed my most recent daydreams:
A man I’ve never seen before is also walking in the neighborhood. What if he kidnaps me. And if he kidnaps me, did I fight or freeze? Is there a ransom? Would my parents pay it? How do I feel about being tortured? Oh my god, am I about to be tortured??
What if this headache is actually… a WebMD tumor? How many headaches have I had in the past month? Is this normal? How many headaches is too many? Okay, but what if this one is the BAD one, did I pray enough? What’s the plan to get me to the hospital? What if I can’t talk and they don’t know I have allergies?? Great, now I’m dead.
I love the sun. I love to roast. This feels so nice. Oh God, I didn’t put on sunscreen. What if I roasted too much and got sun poisoning and passed out and no one heard me scream. How long will it take for bae to find me burnt to a crisp out here. That’s an embarrassing story to tell my mom.
There’s a lot more death and kidnap and hypochondria ping-ponging around in my brain.
And I’ve only recently (one week ago) realized just how much my capacity to daydream is non-existent because of fear.
And who do I blame… you guessed it… my parents (my mom will be happy to hear this). They did the best they could as immigrant parents trying to keep us safe in a country that they were told was dangerous. But that meant there was a lot of parenting with fear:
Red Bull is a gateway drug to cocaine.
Your family is full of alcoholics, maybe you shouldn’t drink.
We were never allowed at sleepovers with friends, period. Because the news said we would get kidnapped and sold off somewhere.
We were never allowed to visit friends unless they knew the parents of the friends and met them in person - presumably to make threats about what would happen if we were kidnapped and sold off somewhere.
Going out late at night?? There’s nothing good that happened at night… and also, kidnapped.
Side note:
My mother is an Emergency Room nurse and has been my entire life. She is keenly aware on how people die.
My mother also loved watching a lot of Mission Impossible, 007, Taken, Sean Connery movies when we were growing up… there was a lot of kidnapping, and I was clear that my parents weren’t equipped to fly across the world and take on gangs of people with a sporty car and a fancy pen.
This meant I grew up a relatively “good” kid (no skipping school, no bad grades, always where I said I would be, I rarely lied), because I was scared of spankings and being kidnapped. In college, I didn’t do BIG things they didn’t know about because I was always worried I’d be kidnapped and held for ransom or I’d die. And they’d get a call. And they’d be so disappointed because they just KNEW I was at home where I told them I was gonna be. And that would not be my final testimony.
Story time: Picture it, I’m 19 years old. With my boyfriend who they knew and liked. His mother asked to take us out of town on one of her trips. I’m grown (in age) so she first ask me. Terrified as I am, I asked my parents. This prompted a CONFERENCE CALL with him, his mother, me, and my parents. CONFERENCE. CALL. My parents wanted all the details from this lady that they already knew and liked. And at the end of it all, they said I couldn’t go.
And… I didn’t go. I was so scared we would crash and burn on the highway and their final memory of me would be disappointment. The idea of oldest daughter guilt in the grave is the opposite of a fun time.
I’ve recognized a lot of fear and unhinged (often violent) scenarios seemed to be a projection of everything my parents told me COULD happen if I didn’t stay perfectly within the lines they drew. I didn’t learn to swim because public pools breed germs. I didn’t have Taco Bell until college because my mom saw too many people in the hospital after they ate Taco Bell…
But that fear, perfection, and shame cocktail hasn’t kept me from broken bones, heartbreak, or unhealthy behaviors. It hasn’t kept me from stomach aches or hangovers, scams or Taco Bell. It’s only kept me stuck.
These days, thanks to a rock bottom, I’m in the process of reprogramming my daydreams. Cap the nightmares at the knees and insert overwhelming good… Because what if… it’s good??? What if it’s exceedingly, abundantly beyond what I can comprehend??
So when I build my daydreams like a little Sim character: I feel safe and warm. There is no rush. It’s creative and colorful and our little family and flowing through life with intention and so much silly. No one is kidnapped and in fact, the strange man has a million dollars to throw at me from his weird van. It is good. So good.
I’ve never asked anyone else about their daydreams. When your mind wanders beyond this realm, what comes up? WHO comes up? Does it feel safe there? Are you your best self?
If not, join me on this trek to daydream abundantly.
“I used to pray for times like this, to rhyme like this
So I had to grind like that to shine like this”
- Meek Mill
