crème brûlée

I don’t know that I knew true love before you. Words like “kindred spirit,” “soulmate,” and “twin flame” are so mainstream nowadays that they almost feel empty in comparison to what I feel for you. Contradictally, you are my soulmate. You are the most profound teacher, friend, lover, healer, visionary, mother, father, and child. Every day you are on my mind, consciously and subconsciously. You always reveal new dimensions of humanity and lead me into a deeper experience of my heart. I love you.

The way I understand “soulmate” is it reflects the infinite-dimensional relationship container we share with the omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient force that is the fabric of everything. It’s a highly creative, undefinable, and mysterious entity. I don’t think you need to believe in it in the same way that I do (or at all) to derive value from this essay. I only believe in two things: 1) everything is Nature, and 2) everything in Nature is synchronous. How you describe “Nature” or the fabric of life is up to you. No one can say what happens between death and life; I wouldn’t trust anyone who says they know. This liminal space is the birthplace of our interpretations of The Unknown. All I know is what I believe holds space for everyone’s comprehension. None of our human observations of The Unknown are “right” or “wrong” because they all create one another. One wouldn’t exist without its sacred opposite. That’s why I think it is silly to argue about things like this. 

My favorite question is, “What do you think happens between death and life?” Often, I find that how people answer reveals what they need to heal, how they can grow, and thus, what they came here to offer. How we comprehend The Unknown is like the chicken and the egg conundrum. What comes first? Does our relationship with The Unknown inform our relationships? Do our most influential relationships inform our relationship with The Unknown? It could be neither or both. I believe our relationship with The Unknown reflects our relationship with the most influential person in our lives and vice versa. That significant person reflects what we have to heal, where we can grow, and what we have to offer. Subsequently, our relationship with that important person is reflected everywhere else. Those who reflect our relationship with The Unknown and continuously guide us are our soulmates. I refer to that most significant person as the “original soulmate.”

My original soulmate is my mother (1). I think there is something special that we begin our journey on earth in her (2) bodies. As someone who can currently feel a soul floating in my aura, I imagine a time I was hovering in hers. What gifts did I have to bring her? How would I guide her? Why did I choose her? How would she become my most meaningful guide? The Mother has been a powerful archetype and metaphor for understanding The Unknown. Thus, I refer to The Unknown as Mother Earth/The Great Mother/The Cosmic Mother. (There are infinite, equally powerful valid synonyms for this undefinable energy. It holds boundless space for creativity. One of the reasons I like riffing off of The Mother is because we all have one in some form. We all started our lives there, within her; it’s grounding and universal. (A lot of this language can be ornate and inaccessible, which doesn’t help anyone connect.))

I didn’t always know how meaningful my relationship with my mother was. I only suspected I might want to start questioning things when I started having recurring dreams about her. Every full moon, I would dream the same dream. The setting and additional characters in the dream would change, but the feeling was consistent: I was always angry at my mom. It was such a powerful, visceral feeling that I could feel it in my body even after waking up. I even found out that I was grinding my teeth at night intensely during those dreams. I couldn’t explain the anger. On the surface, everything was fine enough. I didn’t think there was anything about our relationship to warrant such a potent and physical response.

I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom to raise two children in a new town that couldn’t be further from how she grew up. My mom was born in Jamaica and moved to Toronto when she was young. I don’t think she had experienced the disproportionate homogeneity of my hometown beforehand. My parents agreed to move there because it is a nice, safe place with a phenomenal education system. My parents may not be together now, but education is one value they have always shared. When my mom reminisces about my grandmother, she always emphasizes how much my grandmother valued education. Education was power and a privilege people like us didn’t always have. My parents are both black but value education for slightly different reasons. My dad is American through and through. He deeply values the privilege of education because he appreciates that there was a time when that was unavailable and illegal. Education quickly became one of the ways for him to even the playing field and create opportunities for generational success. I admire that he respects our family’s history and continues to find ways to move forward. Jamaica is an exceedingly patriarchal society (in a different way than America). My mom did not want to give birth to eight kids with no life or viable future. If she had stayed, one of the best-case scenarios would have been entering the hospitality industry. That wasn’t enough for my grandmother or her. Education was freedom from that cycle. My grandmother did everything she could to ensure my mom and the other young girls she “adopted” had an excellent education. My parents see education as a means for power, freedom, and success. Those are vast oversimplifications, but you get the picture.

Despite the benefits of the distinctive educational system, it must have been hard for my mom to adjust to living there. Things got better when she made some close, genuine friends who weren’t like the other typical women she would run into. It wasn’t uncommon for the mothers who chose to stay at home to look down upon mothers that needed or decided to work. After all, if their husbands made enough money for the family, why work? I don’t think there is a right or a wrong choice; however, we must respect one another’s choices. My mom’s friends are incredibly hard-working, independent, and inspiring. They all value having something for themselves that they created and continue to add value to the world. More importantly, they have always been nonjudgemental and supportive throughout all of the phases of my mom’s time there. Still, her open-minded friends were not the majority. How do you survive in a town like that? You blend in.

I don’t know the details of my mother’s early days in my hometown, but my mom and I share something in common: we care about how people perceive us. Who doesn’t? Presently and collectively, we have come a long way in embracing diversity and individuality. There is still room for growth, but I can only imagine what it was like in the nineties. Blending in doesn’t matter as much when you’re in elementary school. Kids are cruel at any age, but they don’t directly determine your future. Around the time I was maturing into a young woman was when adjustments needed to be made.

I remember when my mom took me to straighten my hair for the first time; it was so painful I cried. The pain seemed worth it because I finally had straight hair like my mom and counterparts. I was smiling beside my sister in my mom’s photo of us at the apple orchard. I wasn’t aware that straightening my hair was only the beginning of blending in. Much more work was needed, and my mom was there to ensure it was done correctly. My mom would constantly criticize me for how I presented myself. It wasn’t personal; she did it to my sister, too. She would comment on my hair, clothes, and lack of makeup. I am a pretty laid-back person. I like to feel good about myself but prefer to leave the house without a stitch of makeup and with minimal effort. I didn’t want to put more than fifteen minutes into my hair every morning. My mom gave up on the whole makeup thing because I advantageously inherited her nice skin and wasn’t into it. Besides, many people have occasional bouts of “bad skin”; that was more permissible. What was more important to her were my hair and my clothes. The whole black hair journey is such a mystical experience. It takes either time, money, or both to make it look “acceptable.” I was willing to spend the money to straighten my hair every couple of months but couldn’t get myself to invest the time. I didn’t want to wait for leave-in conditioners to do their job, put in curlers, or sit under hair dryers which would take hours of my time. I did not want to venture to the salon to pay someone for these services. I would wash and blow dry my hair every week (bad idea) to keep it looking “acceptable.” It wasn’t enough. “Why don’t you add some curl to it? It would look so much nicer.” I could deal with the minor criticisms here and there because I had grown numb to them. I knew they weren’t personal, so I tried to shrug it off. However, those minor criticisms would sometimes escalate into huge fights where I would think to myself, “Didn’t this start as a comment about my hair?” The small comments about my hair were easier to ignore; these arguments were another animal. “Why don’t you add some curl to your hair?” morphed into “You’re so lazy and lack initiative.” or “You’ve never had to work hard for anything in your life. You’re not going to accomplish anything if you keep this up.” Sometimes it would be, “You’re so selfish and self-centered. Why don’t you spend all of the extra time you have doing something for someone besides yourself? Because you don’t care.” or “I am disgusted by you. You’re delusional, fake, and disappointing. I can see right through you and whatever you present to everyone else; I know who you are at the core. I could say much more, but that would be too cruel.” It was always something along these lines. As a child, it isn’t easy not to take these words personally, especially from someone you expect to love you unconditionally.

I had that dream for years. Every full moon, like clockwork, it recurred. At some point, the feeling transformed from this intense, raw anger to an immense sadness. Every dream ended with me sobbing uncontrollably. I could always feel the intensity when I woke up. I have heard that anger is a secondary emotion, i.e., sadness is at the root of anger. Those dreams were always eerie. I increasingly began understanding why I harbored so much resentment toward my mother. We didn’t have those extensive arguments all the time, but the tiny criticisms had pilled up. Because I refused to acknowledge how much those comments hurt, they overflowed and spilled into my dream space. 

