Stress dreams


I think I must be reaching some sort of inner peace in my dreamlife. Last night I had stress dreams–I’ve had them all my life at various, busy times–but for the first time ever, they weren’t stressful. Let me explain.

In my younger years, my stress dreams corresponded (loosely) to the stresses in my life at the time:

1)In my thirties, I had car crash dreams in which I died, but my children didn’t. I was glad they had survived, but devastated that I wouldn’t be there to raise them, that they were all alone. For the first time, I feared my mortality–not for myself, but for those small innocents who depended on me.

2) In my twenties, I was most often chased by an angry, hairy, knife-wielding madman when I was wearing the equivalent of big lead boots. To make matters worse, the dream often ended when I had just about completely wriggled under the fence (i.e. reached safety) and he caught my ankle and yanked me back. Brrr!

3) In my teens, I remember a recurring stress dream that tore me up. I was being followed by a three-legged dog who needed help. I desperately wanted to help him, but I couldn’t, so I tried to run away, instead. I would run for a mile, swim a river, scale a mountain, and push through a thick forest only to turn around and there that dog still was, quietly wanting help. It’s humorous in the retelling, but the dream was awful.

4) In my even younger years I was usually in school, missing some sort of essential thing…like pants. Miraculously, I had left home, gotten on the bus, walked the halls, and made it to my desk without anyone noticing, but suddenly I knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the minute I stood up, all eyes would be on my naked arse. It was mortifying and maddening. Should I stay seated after the bell and draw attention to myself? Stand, be cool, and hope people continued not to notice? Attempt to strategically place my books? Oh, what to do?

Okay, so my stress dreams have clearly evolved. And last night? I was juggling eggs. Okay, not juggling exactly…rather, carrying eggs. But there were way too many to carry easily, so in effect I was juggling them. And dropping them. (Whoops. Splat! Damn.) But the funniest part of this, and why I feel so calm today, is that in my dream I was coaching myself. I was saying things like, “They’re just eggs, Mare. Don’t worry about it. They cost, what, ten cents a piece? You could drop a dozen if you wanted. It’s okay. You’re doing the best you can.”

Now. Wasn’t that nice of me? To calm my dreaming self, within my dream? Nice to know my subconsious is looking out for me. Today, I am at peace. They really are all just eggs.