The Dream — And Why You Can’t Let Go

I would have been married seventeen years in May. I think back on that as I ponder dreams — how they can drive us and how they can hold us back.

Seventeen years ago, I never thought I would be a single mom, juggling it all and forging my own path. No, I was dreaming of the life we would have. One with beautiful children and a home we could finally call our own. A boat where we would spend our summers on the lake. Vacations to the beach and fishing with the kids.

Then the reality of toxic communication, destructive habits, and a child with a complicated medical beginning turned that dream into a nightmare. It was as if I was in a perpetual night terror. I could feel the chaos around me and I couldn’t wake up, frozen by fear and disbelief. But when I finally woke up, it took two and a half years to leave. Two and a half years of marriage counseling, Al-Anon meetings, and friends pointing out every reason I should flee. I had justifiable reasons to leave, so what took me so long?

The Dream.

It wasn’t just about the dream. It was about what letting the dream die would mean.

If the dream died, it wasn’t proof that someone had failed me. It felt like proof that I was a failure. That I couldn’t make him sober. Couldn’t make him choose us. That there was something in me — the kid who did everything right, straight A’s, no trouble, performed perfectly — who was now failing at the most important thing.

It wasn’t just about what could be. By continuing in it, I could pretend it may still be. One day.

As long as I fought for it, I was okay. I might be loveable. Might be enough.

It was loss — a loss so great it took two and a half years to accept. Along with the acceptance of the new life I would have to forge, I had to accept that this man would never be who I needed him to be. I had been believing in a false reality that somehow I could be enough to help him. To change him.

To leave, I had to believe I deserved more than what holding onto the dream was keeping me in. And I didn’t believe it yet.

What came first wasn’t the new dream. It was survival. And grief. Rebuilding who I was from the ground up because everything I had thought to be true — the reality I had built my life around — crashed and crumbled to ash. It took anger. It took choosing myself — outside of another person — for the first time.

My dream became one where I was the best mom I could be. It became about looking honestly at myself — why I tolerated what I did, what I believed about myself that allowed it, and what I needed to change to avoid choosing the same. A dream where I found who I was, pursued what I needed, and became the best example I could for my children.

It took me a long time to understand what had really kept me stuck.

It was never about the dream. It was about what losing the dream said about me.

A dream becomes a form of denial when facing the truth reveals something about ourselves we aren’t ready to see. Acceptance isn’t just about seeing clearly. It’s about owning that we participated in the lie. The lie that our worth and joy can come from someone or something outside of ourselves. A person, a house, a boat, a life that was supposed to be. And while we are waiting for the answer — am I enough, do I matter, will someone finally choose me — we stop living the life we actually have.

Some people never show up the way you need them to. In relationships we keep waiting for the change that never comes. Sometimes even waiting for the ending to rewrite the story. It never does. Not in any version of the dream we create to make us feel worthy.

Not all dreams become nightmares. The dream that drives you, grows as you grow. It allows for failure and trial and error. It allows for imperfection. It allows others to say no. Healing isn’t linear. Neither is dreaming.

The dream becomes a nightmare the moment it stops being about what we want and starts being about the verdict we hand ourselves.

The only way out is deciding you are worthy. That you deserve it. Not waiting until you feel worthy — but deciding and living like you are.