My mother’s love wasn’t conditional, but that is how it felt. If I could find a way to look presentable, e.g., find a way to make my hair look good, wear nicer clothes, etc., then she wouldn’t yell at me, and subsequently, I wouldn’t feel like she hated me. I subconsciously found ways to avoid those arguments. I did everything I could to avoid these criticisms. I took it too far when I assumed looking “presentable” meant being thin. I wanted, no… needed to be perfect. I had received enough criticism from my mom; I didn’t need it from strangers. My mom had her way of getting by; this was mine.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand that it was never about my hair or clothes; it was about survival. For example, white girls can wear messy buns, and people think it’s cute. If my hair were messy, people would think I was simply a mess that didn’t care about her outward appearance. I was thrilled when I went to college because it meant I would wear whatever I wanted without my mom having something to say about it. I was in a space where my survival tactics were seemingly not needed (even though some of them subconsciously followed me there). When I wore those same too-short shorts or tops sans bra at home, my mom had something to say about it. I liked my shorts and braless look (#freethenipple was popular back then). She said I looked like a streetwalker. (I looked like an average college student in 2016.) That was another thing I learned: white people can openly talk about sex and express their natural sexuality wherever or whenever they want. If I did it, people would judge me, I would never get a job, and my life would be over. This went for all expressions of sexuality, no matter how subtle they were, including my clothing choices. Furthermore, I needed to watch what I wrote in an age where it is more normal to be open in online spaces (such as this one). I love writing and storytelling more than anything else. I began journaling at five and blogging when I was in middle school. I have always been a writer. I’m not claiming that my journal entries always made sense (I’m pretty sure some letters are backward in my first diary) or that anyone would want to read whatever nonsense I wrote in middle school. I shared my first “real” writing with my mom and was so proud of myself for finally publishing it. She said it was stupid and that I needed a reality check.

I had a dream once featuring my mom having a full-on meltdown. She was shouting about how she didn’t feel loved when she was younger. No one listened to her and her emotions, leaving her feeling unseen and unheard. I yelled back at her, saying that my sister and I presumably had issues because her unhealed traumas were passed down to us like venom. My whole family was there, yelling and screaming at one another. It was so chaotic. 

At one point, my mom ran away. Unexpectedly, she transformed into a baby. I picked her up and held her. My sister offered to hold her, but I insisted I do it.

All in all, my mom just wanted to protect me. People, especially people on the internet, aren’t kind. We like to think we know people on the internet because we have become accustomed to liberally sharing so much, but we don’t know one another. She didn’t want all of these people that don’t even know me to make assumptions about me. After all, the world is often crueler and more presumptuous regarding black women. My mom protected her vulnerability. A friend once compared her to crème brûlée: a shiny and polished thin layer of sugar protects a much softer, sweet substance underneath. That’s how we are. I have always wanted people to see the thin layer of curated perfection. I rarely reveal the smooth, sweet layer underneath.

What I initially seemed to take away from my mom (whether she intended to convey this) was that it was essential to do everything in your power to control how people perceive you. I wanted to avoid judgment and criticism at every cost. Does this work? Yes and no. Sure, you can curate the dimensions of self you allow people to see. How they perceive you is a combination of conscious and subconscious biases that other people themselves don’t even have control over. Nevertheless, I tried. I tried with my hair. I tried with my clothes. I tried with my body. I tried with what I revealed to certain people at certain times. I tried with what I kept hidden. It half worked in that I always felt close to belonging, but “close” was never enough.

Thank you for continually guiding me toward the most profound vision I hold within my heart.

I spent my sophomore summer in Northern California for an internship. I was lucky to stay with some family friends while learning the area. It was my first time there, and I had the best time exploring the mountains, forests, hills, beaches, etc. A couple of hours before dinner, I decided to go to a beach close to the house to enjoy the sunset. I took a book I had purchased earlier from a small, independent bookstore and began reading. As I thumbed through the pages, I stumbled across a passage that genuinely changed how I saw people from that point forward. Essentially, the passage communicated that whenever we are triggered by another person, e.g., upset, angered, jealous, saddened, etc., it is never about them. That person is always our teacher; they are there to reflect how we are meant to heal and grow. If you refuse to learn from them and continue to blame anyone outside of yourself, you will only be met with more people who reflect the same lesson. I have said something along these lines several times throughout each essay (my apologies for the repetition). It is woven into my consciousness because I have made it a practice to focus on myself. Focusing on ourselves and how we carry ourselves in relationships doesn’t have to be egocentric in a “negative” way. Instead, concentrating on ourselves allows us to see where and how to grow to become more loving, gracious, compassionate, patient, and accepting. If we are open to the invitation, other people are our guides to that place. Those people are our soulmates.

In the first dream, my mom was cooking a pan full of bacon. I could see how much grease she put in the pan and got the impression that she would hurt herself. Before I could decide whether to say something, the oil got all over her and burned her. She cried out loud in a way that was painful to hear. I felt sadness, perhaps guilt, a sense of protectiveness, and love when I saw and heard my mother in pain. I knew I should have warned her to be careful, but I didn’t speak up for some reason. I cried out to her. I rushed to her, wondering if she was okay. She insisted she was fine and continued cooking.

In the second dream, I felt uncontrollable sadness that overwhelmed my entire face. I saw my mother for who she was. I saw a resounding piece of myself in her. I could feel it in my heart. The music was astounding and from another realm; it perfectly matched the scenes running in parallel. I wanted to hug her and tell her I finally understood. I felt a deep sense of understanding and perhaps forgiveness.

I felt at peace.

Reflecting on our relationship, I find similarities between my mom and me. Last year my mom and I visited my sister in Canada. It is always interesting to return to Canada because even though I haven’t lived there, it is where my mom grew up and where most of my maternal family lives. My mom, sister and I have few opportunities to spend extended periods together. My mom and I live close to one another in the States, but my sister wanted to experience living abroad for university and grad school. (I always thought it was interesting that she moved to a place with so much history for my mom.) Every time I am with them, I notice things about myself and them that I have never seen before. It is like looking into a three-way mirror. Being with my sister will highlight specific attributes from our parents versus things that are more personal to me. If we share them, they come from somewhere, right?

One day when we were returning from a place across the water that held so many childhood memories for my mom, we were all particularly exhausted. My mom and I had begun traveling early; it was oppressively hot out, and we were hungry... it was great to be with everyone, but the smallest thing could have set anyone off. My sister had lived independently for over a year and developed her routine. You know how it is when your parents visit your apartment; they begin inserting themselves to ensure you are okay. My mom was trying to help my sister with something regarding her space, and my sister was not having it. (The washing machine was broken. Could my sister have handled it on her own? Probably and she might have. My mom just wanted to make sure it was handled correctly.) They got into a huge argument that rippled throughout the rest of our time together. My sister was frustrated with my mom for the way she was trying to handle everything (better words could have been chosen). My mom was upset with my sister for her response when trying to help (better words could have been chosen). I wasn’t surprised. There was usually one disagreement every time we visited, at minimum. My mom couldn’t help but try to make things better for my sister, and my sister was seemingly unappreciative. I don’t know what it is about that moment in the sun’s heat, but I just knew that this whole time, even though I thought my mom and I were so different, we were exactly the same.

I can’t quite explain exactly how I came to this conclusion at that exact moment. I felt this incredible rush of knowing; everything seemed to connect. Before this trip, I spent over a year living with just my mom (which is a totally different dynamic than living with her and my sister). It had never been just the two of us. My mom was one of the first to show me everything is Nature. She challenged me to wonder what would happen if I put the love I know within everyone within my center focus. What love was beneath her words? It wasn’t easy at first, but I practiced it every day. I practiced it when things were calm and less calm (there were plenty of opportunities). I was committed to change because I didn’t want our relationship to suffer indefinitely. Seeing how her actions came from a place of love helped me understand her at that moment. I began to see my mother for her empathy, compassion, and patience. (This was during COVID, so I had plenty of time to reflect.) It could be that the more I accessed my empathy and sensitivity, the more I could see it within her. Without spending all that time with just her, I don’t think I would have seen her side. Mind you, I understood why my sister reacted the way she did. My mom’s words, tone, and overall delivery on the surface did not imply that she was trying to be helpful. Years ago, I reacted like my sister did when I didn’t know my mom either. When we were all there under the stifling heat of the sun, I got it. I would have been so frustrated if I was trying to do something nice for someone, and they showed me anything but gratitude. How interesting is it to ponder that we look at one another and think we are so different, and the more we get to know ourselves, we realize we are all the same?

