Last night I had an awful dream.
Until this point, I have not experienced the “reliving” dreams so common after a traumatic experience. I’m not a clinician so I’m not going to get technical here about what I have experienced since I sustained diastasis of the symphysis pubis in January 2012. (Maybe I’ll write about that another day.)
Last night I woke panting from exhaustion and in a sweat at 4:17 a.m. I have never been so relieved to be awake in my life. I was so sore, but finally, I wasn’t walking anymore. Here is what I remember of the dream:
I was wearing the Little Guy, maybe two-months-old, in the wrap. He was positioned high on my chest. on my chest. I was climbing up the gray, wooden apartment stairs. (There were 27 steps from the ground floor to our front door and it was a struggle for me everyday for seven months before we moved.)
I had gotten up the first set of stairs, turned the corner and walked to the second flight. I climbed part way up and could see the front door at the top of the landing. Then it was as though I was on a StairMaster. I couldn’t get to the landing. Stairs kept coming and I made no progress.
*Writing this right now I am getting anxious and having to focus on my breath. *
I stared at the brass apartment number on the door – 27 – willing myself as hard as I could to get to the top. I grew increasingly tired. I was devastated because of the feeling that something I had done was preventing me from doing what I should be able to do. The Little Guy started to cry. And I started to cry with him, scared and trapped because I had no option but to keep walking up the stairs and feeling intense pain with each step. I was flooded with emotions and stricken with the feeling that I was letting down my baby, my husband and myself.
When I realized I was awake I had a good cry. It was cleansing to be awake and be able to hear myself breathe, to look at my husband sleeping peacefully and be reminded to how far we have come. But all of those feelings were real – are real – for me.
I will do my best to take my yoga instructor’s advice this week and give myself an hour of quiet time before bed every night. I need to respect the connection between my mind and body and give myself the best chance not to have these types of dreams become a common occurrence for me.
Minutes after I finished writing this post I saw this picture in my Facebook news feed. It gave me chills.
Separated at Birth 