I had the most FUCKED dream I’ve had in a long while. It cracked my sturdy wall against all that means me harm, wide the fuck open. Follow me on this lil’ journey “real quick”.
So in the dream I was a full grown adult in appearance but it was widely known that it was ”Baby-Jamila” who was navigating through this shitty dream (or nightmare rather). “Baby-Jamila” was being scrutinized; emotionally and verbally abused by a group of people (for whom I still don’t recognize and for what reason). They criticized my weight and appearance, they gaslit me, and because I was being sent to a facility to rectify my “imperfect” bag of flesh and bones, my “friends” at the time were also being subjected to this facility. I don’t know why, it made no sense, and I felt guilty that something I didn’t want to do was being imposed upon the people I seemingly cared about within the dream. Worse yet, those people who supposedly cared about me ostracized me and shut me out, collectively. So they spoke around me, acted as though I wasn’t in the room (no matter how much attention I attempted to garner, not matter what jokes I cracked or questions I asked). Now as upsetting as all that was, it was a manageable amount of discomfort /inconvenience; I’m pretty good in those type of situations (like I said, I have a sturdy wall; it’s tall, strong, and nearly impenetrable. I’ve worked on it since as far back as I can remember…a story for another time), it was what transpired during the final parts of this God awful nightmare (or rather mirror) that really threw me for a loop.
The final part of the this ordeal:
So in this facility they had group sessions with friends and family (like a family therapy if you will), and my ma and pops were there. My mom sat there and said nothing as everyone went around the room talking about me negatively but only about my physical attributes. I also sat there silently listening to everyone, fighting back tears, and after the last person spoke up (not including my ma and pops), I needed a break from all the negativity.
Now maybe you don’t know this about me, but I’m always down for a critique, always seeking self improvement and self reflection; I’m open and I will listen/do difficult things even if they hurt or are uncomfortable. I always felt like that was what worked best for me to transition from one stage of myself to the next, so I tuck it in/eat it. Tuck & eat. Tuck & eat. Tuck & eat. I tuck shit all the time. And maybe that isn’t the best way to do things or easiest to digest, but it “works” for me. So needing to take a beat isn’t new for me; it wasn’t foreign to walk away in this dream.
I went to have a smoke (something I hadn’t done since I was like 17; I’m 38 right now). I stepped outside of the facility, rounded a corner, headed to the parking lot to lean up against this yellow wall, and realized I foolishly forgot my lighter. I headed back inside. When I got halfway up the flight of stairs that lead to the therapy space, I overheard my “father” ranting and raving (like he always has). He spoke down about me, shared his old tried and true cruel views of what I looked like and how I would die alone, that no one loved me or would think I was worthy of love, that I was disgusting and he was ashamed. He also managed to fit in (amongst the onslaught of despicable diatribe), “What, you’re all thinking it. I just have the balls to say it. I guess I’ll be the bad guy, but at least I’m being honest.” (*Remember that part *).
I slowly and silently slid down the wall to the stairwell and that all too familiar ball-in-thine-throat formed with a vengeance. I could barely breath much less whimper (or cry out for my mommy). He destroyed me with his callus words and he didn’t care, no one cared. They just sat there and let him throw dirt all over my name (what felt like my lifeless body).
I crawled up the remainder of the stairs, and from the floor, looked up at my ma (who sat there beet red in a full blown rage as she listened to this shit) but she said and did NOTHING! My protector, the same woman who fought for me (her melinated-munchkin) against racist family members, crack heads, pimps & hoes in shady hallways on Troutman street who threatened to slit throats to prove points on a summer evening. She just sat there in her rage-filled silence and then locked eyes with me. And in that moment, at last, I found the air to breathe. Instead of arguing all I could manage, first and foremost, was a tsunami of tears fueled by all the words spoken and all the words I tucked away for the sake of “growth”; these are just growing pains after all…no?
And what followed was the first words uttered that entire session, the only thing I could muster was a very heartbreaking and simple “MOMMY, PLEASE TAKE ME HOME. MY FATHER DOESN’T LOVE ME AND I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!”. My eyes were blurry with tears, my throat soar from the ball of anxiety that resides on standby in throats all across the land, as I frantically collected my things to wait by my mother’s car so that she may drive me “far far way, far away from here” (if you know you know). And outside of all of the racing thoughts about what I endured throughout the course of this “family & friend” session, I wondered how much of what I yelled out to my Ma was me referring to not wanting to be there or was it me professing my lack of wanting to be HERE (as in alive on this God forsaken planet). The depths of that realization was heartbreaking.