That’s always how it works, isn’t it? The people that frustrate us the most are the ones we have the most in common. That is because they are our most powerful mirrors, our soulmates. Our soulmates are meant to challenge us and help us grow. My mom, sister and I have different personalities, of course. Still, the core parts of us are more similar than not. We all love making things easier and nicer for the people we care about; we also get frustrated when they don’t listen to us. Everything has a light and a shadow. The Shadow allowed me to find what was beautiful about my mom and myself. My mother has been a mirror of my most significant power this whole time. How we perceive the opportunities for love and growth is all around us. I see everything as a portal for love and growth. Others may see everyone as an opportunity to heal their shadows (I am also a fan of this one) and transform their darkness into something that will help humanity. Some see life as an opportunity to return to oneness, echoing unity consciousness rhetoric. It doesn’t matter which lens you choose. Learning to see, love, and appreciate my mother was a lesson in seeing, loving, and appreciating myself. I am in awe of how we are all connected.

In a dream, my mom and I were arguing in what seemed like a parking garage by my old neighbor’s house. She was yelling all of the usual obscenities at me with some unrealistic comments sprinkled in. At one point, I said, “Why would you say those things to me? Why? I am your daughter. I would think from these things that you do not love or respect me. Or do you not love and respect yourself?” I wasn’t angry, but I was firm. The dream didn’t feel emotionally overwhelming. It was the first time I ever confronted my mother in a dream. So I moved from the familiar feeling of frustration that trademarked my other dreams to something more open.

My mom may rebuke me, but it isn’t because she doesn’t love me. She says all of these things because she does care about me. She loves me so much more than I could envision. How she conveys that love may seem questionable at times, but she does protect everyone she cares about. It took me a long time to see past her apparent brutal words. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the tools or compassion to understand their history and intention. However, that doesn’t take away from how much her words hurt.

My mom and I revisited my sister in Canada about a year later. She wanted to be around family for her sixtieth birthday, and I hadn’t seen my sister in a couple of months. After the fiasco that was the previous visit, my sister asked us never to surprise her again. The washing machine incident from a year prior was only the beginning. My mom is immaculate; my sister could be tidier. Her apartment is hers, so if she wants to clean it, she will; if not, that’s her choice, too. However, my mom always has something to say regarding the cleanliness of a space. My sister wanted to know in advance if we were coming so she would have time to clean up and avoid the criticisms. We surprised her; thus, she didn’t have time to clean and could sense what would come next. My sister preemptively told my mom that if she were to go inside, she wasn’t allowed to say anything concerning the state of her apartment. She didn’t say this in the warmest tone. Additionally, since her statement was more of a reaction to what happened a year ago, it presumably came out of nowhere. My mom seemed genuinely confused as to why she was being spoken to that way after our nine-hour drive for her birthday weekend. When we were alone in the parking garage, she was upset. She didn’t know what she did to warrant such a venomous response. No one deserves to be spoken to with anything less than the utmost respect, especially if it is a loved one. I felt terrible because it was the first time I saw that my mom had no idea why my sister seemed to harbor some underlying resentment toward her. From her perspective, she was only ever trying to help, and I saw that. The miscommunication was hurting their relationship in the same way it damaged ours.

Seeing my mom and sister interact during both stints in Canada cemented my beliefs regarding how vital delivery is. Is it constructive if you want to support someone but can’t communicate effectively? My sister is also incredibly empathetic, kind, and sensitive. She has taught me how much delivery matters. My mom has a habit of saying something that most people would consider rude and saying, “Well, it’s just the truth. You’re the one that can’t handle hearing it.” When I suggest to my mom that she is a bit softer with her words when she speaks to my sister, she claims that she already is and she shouldn’t have to tiptoe around her. To some extent, I agree. I don’t think we should sugarcoat everything, but conscious communication is essential. There is a fine line between watching and curating what you say. I am more susceptible to the latter. 

In truth, my mom, sister, and I are all sensitive and don’t admit it very often when someone does something that hurts us. That is why sometimes the way my mom says things is even more perplexing to me. I could see how hurt she was in the parking garage by my sister’s words, and all I could think was, “Where do you think she got this from?”. We are sensitive in different ways, but anyone can tap into times when they were hurt to empathize with someone else. This goes for my sister as well. I am not a confrontational person. (That’s one of the reasons this dream was so surprising to me.) My sister, however, has less of an issue confronting my mother. Her confrontation is more reactionary and tends to provoke the situation rather than resolve it. (Her delivery could use some work, too.) My gut reaction is to keep my responses to myself and bottle them up for later. I wouldn’t say it is healthier; I am always working on it. I wanted to shake them both so that they realized they were essentially the same person, so the arguing wasn’t necessary. During our first visit to Canada, my sister told me how upset she was (regarding the argument over the washing machine) when we went to brunch later that morning. My mom expressed how hurt she was when we were in Jamaica, days after everything happened. I don’t know that either one of them communicated that clearly to one another.

This dream reflected a lot about me concerning external and internal confrontation. Examining the interpersonal dynamics between family members is incredibly helpful. You also don’t want to be that person in their twenties running around blaming their parents for everything. Our parents, like us, do their best with the tools they are given. I don’t know that we are meant to try and change our parents to conform to the ideal parent-child relationship we create in our heads. My mom is the way she is. My sister’s preemptive reaction was her erroneous attempt to communicate a boundary. Boundaries are important. I wouldn’t advise anyone to let people talk to them in a less-than-kind manner. Still, you can’t control people. However, it is always within your power to heal your relationship to your relationship with that person. What hurt the most for years was feeling so unseen by my mother. She didn’t see how much her criticism hurt, and I wanted her to know. Every time I tried to make her understand, I felt more heartbreak. Grasping her perspective helped me release that need; how could she ever see my pain if she didn’t see her actions through my lens? Changing my relationship to our relationship via empathy and compassion helped me to let it go.

Furthermore, the criticism may have started with my mother, but I internalized it and took it to another level. How I speak to myself is horrific; I would never talk to anyone this way. Blaming my mom for the origins of my inner critic doesn’t create any change. Taking responsibility, however, puts the power back in my hands and allows me to create something new. Confronting myself and initiating an internal dialogue when I say these things to myself could be more beneficial than just staying silent.

I am sorry for ever blaming you for any part of our relationship. I now know that everything you have ever done is because you love me unconditionally.

Everything is Nature, and Nature is synchronous.

I began that practice with my mother and let it expand to everyone else. I don’t believe anything is an accident. Every single person in your life plays a critical role in your development, as do you in theirs. It’s easier to see how the people closest to us are guiding us versus someone we pass on the street, but I am sure they have something to offer too. There are no coincidences.

My mom taught me to “get curious” about everything. What is this person doing here? Why are they here at this time? What are we doing together in this setting? What about the people around them? What do they all have to add to the conversation? What am I doing in their life? Getting curious allows me to connect all the dots and see the world in its auspicious beauty.

Our third-dimensional practices hold a certain consciousness. Namely, they are teaching us something on both physical and nonphysical levels. One of my favorite practices has been analyzing my dreams. Tracking my dreams has taught me about the moon cycle, storytelling, nonlinear stories, waves of interpretation, timing, patterns, and how to view life through an objective/symbolic/archetypal lens. When looking at dreams, I pay attention to the third-dimensional story (no matter how discombobulated that may seem) and the emotional data underneath. Ultimately, dreams have taught me how to be my healer via perceiving synchronicity and beauty in everything. Dream analysis has required me to step back and view the seemingly disjointed aspects of my life from a wider lens. How I interact with my dreams influences how I interpret circumstances, people, etc., in my waking life. The aura allows me to look at the multidimensional relationship story underneath the third-dimensional story. Synchronicity and beauty are my antidotes to feeling the need to control everything around me. Viewing people and experiences objectively as lessons, gifts, and portals for love and beauty has radically shifted my perspective. With time and patience, I can quickly see how everything is connected. Everything happens the way it is meant to.

Since this perspective is derived from my dream analysis practice, I call it “dream consciousness.” Dream consciousness goes hand in hand with unity consciousness. Unity consciousness is the understanding that when we find unity and harmony within ourselves, i.e., accept every dimension of our quantum being, we can find peace within the collective. Namely, when we accept every part of ourselves, we can accept all parts of everyone within our universal family. When we reject aspects of ourselves, we reject aspects of the collective. We can genuinely accept all other beings when we meet all layers of The Self with Unconditional Love. Perception of synchronicity and beauty is the pathway to unity and acceptance on all levels.

