As wonderful as my spiritual journey has been so far, it hasn’t all been rainbows and metaphorical unicorns.
Lately, night after night, I find myself sitting up until the sun rises. Two, three days go by before I give in and lay down, close my eyes, and pass into black sleep and wake feeling sluggish and worse off than I did before.
It’s the dreams.
I can’t remember most of what happens in them, but I know this - it’s almost always my father.
Hit the jump if you want to read more - but be forewarned that this is a seriously ‘downer’ post.
I keep having dreams that my father is after me, or dreams where I wake up and I’m back in the situation I was before: under his control, dependent on him, separated from my friends and loved ones. I have dreams where I’m in the passenger seat of his truck, and we’re driving down a long, silent road, and he’s staring at me though we’re driving - and we’re driving far away into the country where we’ll be alone. Dreams where I’m at parties with him and it’s all people he knows, and I’m isolated. Dreams where I’m a little child again, powerless, and no one recognizes me but him - so he keeps me silent and takes me away so that no one can save me.
Recently, I had a dream that my father had cornered me at my mom’s house, and was lecturing me on how disappointed he was with me. The dream was different than usual though, because by the end of it, he was crying and telling me that I was hurting him, and that he was sorry and wanted me to forgive him.
I can’t imagine my father ever asking me to forgive him, much less crying. At first I was confused - but then I realized that it was still the same problem just manifesting differently. Because my fear has faded some, my subconscious turned to the other aspect of my father which was part of his control.
Guilt.
Last week, I celebrated my first thanksgiving in years without family drama, having to choose between four or five different houses, feeling awkward at each of them, making forced conversation about my plans for work or school.
It was a lovely dinner, and there was lots of laughter.
Afterwards, on the ride home, I realized that it has already been six months since I last saw or spoke to my dad. I wasn’t really sure how to feel about that - other than relieved. To be completely honest, my life has been nothing if not easier without having to worry about my father’s approval. I’m doing things that make me happy, I’m surrounded by good friends, and my life is virtually free of drama. The only thing that’s really messing with me right now is the fact that, despite all my peace and happiness, I’m still stressed out.
Some part of me is still afraid that any day, my dad is going to show up at the front door, at school, at work or when I’m at my mom’s house, and hurt me. Not in a physical way, but in the same way he did when I was living with my mom. I’m frustrated that I can’t describe it. My father never once raised a hand to me, but that didn’t keep me from freezing in place and my heart from pounding just hearing his engine pull up in the driveway. It didn’t stop me from developing a strange sixth sense where I would feel a strong foreboding and gripping terror minutes before he’d show up at the house unannounced. It didn’t keep me from developing an allergic reaction just from being around him for extended periods.
On the other hand is my mom. Or rather, my mom’s religious disposition. I was chastised recently when I forgot to take off one of my favorite bracelets (a miniature mala with wooden skull beads and a daruma bead for a guru bead) before visiting.
Mom: “What is that? It looks Buddhist.”
Me: “…It is.” (Sheepish grin)
Mom: “Take that off! It would be okay if you didn’t know what it meant, but if you know, you shouldn’t wear it. You know he’s a jealous God - you can’t worship any others.”
She was referring to the Christian concept of God, of course - she assumes that I’m still following the Christian path, and I let her because to do otherwise would mean a lot of heartbreak and trauma for both of us. She’s a very intense and heartfelt follower of Christ - and I’m fine with that. It gives her joy and comfort and a moral structure to live her life by. It doesn’t do the same for me - and while I’m sure she wants the best for me, she believes that means making sure I follow what she thinks is worshiping the ‘correct’ God.
After the experience of visiting in a Christian home (aside from my mother’s) it was kind of surreal attending the Advent candle light event at my old Church with my mom and my boyfriend’s mother. During the songs, I sang them viewing them through a pagan lens, seeing how the words reflected the idea of the coming of the Sun God, and the current rule of the Holly King. I view all of it as symbolic, and I was comfortable in the setting. But if my mom knew the truth, she’d be horrified.
All this in mind, despite a life that’s pretty fantastic on the surface, the one flaw is having to hide - physically from my father, spiritually from my mom. The latter I can probably solve by finding some fellowship in a more worldly setting - maybe attending a service at a Buddhist temple, or finding a pagan event. The former, however, will only be resolved once I feel completely sure that I’m safe and no longer need my father’s approval to be happy with my life. Consciously that’s not a problem, but until the dreams cease and good sleep returns, I know that subconsciously I’m still afraid of being trapped as a daddy’s girl.
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