When I made it to my Ma’s car and sat my demolished-self into the passenger seat I was no longer a full participant in the dream as much as I was a voyeur. Because there I was, outside of the car, looking at the younger version of my eviscerated-self and could also see a reflection of my older-self in the car window. All I wanted in that moment was to hold my younger- self and tell her it was OK. I wanted to sing her sweet lullabies about how it didn’t matter what anyone thought and they could all go FUCK themselves. But I knew I couldn’t reach her….no matter how hard I could’ve tried (maybe I should’ve tried…IDK). The dream was transitioning onto a lucid one and before much more could be explored, I woke up.
That’s when the real “fun” began.
The full emotional breakdown? The weight of the grief of losing what little hope I had left of having a relationship with my father and losing confidence in my mom’s willingness to do nothing to interject in that defining moment she bore witness to in the dream? The fact that I couldn’t comfort or console my little self? I woke up a hot ass mess to say the least. I was wrecked!
It was as though my higher-self had spoken to me by way of a magnifying glass. And when I repeated the dream to my husband (who was a real champ and blessing in that moment), I began to sob, uncontrollably. And as I repeated the words “MOMMY, PLEASE TAKE ME HOME. MY FATHER DOESN’T LOVE ME AND I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!”, it was as thought I said no truer set of words. My voice mixed with these words were like a tuning fork vibrating on my heart, on my mind, on my soul…in rapid succession, repetitiously.
I could audibly hear the crack widen in the wall I so “expertly” built around myself. At that very moment I’d come face to face with the magnitude of that wall and how every time I thought it was weird that I had not been “affected” by my trauma as deeply as many others have (or even how society says I’m supposed to), the truth was I’d not only became an expert at masonry, but a God damn hoarder of bad feels and tucked everything away nice and neat. It’s as though I tucked all my trauma before I even had a chance to feel it, to dissect it, to heal from it. I was on survival-mode from very very young. I’ve never stopped being on that mode. No one should have to be on that mode all the time, much less from so young. I’m not mad at it entirely. It’s what made me who I am (what I am), and has in many ways saved me. But, there are some serious cons to it that certainly need to be addressed.
I had no idea that I had been hurt so bad and so much; that I had so many walls up and they stood tall, thicc, and mighty. The full weight of the fact that I can no longer go on like this came crashing down on me while screaming “SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE!”.
Directly after all those thoughts and feels, I’d slowly realized that there may have been a message in the dream about me in my waking life. I remember thinking to myself during the course of the dream; it’s incredibly disgusting when people dispense cruelty (“the truth”) under the quise of being real or a truth-teller…..and I myself have been guilty of this in the past.
As I gathered my emotional and mental shit off of the ground, I told myself it was time to atone or make a mends with those I may have wronged in this way; starting with my childhood friend (that’s a conversation for another time). Just because you’re good with words or good in a fight, doesn’t mean you always have to speak or engage. And I’ve said this so many times before, the truth (though painful at times) does NOT equate to being cruel. You don’t have to be an ASSHOLE! And I’ve been guilty of this in the past for sure. Having a grasp of language is a privilege and a great responsibility. It can be wielded for evil and would be easy to do for someone who is well versed. Iit is the responsibility of the wielder to us their skillset/privilege for good. Use you voice and words to uplift, to shed light, to mitigate, to advise, etc…
Needless to say, I did NOT receive that memo when I was a younger more angsty Baby-Jammy. I do wonder if that is a trait my father passed down; he is very much that person. And though I’ve worked very hard to break any and all trauma cycles my parents may have planted in me, I’m not perfect and things slip through the cracks. Armed with this “revelation” (due to a traumatic but enlightening dream), I began calling the people in my life to apologize for the ways I’ve wielded my power in the past. I don’t seek approval or validation from anyone really (in the typical sense) but I do want to be the best version of myself, I do wanna be a good daughter, friend, mate, etc… That requires me to touch base, check in, and hold myself accountable.
Have you every had a dream that rocked you? Was it life changing? What did you do after said dream? No judgement; share your experience down below.
Ok enough of that, lol. Sorry for the Debbie Downing y’all, but I very rarely shy away from an opportunity to introspect and grow. Thought I’d share this part of my journey.
As for this outfit? Every piece is old except the skirt, which was ever so graciously gifted to me by GowCow, and had to be worn upside down because the leg opening is far more flexible for my 3X belly than the waist opening. So rather than fret and not wear the piece….I just flipped it upside down. What y’all think?
What I’m Wearing:
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Hat from an local shop. $10 (Old) Alternative HERE
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Stole from another jacket I bought from Charlotterusse ages ago; alternative HERE
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Jacket from AshleyStewart.com. $45 Alternative HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE & HERE
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Top from Rainbow. $5 (On sale, and old) Alternative HERE
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Skirt from COWCOW.com. $29 (Gifted)
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Boots from Rainbow. $6 (On a deep discount) Alternative HERE, HERE, & HERE