Here’s a different type of example: I work at a private equity firm (3). Private equity itself is traditionally a white and male-dominated industry. This wasn’t a problem for me as I grew up in a small, white, affluent town. What stood out to me about this particular firm after I started working there was that most people belong to a specific church (4). (When I say majority, it’s around eighty percent if I had to guesstimate (let me emphasize that that is not an accurate statistic).) No, it’s not an exceedingly widespread religion like Protestantism or Catholicism (which may be more believable). Every owner and employee knows that this religion dominates the company. I don’t have much in common with everyone since I am not white, a man, and don’t belong to that church. Yet, everyone there is so nice and supportive, making it an incredible workplace— I have no complaints. 

I am used to being a minority race-wise. I am used to being a minority gender-wise. I have never been a minority in a religious capacity. (I’m not religious anyway.) It’s new, and it’s not. Sure, there are times when I wish I could easily bond with my peers in the way they all bond with one another. I don’t, and I’m not meant to. When I think about my deepest wound, “belonging,” I don’t think I am meant to fit in anywhere. There is nothing wrong with feeling like you don’t belong somewhere. What was “wrong” was my attitude towards it; I was always fighting against it. My workplace, including my co-workers and the web of interpersonal dynamics, continues to reveal its medicine, and I still have much to learn from it. Seriously, what are the odds of me winding up at such a specific company? What are the odds of someone who has been a minority in such an obvious way working in a place where I would be the minority again in such an unexpected way? And it continues to run deeper, and I name the dimensions of my story. Getting curious has taken me out of my head and made me more observant and open to what opportunities for learning and healing are present in all situations. So many core parts of my life, including relationships, places, situations, etc., reflect that core wound. Anything and everything can reflect our core wounds, clues as to what we are here to offer. Soulmates are everywhere; soulmates reflect synchronicity.

There is synchronicity everywhere. I don’t think synchronicity is when things just so happen to work out in the way that you wish them to. Synchronicity is another way of finding love and beauty everywhere. Everything from where I grew up, how I grew up, my friends, their friends, my partners, their parents, their partners, my work, my place of work, my parents, their work, the butterfly I saw last week, my family, and back to my mother is synchronous. Synchronicity is what makes life meaningful and beautiful.

I love you endlessly.

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(1) Disclaimer: Anything I write about anyone in my essays results from my subjective, human, and imperfect perspective. None of my essays aim to portray anyone negatively; that would be unfair, as this is my side of the story. I do not claim 100% accuracy of anything but my perspective, mainly because I have not had contact with some mentioned people in several years. We all grow and change.

(2) Not everyone with a womb necessarily uses she/her/hers pronouns. The Mother archetype is available to everyone of all gender identifies. If it weren’t universal, it wouldn’t be an archetype. My mother uses these pronouns, and since this story is about her, those are the pronouns I use throughout this essay.

(3) I am keeping the details vague on purpose.

(4) See the above footnote.

southern peach

John (1) was a true Southern gentleman. On rare occasions, he wore cowboy boots around campus, reminding us of his origins. Fresh off any home visit, he would bring back frozen peaches, foie gras, and duck confit. It was a bit strange, but everything was always delicious. John was in our university’s journalism school, which was a perfect fit for him. He was really into politics and a great conversationalist. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a great smile that would be assets when he inevitably became an on-air personality. All of the girls in our dorm loved his subtle southern accent. I’m sure that worked in his favor, too.

Like most girls on our floor (and probably anyone who knew of him in the dorm), I liked John. He was charming and alluring but in a relationship with his high school girlfriend when we first met (college tested their relationship, and it didn’t last long). I had a crush on someone else, so I didn’t focus my energy on John. The main thing John and I had in common were our home circumstances. We were both privileged enough not to worry about money growing up (which, due to our school's (relatively limited) economic diversity, wasn’t the case for everyone). We shared a cultivated taste in food (I’m not sure I ever saw John eating Dominoes at two a.m.). We also both loved hiking and being outdoors. We were sarcastic in the same way and had a similar sense of humor. Other than that, we may not have had everything in common, but he became one of my best friends for a few years.

One of my friends suspected John and I liked each other and wondered if we were secretly dating. I was flattered at the thought that someone from the outside thought that John could be into me. After all, he was one of the most desirable freshmen in our dorm. I reevaluated and dissected every interaction. Maybe there had been some light flirting? Definitely not enough for me to confront him about it.

Soon after, John started dating another girl on my floor. John’s girlfriend and I didn’t exactly click. She was a cute, petite, and bubbly blonde. She had this unique, fervent, wild, childlike energy. John’s girlfriend was very eccentric. What I didn’t appreciate about her back then was that she owned how strange she was, which was strange because many kids are just trying to minimize how much they stand out in their first year of college. Not John’s girlfriend; she leaned into her eccentricities, and people either loved her or couldn’t get far away fast enough. (That’s an exaggeration, but it did annoy some people (primarily girls that may have been upset at how many boys liked her)). Even though she had her shadows, e.g., anxiety, intensity, etc., like everyone else, people thought it was endearing. To top it all off, she was so sweet, unlike me, who was incredibly dark inside. I did like that she loved cats because I also love cats. That’s about as close as we got.

I tried being friends with John’s girlfriend long before she was John’s girlfriend. During my first year, I vowed to be open to anything because I had spent the past eighteen years living in a bubble. She was just too herself, and I subconsciously found that intimidating. If anything, I was jealous that someone as weird as her (it’s a compliment, I promise) was not only comfortable being themselves but also loved. Meanwhile, I was stuck, always trying to be someone else to scrape by. It also didn’t help that not only did everyone think she was interested in my boyfriend (before he was my boyfriend), but also they thought he was interested in her. My jealousy compounded. Even though my boyfriend didn’t like her, the feeling of the possibility that someone would have chosen her over me never left. It grew more when I found out that she and John were dating because I liked John. How did she effortlessly capture the attention of everyone I wanted?

I can’t remember how long John and his girlfriend dated. It was long enough. Even while they were in a relationship, I got a nagging feeling that John could have still liked me. This feeling remained a speculation and was never confirmed. We were still close friends who didn’t seem to bother his girlfriend (of course, she was never insecure). John was very loyal. Not only was he in a committed relationship, but also my boyfriend was his other best friend; he would have never crossed that line. When she couldn’t go with his family on vacation, he took me instead. Nothing weird happened, and the break was a lot of fun. Even though I wasn’t his first choice, going on the trip made me feel special.

John would compliment me in ways that I still only felt “pretty for a black girl.” He never said those words because if he did, I hope I would have known better to run for the hills. Still, I couldn’t compete with his cute, sweet blonde girlfriend. The only thing I had going for me was that I was thin. I noticed a pattern when John described the girls he found attractive: they were all thin, smaller, and white.

I don’t know that I ever really liked John. Don’t get me wrong; I liked him because he was a good friend and, sure, he was objectively attractive. Still, I couldn’t imagine myself with him. It was always awkward in my head. So what was going on?

I wanted John to want me. It’s not even personal to him. If someone like John, someone traditional, wealthy, and white, wanted me, then it meant that I had succeeded. It would mean all those years I spent bending over backward to attain the unattainable weren’t in vain. It would mean that I was good enough. It would mean that I was beautiful. It would mean that I was desirable. I wanted to be wanted by him.

In the back of my mind, I knew that someone like John wouldn’t end up with someone like me. He told me once that his parents thought his college girlfriend was too eccentric. I imagined what it would be like if he introduced me as his girlfriend to his parents. They probably would have said I was too black. My relationship with John reflected the pain of feeling undesirable.

Wanting to be wanted by someone like John motivated most of my actions throughout college. I was always on a quest to prove that even though I was black, I could be as beautiful as someone like John’s girlfriend or become “someone like John’s” girlfriend. I did whatever I could to receive external validation; it was never enough. Maybe I would have the same freedom as John’s girlfriend to be me. I thought once I felt lovable enough, I could exhale.

Thank you for reflecting one of the more complex aspects of my core wound. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to trace it back to its origins and begin healing.

When I was younger, I would always get compliments on how tall and thin I was. Nothing else. Consciously, I realized that the standard of beauty was based on being white and thin. I couldn’t control that. Subconsciously, I knew that there was nothing I could do about being black. I couldn’t control that either. Consciously, I did everything I could to remain thin.

My efforts to remain thin resulted in a full-blown eating disorder. It wasn’t as bad in college. I had rowing practice six days a week, so washing down my Trix cereal with grape soda wasn’t a problem (thankfully, I didn’t develop diabetes). I was aware of my body but didn’t feel the need to change it since it was pretty much “perfect.” (At least that’s what other people told me.)

Eating disorders (from my unprofessional perspective) rarely had anything to do with food. It’s always something else masking itself. My eating disorder was a manifestation of my inner critic. I can’t pinpoint when my inner critic showed up; it’s not something we are born with. I suspect it began to show its face in high school. I didn’t have the strictest parents, but they did expect highly of me. My inner critic made sure that I was always in check so that my parents wouldn’t have to instead. After that, it lingered around.

I began to notice how loud the inner critic depended on how much of my life felt manageable. College was mainly fine; I knew my path: do well and graduate on time. It was much worse after graduation because everything was spiraling out of control. I went to stay with some family friends just outside of San Fransico to find a job. I discovered too late that I didn’t want to do anything related to computer science; it simply wasn’t my calling. I enjoyed my time in Northern California because it felt like home. Nevertheless, it was incredibly stressful to be under someone else’s roof while they waited for me to get myself together. When I returned home, I stayed with my dad until he was frustrated and didn’t know what to do with me. Knowing that I was disappointing him was hard, and he assumably felt helpless. I chose to stay with my dad because my mom and I didn’t get along. I felt closer and safer with my dad. When that situation came to a halt, I had no choice but to show up at my mom’s doorstep.

My dad was quieter in his disappointment, whereas my mom had no issues expressing how furious she was with me. The things she would say to me were awful. I experienced a long-term sadness that I had never felt before. (Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Now I know she was trying to help because she loved me. It didn’t feel like that at the time.) I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. With no clarity or direction, I felt paralyzed. It felt like my mom loved me less and less every time we spoke about my job search. She called me sad and pathetic, which stood out amongst her cruel words. I felt unwanted and worthless.

The only quick fix I had to feel somewhat lovable and valuable was to remain as small as possible. The only reason I had access to a scale was I was staying with my mom, who had one. (I don’t know anyone under thirty who owns a scale, but I could be wrong.) Every morning I would run in the park, follow it up with a hot bath, and, while completely dehydrated, step on the scale. The routine helped me feel like I was maintaining order within my chaotic inner world. I wasn’t merciless; if the number deviated by a pound or two, that was okay. Anything outside of that, however, was a problem that could be remedied with what I chose for lunch.

The routine only ended when I eventually found a job and moved out. Moving out meant no more scale or way of knowing what that number was. I sure wasn’t going out of my way to buy one. (Somehow, in my mind, that would have been absurd.) I naively thought this issue would follow suit once my problems were solved. It didn’t. I engaged in that ritual for over a year. That kind of constant internal criticism doesn’t just disappear. Not having a scale didn’t stop me from nitpicking. Having a job didn’t stop me from relentlessly criticizing my body. To make matters worse, my mom and I began having dinner weekly on Tuesdays after I moved out. When I came over for the first time, I located the scale.

I am so sorry for everything I put you through. I am sorry for constantly comparing, judging, and criticizing you even though you have done nothing but support, nourish, and hold space with me from the day I was born.

Patterns that start small are virtually untraceable. It took me years to notice how bad my disorder was and to begin healing it. I’m not a fan of New Year’s resolutions in that you need to make a list of thirty things to accomplish by year-end. Maybe you can, but I am not the kind of person that can focus on thirty goals over a long period. I don’t know where this tradition originated, making it inauthentic. I do like the idea of reexamining the visions we have for ourselves to make sure we are in alignment with what we want to offer in our lives. I usually begin thinking about this around my birthday. This year, I decided that the one thing I wanted to do was heal my eating disorder. That’s it. (It is a lofty goal since I have had it for so long. That doesn’t make it impossible.) Also, “heal” doesn’t mean go away. I don’t know if they completely go away or remain to ebb and flow. I wanted to understand it better, know its origin and open a conversation. Truthfully, that was the impetus for this collection of essays.

People dream about a wide variety of things. Some people have lucid, fun dreams featuring them flying through Costa Rica; others have prophetic dreams about someone they know being pregnant or the impending death of a family member. My dreams are not that cool. My dreams have always pointed to things in my subconscious that I need to pay attention to consciously. The things I need to heal and integrate within myself without fail show up in my dreams.

I had a dream about a year ago that I was in a family friend’s childhood home. My sister and friend were in my energetic periphery; I could feel them around. I went to a bedroom in the house and found a scale in the corner. It looked old and gross like it hadn’t been touched in years. I began fiddling with it, not knowing how it worked. The unit of measurement was set to kilograms, so I tried to find a way to convert it to pounds. (I am always bad with numbers in my dreams; kilograms would have looked like ancient Greek to me). I remember standing on the scale but couldn’t tell what the number said. So I got off the scale and saw my friend’s stepmother vacuuming in the hallway. I was ashamed; I didn’t want her to see me on the scale. I tried closing the door but couldn’t get it to shut. She was about to enter the room.

This dream is pretty cut and dry. I only had this specific dream once; some shared some similarities, but they were more vague bits and pieces. Dreams don’t exist in a vacuum. When I analyze my dreams, I look to other dreams I have had to see if they relate. It took about a year to realize that this dream was connected to John’s dream.

Once a year, around John’s birthday, I would dream about him. I have had many recurring dreams, but none that have only popped by for a visit every year. I was accustomed to urgent dreams occurring at least once every twenty-nine days. I don’t feel a wide range of emotions in my dreams. When something desperately needs my attention, I feel angry or sad. I never fail to notice those dreams. 

Every dream with John was happy. That caught my attention. It was an odd stray from my typical array of emotions. I wasn’t complaining. I loved those dreams.

I felt loved in those dreams.

This dream has been a subtle hint all along. What are the odds that it was with John in the one dream where I felt loved? It says nothing about us, specifically on the physical plane; we haven’t talked in years. (The most interesting dream characters are ones that I haven’t spoken to in a while. I’ve noticed that this means that it is less about them as a person and more about what they symbolize. John has transformed into a very powerful symbol of “desirability.”) I don’t know what this dream means entirely. Dreams are like slow-blooming flowers; they are multilayered and reveal their beauty one petal at a time. However, it reflects a narrative in my head that a part of me feels accepted when someone like John wants me. Desirability is a complex wound that I look forward to exploring further.

Whenever I acknowledge a dream’s message, they disappear. I will only know in several months whether I have honored the core message of this dream sequence. I appreciate the dream for showing me the more complex sides of myself. I don’t know that I would have been able to write about the nuances of this wound, let alone begin the healing process without it.

I love you.

---

(1) Disclaimer: Anything I write about anyone in my essays results from my subjective, human, and imperfect perspective. None of my essays aim to portray anyone negatively; that would be unfair, as this is my side of the story. I do not claim 100% accuracy of anything but my perspective, mainly because I have not had contact with some mentioned people in several years. We all grow and change.

lovebirds, swans, and unwanted threesomes

College was the first time I began receiving more external validation that I was beautiful. My braces were off; I grew into my body; my hair was a bit longer and fuller; I traded my glasses for contacts; and what I wore was entirely up to me (finally!) (I know, super cliché). Oh, and I was in a more diverse setting, i.e., I wasn’t only being compared to the same picturesque white girl I was used to seeing everywhere. (I’m unsure how much this had to do with it, but something tells me that everyone in my hometown was only used to seeing one type of beauty while the people I was meeting in college came from at least slightly more diverse backgrounds, i.e., they were a tad more open to what a “beautiful” person could look like. I.e., it probably helped.) I reveled in all the compliments I wasn’t used to receiving. I was beginning to blossom. 

Even though I was blossoming on the outside, I was utterly hollow on the inside. I soaked up all the foreign adoration like a sponge because I didn’t know I was beautiful (like everyone else). At that point, I still needed other people to tell me. I didn’t understand that regardless of what our cultural consciousness reinforces, no one person is more or less anything than someone else. I had no sense of value; I had no intention or sense of self. I think that’s okay for where I was. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but it was okay. College is an opportunity for many people to begin exploring themselves and figuring that out. This exploration of self leaves room for people to reflect to you what you need to know about yourself. Although, depending on how you learn about your shadows, these lessons can feel brutal and unending.

John (1) and I were on the same rowing team at university. John was charismatic, energetic, and hilarious. He was extremely likable and got along with pretty much everyone. He had an infectious energy that lit up every space he entered. He could make any situation fun (even fifteen-hour bus rides to regattas) and transform anything into a punchline in an effortlessly clever way. John was also attractive and flirtatious (a dangerous combination). I can’t recall anyone that disliked John. John’s persona was seemingly magnetic.

John was in a relationship for two years with a woman, a teammate, that I admired. Confident, savvy, and outspoken; she was who I wanted to be. She called out everyone on their b.s. and was the opposite of a people-pleaser. They broke up around my junior year due to negligible reasons. I don’t know if anyone thought of John “in that way” because he was in this devoted relationship for half his college career. She had just graduated that year but still lived in the area; I would see her infrequently. When they were no longer together, I am sure some were curious about what kind of girl John would wind up with next.

John started showing interest in me later that year. I can’t quite remember if it was “too soon” for him to begin looking around (whatever that means since everyone’s timing is different). It came to me as a surprise. I considered us friends because we were on the same team, and everyone on the team was a friend of mine. However, we weren’t the kind of people to hang out one-on-one or in smaller groups since we didn’t have much in common. The more and more I flirted with John, the more I realized that I didn’t know much about him. In college, I found that people ranged from telling you their deepest darkest secrets when they first meet you, e.g., “I have XYZ unresolved trauma from my childhood,” to completely clamming up when asked a more personal question. John was closer to the latter. He maintained an air of mystique. He revealed enough to bond because most friendships require some depth but not too much, you know? John somehow made everyone feel like he was his friend, but I’m not sure how many people knew him besides his ex-girlfriend. All I knew was that personality-wise, we didn’t share many similarities. Although, I’m not sure that’s how people find each other anyway.

(The more I reflect upon relationships of all kinds, e.g., friendships, romantic partnerships, work relationships, roommates, etc., the more I find that we find people based on what we need to learn about ourselves at any given time. There is a beautiful synchronicity to everything; nothing is a coincidence. It’s so fascinating to me. Regarding romantic relationships, sure, there is an element of physical attraction at play. Not everyone is attracted to everyone. The world would be a mess if everyone wanted to “get with” everyone. We have discernment; we have free will. How we choose people or how people come into our lives is multilayered. It has little to do with physical attraction and more with how we need to grow. It’s just a theory.)

When John and I began flirting with each other, it was fun. It seemed harmless because, if I had to guess, neither of us genuinely liked one other at the time. I didn’t even know enough about him to like him. Besides, he had just exited what seemed like a serious relationship, and I was freshly in a new one. (I know, I know.) Admittedly, there were so many problems with this. To keep it brief, my ex-current-boyfriend and I were giving our relationship another try while he was long-distance for a study abroad program. We kept it a secret until he got back. It may have been because we wanted to see if it would work out before we told anyone else to alleviate some pressure. It may have also been because I was an immature asshole that didn’t want anyone to know, so I could do what I wanted when I wanted without consequence. It was probably both.

Dating has become more and more nuanced since I was in college. I love listening to dating podcasts for that exact reason. What is “right” or “wrong” is wholly up to the people within the relationship container. I knew we had crossed the line well before most people would have said things got out of hand. I tried keeping myself in the moral grey area by saying that everything was okay because we hadn’t done anything yet. I had done this before. I had a habit of getting into relationships and, soon after, ending the relationship to get back into a vague situation-ship where we weren’t “officially” together but would keep it a secret. Make sense? It shouldn’t because it is a crazy, thoughtless, and yet calculated thing to do. It was all fine in my mind because I didn’t owe anyone anything as long as we weren’t in an “actual” relationship. I lived and died by the word “technically” even though I was a total hypocrite because I always knew that if you had to use the word “technically,” you were probably doing something wrong. I’m pretty sure I even said that out loud to other people. Even worse, I was in a relationship this time instead of some purposefully-undefined situation-ship I concocted. I was unempathetic and inconsiderate, no matter how I wanted to lie to myself and interpret my actions. I was simply in the wrong. If I had thought about my partner’s feelings for over thirty seconds, I would have understood how much this would have hurt him and stopped immediately. I was selfish and kept going until everything crashed my senior year.

Thank you for being one of the first people to highlight my intricate yet simple shadows. You showed me that even though we all have a shadow, that is no excuse to hurt others.

I first came clean to my partner during my junior year. (I lied and said that the person was random and didn’t tell him about John. I didn’t want anyone to know about him a) because I didn’t want to ruin the group dynamic; and b) deep down, I was ashamed even though I could barely admit that to myself.) We tried to work things out. By my senior year, we weren’t together anymore. We still liked each other enough, but too much had happened for us to be in a healthy relationship. I knew I was in the wrong for what I did but didn’t comprehend how much what I did hurt until much later. I continued exploring things with John (despite everything) because I was having fun and didn’t see the point in getting into a serious relationship my senior year. We weren’t anything close to a couple. It was amazing that even though we spent all those nights together, I didn’t know much about him, and he didn’t know much about me. I liked it that way because I knew deep down I couldn’t trust him. (That should have been a red flag, but what can you do? We all have to learn at some point.) Bottom line: I knew he probably didn’t care about me, so the less we knew about each other, the better. We kept it a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know, and neither did he. Everyone on the team was pretty close by the time we entered our final year of university. Even though I was relatively private compared to others on the team, they had witnessed enough of my relationships, so I just wanted to keep something that didn’t mean much to me to myself. Maintaining the guise that we were just friends like he was with everyone else on the team was easy. I didn’t spend extra time with him while the sun was up, so there was likely nothing to be suspicious of. I also try not to underestimate people, so I am sure someone at some point figured it out. However, in my mind, everything was fine.

I lived with two women during my senior year. One was my junior-year roommate; we got along well and decided to live together for our final year. My junior-year roommate’s inner and external beauty radiated. Her implicit kind, beautiful, secure, and graceful energy reminded me of a swan’s (2); she glowed in my eyes. She grew up outside the States, which allowed her to have all these life experiences, leaving her more self-assured and mature than anyone I knew. She was dynamic and unassuming. Her perspective on life wasn’t anything unusual, but she was embodied, which was rare at our age. She was a natural and genuine humanitarian. (For someone like me who rarely thought about someone or anything larger than themselves, this left me in sheer awe. I had yet to discover this dimension of myself then, but she always inspired me by caring about the Earth and those who needed help. I knew that someday I wanted something I was passionate about that served something other than my self-interests. This was one of the most beautiful things about her, and I knew I wanted to be beautiful in that way, too). She was open but didn’t overshare. I also admired the way she treated other people. Everyone on the team was close, but that didn’t stop people from gossiping. She didn’t partake in that. She stayed above the fray and even brought a more calming presence to the group. My junior-year roommate was genuinely a lovely and confident free spirit. Everyone loved her, and I understood why. 

My other roommate was… unplanned. It’s common for housing situations to fall through when you are that age because so many things change frequently. What classes are you taking? Do you want an apartment closer to the majority of your classes? Do you have a bike? Do you want to live with this or a different group of friends? Would you rather avoid the drama and live by yourself? Do you want to live by your favorite cantina, a chicken shack, or Whole Foods? Living closer to your favorite banh-mi shop could be nice… I don’t know what series of events led her to live with my junior-year roommate and me, but we were all on the same rowing team, i.e., we were friendly enough, and we were all on the same sleeping schedule, which was the more important requirement to me for a roommate.

The main issue was: I didn’t like her. When she asked to live with us, I messaged my other friend immediately, dramatically stating that my senior year was over. “Justifiably,” the girl that wanted to live with us had a demeanor that rubbed some girls on the team the wrong way. I didn’t have the wherewithal to tell my junior-year roommate, the one I admired and was thrilled to live with, that I didn’t want to live with this other girl. I admired her because she was so loving and accepting; she instantly offered to start looking for three-bedroom apartments. Damn. The dream was over.

Let’s be honest; even though our personalities didn’t mesh, I didn’t like the unplanned roommate for two reasons: 1) I was jealous of her, and 2) I didn’t understand her. I knew I didn’t understand John fully either, but he was light and fun, so that was okay. I didn’t know anything about her, so I couldn’t begin to appreciate her for the beautiful woman she was. She just irritated me, which leads me back to reason number one: I was probably just jealous. Even though, beneath the surface, many girls were annoyed with her, all the guys wanted her. She was beautiful in a way that represented everything I wasn’t and couldn’t be. She vaguely reminded me of every picturesque girl I knew from high school (why does everything seem to go back to some stage of primary school?). She reminded me that no matter how I reinvented myself in college or how confident I seemed, that shadow followed me like a ghost.

More importantly: my other roommate, the girl I originally wanted to find a two-bedroom with, seemed to like her better. Writing this seems so juvenile because now I know friendships aren’t the same, which is good. Diversity in all kinds of relationships is beautiful and necessary. For example, not everyone can be your “best friend” (if that still exists). That would be so much energy to devote to your friends, which would be exhausting depending on how many you have. We all have friends for a reason, season, or lifetime. We don’t know which category they will fall into until we can look back further down the line. Nevertheless, at the time, this was hurtful. I don’t know how it happened, but they got significantly close to one another, which left me feeling like the third wheel. I felt unwanted but in a different way. This isn’t their fault; we don’t choose who we click with. It especially wasn’t their fault that I was so insecure. It was just hard to have that insecurity reflected upon me in a place that was supposed to be safe. Another reason why this hurt was because I had this massive girl crush on my junior-year roommate. She was incredible. I wanted to get to know her better and wanted her to like me, too. What did it say about me if she liked our other roommate better? Being left out sucked but feeling left out by someone I admired really stung.

During our time together, the unplanned roommate ended a long-term relationship that lasted about three years. She was self-proclaimed as lost for a while which was understandable. When it was time, she wanted to have fun before the year ended. Amidst all her exploration, she found herself in a love triangle with a different guy and a girl on the team. It isn’t necessary to get into all of the gory details (also, it would be difficult for me to remember them accurately anyway). It’s just so fascinating how multidimensional mirrors are. I vaguely remember that none were in a relationship, so no one “owed” anyone anything. Everyone knew what was happening (to some extent), but that didn’t stop people from getting hurt.

I continued to hang out with John. We only had about a month of school left, so I told my roommates about him. They were both surprised. The unplanned roommate warned me he could be a player (or whatever the modern equivalent of that word is). I assumed he was probably hanging out with other girls, which was fine. We weren’t in a relationship, so who was I to dictate who he could and couldn’t be with?

John drank a lot. In college, it is hard to distinguish who is just enjoying their time away from parental supervision and who may have a real issue with alcohol. I began to suspect that John may have been the latter2. The more we hung out other between the hours of one and four a.m., the more often alcohol was involved. I would take a shot here and there (probably because our situation was becoming uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t ready to admit to myself). We didn’t get super drunk when it was just us. When we were at parties with the rest of the team, I noticed John seemed to want to blackout. When we were alone, I tried probing a bit deeper to see if there was anything I could do. I wanted to see if there was something else going on. Ironically, we just weren’t close enough to open up to one another. I wanted to make sure he was okay, but I wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy with him (what?!). He opened up a bit sometimes but mostly shook it off. John’s drinking was my first glimpse into an unseen side of him; it was my reminder that I didn’t know him well at all.

It was no surprise to me that sometimes you can develop feelings when you give yourself to someone for several months. One night when we were together, he told me he loved me. His dark skin shone, almost glowing under the moonlight when he said it. I didn’t believe him. We still didn’t know much about each other, so he was either trying to mess with me or he felt something, but it certainly wasn’t love. The statement was disingenuous. I said it back, which was also dishonest. I did have feelings for him, but they weren’t love. I was likely feeling attached. Nevertheless, months after John told me he loved me, I told John that I liked him and wanted more. (I don’t know what I could have wanted from him then. As I wrote earlier, I was probably more attached than anything. My unplanned roommate was also right; he was with other people. I wasn’t delusional and wanted to protect myself from potential pain. I thought us being together would protect my misguided feelings.) He said that he wasn’t in that headspace. I was hurt, but I understood. 

Soon after, I discovered that my unplanned roommate spent a night with John. I confronted her because she knew about John and me. She explained the (strange) circumstances to me, and we had a good conversation. It bothered (3) me, but I wasn’t mad at her. A few nights later, I discovered that John had been with another girl on my team about a month prior. That bothered me. I didn’t blame her; she was my friend, just as hurt and in the dark as I was. I don’t know what they talked about but she didn’t know about me. A couple of days later, we discovered he was with approximately seven other girls. They were all from different groups, so he likely thought that we would never know since we had never met, and our chances of meeting, let alone talking to one another about him, were slim. (Have you ever seen John Tucker Must Die?) Or maybe he didn’t think anything of it because no matter what, it wouldn’t be cheating. That was the last straw. None of us knew about one another because we all presumably kept it a secret in some capacity. None of us were in a relationship, so we didn’t “owe” each other anything… but why was it still painful? Everything was unraveling.

John came over to talk to my friend and me one morning. We all sat at my small, circular kitchen table. It was awkward, and the thick tension filled the room. I was emotionally exhausted; my demeanor was cold. John apologized when we confronted him (the second time’s the charm). He admitted that he was working through some personal issues that were the source of his behavior. I wasn’t buying it. I was too hurt and embarrassed. Now I understand that even if he wasn’t telling the truth at the time, in a way, he was because no one does that unless they are somehow wounded. I would know. When I looked at him, the charismatic person I once knew vanished. He seemed tired. He looked as hollow as I felt; his eyes were empty. What John did wasn’t cheating because, as far as I knew, he wasn’t in a relationship with anyone. “Technically,” he didn’t do anything wrong. All of the dating rules that I had heard disappeared from my mind. From that moment forward, I knew that what was more important than any rule that could draw the boundary between “right” and “wrong” was how the person you care about feels. In this instance, John and I didn’t care about one another; we (or I’ll speak for myself) just needed people to make us feel less empty.

As I examined the mess I was in senior year, I began to understand how my past actions hurt so many people. Unfortunately, I was the kind of person that needed to experience my behavior firsthand to know that it was hurtful. I was John in previous scenarios. I didn’t realize how bad that pattern was until I was a part of someone else’s. The first time I got an inkling of how wrong I was was when I cheated on my ex-boyfriend with John (a classic example of what goes around comes around). It wasn’t until I got “got” that I fully understood how I could never do anything like that again.

Months before this moment, when I was traveling in Australia, I was thinking about John and what our relationship would be like our senior year. We didn’t talk much that summer except when he wished me a happy birthday (I was ecstatic when I received that message). (I wasn’t delusional thinking we would be like lovebirds (4) senior year. Nonetheless, I assure you that I didn’t imagine all of this.) I knew then from his excessive drinking that John wasn’t the carefree, jovial character he portrayed himself as. I had seen a darkness in him that hadn’t impacted me yet. But subconsciously, I knew that it would come for me eventually. So I sat in the botanical gardens, pondering John’s puzzling nature while focusing on the lush green grass. 

“Everyone has a mother. Everyone out there is someone’s child. Imagine if the person you are thinking about was your child. What love and grace would you show them?”

The thought formed in my mind, and it calmed me.

John’s darkness was no different than mine. It wasn’t his darkness that I was waiting to catch up with me; it was my own. When I looked into John’s eyes across the kitchen table, I found myself in them.

It has always been easier for me to give grace to others than myself. Forgiving John was easy because there was nothing to forgive (6). Everyone fucks up, but he wasn’t even in the wrong. I was hurt by John, and I honor that painful experience. I don’t believe he intended to harm me. With time, having empathy for John was easy. If I were a mother, I imagine would tell my child the same thing. I imagine that I wouldn’t judge them or love them any less.

So why was it so hard for me to apply the same consciousness to myself?

I am deeply sorry for projecting everything onto you. None of this was ever about you; I was judging what I didn’t like about myself and take full responsibility for the part I played in our relationship. I am sorry for all of how I hurt my loved ones. I am my harshest critic; I carried a lot of guilt, regret, and shame from my past actions. From our time together, I have learned to have patience, compassion, and love for the darkest parts of myself. I can honor where I was coming from and that I was doing the best I could with what I knew at the time. You have challenged me to learn how to empathize deeper and hold space for the inherent multidimensionality of perspective.

Weirdly enough, even though the situation with John was an absolute nightmare, my unplanned roommate seemed to haunt me even more. I didn’t think about John much after we all graduated and moved on; that situation was cut and dry. Curiously, my roommates remained in my dream space for several years.

The dream always felt the same. It didn’t matter where we were or who else was there. They were always together in some capacity, and I was left out. Even though John was involved in the sticky web of relationships, he was never in the dream. It was always my two roommates, happily together with me on the outside.

Dreams are raw, honest, puzzling, challenging, revealing, unpredictable, uncontrollable, wild, and free. They are the candid, innate, kaleidoscopic compasses to navigate the complex emotions and dimensions of the human experience. Dreams are a gateway to our inner oracle. We are filled with infinite symbols and inner knowings that activate our endless, loving medicine. Dreams are the compassionate, wise, discerning, multidimensional mirrors and portals that allow us to be our own healers. As we interface and cultivate a relationship with our dreams, we interdimensionally develop deeper, richer relationships with ourselves, something greater than ourselves and the collective. Aligning with our inner oracles allows us to embody responsibility, integrity, and sovereignty as we continuously see ourselves for our radiant, dynamic spirits. Dreamscapes dismantle everything familiar. They transport us past duality into the unknown.

All of this being said, to this day, I don’t know what this dream means. That’s not entirely true. I have some ideas due to what I felt in the dream. Dreams are interesting because the most unexpected characters (7) and symbols can float throughout your subconscious for years while revealing endless wisdom. Every time I feel like I nail down a dream, it continuously reveals itself and reminds me how endlessly mysterious they are.

One of the main takeaways from the dream featuring my two roommates was that I needed to let go of any need for external validation. I was and am imperfect. Being imperfect doesn’t mean you deserve less love than the next person. I have always hated and criticized myself mercilessly for my imperfections (more on this in the following essay). 

I have always had a wound surrounding never being someone’s number one priority. This was primarily reflected in friendships. Even though John was with many other women, which I always suspected, I secretly liked when he told me he loved me because he made me feel special. I never felt special. 

But it wasn’t him in the dream. Something is compelling about those two women being the characters in that dream. Sure, it reflected a real-life situation because they were so much closer, but the feeling in the dream was so exaggerated in a difficult way to ignore. Imagine if John was in the dream. If he had been there in any capacity, I might have just chalked everything up to being upset that some guy I wanted didn’t want me in the way I wanted, which was far from the point. Moreover, my unplanned roommate was with John at one point, which was probably enough regarding symbolism. But somehow, he felt more like a supporting character to highlight her significance. The fact that she was somehow the most powerful symbol of this entire situation was captivating.

I primarily felt this feeling in friendships. My mom used to say never to hang out in threes because someone always felt left out. Naturally, I was always in a group of three girls. I never felt “chosen” or prioritized until my best friend from middle school. We were inseparable until one day, everything burned to the ground (perhaps another story for another time). Our roommate situation from years prior opened the wound, which was being reflected in my dreams. It was the same feeling dressed up as different characters in various settings. Issues with lovability and desirability aren’t just confined to romantic relationships; they can be found in all kinds of containers.

The wound of belonging (and, resultingly, desirability) is so profound for me. My unplanned roommate is one of the few people, if not the only person, that accurately captures this wound’s depth, nuance, and multidimensionality as a symbol. This is only the beginning of how she has been integral in my healing process (I am so thankful for you). You can only hold onto a wound for so long before it swallows you whole. I had hurt many of my ex-partners, been hurt by John, and probably self-sabotaged my way out of the incredible friendships I desired because I had done nothing to heal what was truly eating me up inside. One of the many things this dream has taught me is that if I want to create meaningful, healthy relationships, this part of me needs to die.

These metaphorical deaths can point to something beautiful. Sure, it feels safe to fit in and to be wanted by everyone. What if I was never meant to? What if that was okay? What if that was the most beautiful thing about me?

I love you.

College was the first time I began receiving more external validation that I was beautiful. My braces were off; I grew into my body; my hair was a bit longer and fuller; I traded my glasses for contacts; and what I wore was entirely up to me (finally!) (I know, super cliché). Oh, and I was in a more diverse setting, i.e., I wasn’t only being compared to the same picturesque white girl I was used to seeing everywhere. (I’m unsure how much this had to do with it, but something tells me that everyone in my hometown was only used to seeing one type of beauty while the people I was meeting in college came from at least slightly more diverse backgrounds, i.e., they were a tad more open to what a “beautiful” person could look like. I.e., it probably helped.) I reveled in all the compliments I wasn’t used to receiving. I was beginning to blossom. 

Even though I was blossoming on the outside, I was utterly hollow on the inside. I soaked up all the foreign adoration like a sponge because I didn’t know I was beautiful (like everyone else). At that point, I still needed other people to tell me. I didn’t understand that regardless of what our cultural consciousness reinforces, no one person is more or less anything than someone else. I had no sense of value; I had no intention or sense of self. I think that’s okay for where I was. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but it was okay. College is an opportunity for many people to begin exploring themselves and figuring that out. This exploration of self leaves room for people to reflect to you what you need to know about yourself. Although, depending on how you learn about your shadows, these lessons can feel brutal and unending.

John1 and I were on the same rowing team at university. John was charismatic, energetic, and hilarious. He was extremely likable and got along with pretty much everyone. He had an infectious energy that lit up every space he entered. He could make any situation fun (even fifteen-hour bus rides to regattas) and transform anything into a punchline in an effortlessly clever way. John was also attractive and flirtatious (a dangerous combination). I can’t recall anyone that disliked John. John’s persona was seemingly magnetic.

John was in a relationship for two years with a woman, a teammate, that I admired. Confident, savvy, and outspoken; she was who I wanted to be. She called out everyone on their b.s. and was the opposite of a people-pleaser. They broke up around my junior year due to negligible reasons. I don’t know if anyone thought of John “in that way” because he was in this devoted relationship for half his college career. She had just graduated that year but still lived in the area; I would see her infrequently. When they were no longer together, I am sure some were curious about what kind of girl John would wind up with next.

John started showing interest in me later that year. I can’t quite remember if it was “too soon” for him to begin looking around (whatever that means since everyone’s timing is different). It came to me as a surprise. I considered us friends because we were on the same team, and everyone on the team was a friend of mine. However, we weren’t the kind of people to hang out one-on-one or in smaller groups since we didn’t have much in common. The more and more I flirted with John, the more I realized that I didn’t know much about him. In college, I found that people ranged from telling you their deepest darkest secrets when they first meet you, e.g., “I have XYZ unresolved trauma from my childhood,” to completely clamming up when asked a more personal question. John was closer to the latter. He maintained an air of mystique. He revealed enough to bond because most friendships require some depth but not too much, you know? John somehow made everyone feel like he was his friend, but I’m not sure how many people knew him besides his ex-girlfriend. All I knew was that personality-wise, we didn’t share many similarities. Although, I’m not sure that’s how people find each other anyway.

(The more I reflect upon relationships of all kinds, e.g., friendships, romantic partnerships, work relationships, roommates, etc., the more I find that we find people based on what we need to learn about ourselves at any given time. There is a beautiful synchronicity to everything; nothing is a coincidence. It’s so fascinating to me. Regarding romantic relationships, sure, there is an element of physical attraction at play. Not everyone is attracted to everyone. The world would be a mess if everyone wanted to “get with” everyone. We have discernment; we have free will. How we choose people or how people come into our lives is multilayered. It has little to do with physical attraction and more with how we need to grow. It’s just a theory.)

When John and I began flirting with each other, it was fun. It seemed harmless because, if I had to guess, neither of us genuinely liked one other at the time. I didn’t even know enough about him to like him. Besides, he had just exited what seemed like a serious relationship, and I was freshly in a new one. (I know, I know.) Admittedly, there were so many problems with this. To keep it brief, my ex-current-boyfriend and I were giving our relationship another try while he was long-distance for a study abroad program. We kept it a secret until he got back. It may have been because we wanted to see if it would work out before we told anyone else to alleviate some pressure. It may have also been because I was an immature asshole that didn’t want anyone to know, so I could do what I wanted when I wanted without consequence. It was probably both.

Dating has become more and more nuanced since I was in college. I love listening to dating podcasts for that exact reason. What is “right” or “wrong” is wholly up to the people within the relationship container. I knew we had crossed the line well before most people would have said things got out of hand. I tried keeping myself in the moral grey area by saying that everything was okay because we hadn’t done anything yet. I had done this before. I had a habit of getting into relationships and, soon after, ending the relationship to get back into a vague situation-ship where we weren’t “officially” together but would keep it a secret. Make sense? It shouldn’t because it is a crazy, thoughtless, and yet calculated thing to do. It was all fine in my mind because I didn’t owe anyone anything as long as we weren’t in an “actual” relationship. I lived and died by the word “technically” even though I was a total hypocrite because I always knew that if you had to use the word “technically,” you were probably doing something wrong. I’m pretty sure I even said that out loud to other people. Even worse, I was in a relationship this time instead of some purposefully-undefined situation-ship I concocted. I was unempathetic and inconsiderate, no matter how I wanted to lie to myself and interpret my actions. I was simply in the wrong. If I had thought about my partner’s feelings for over thirty seconds, I would have understood how much this would have hurt him and stopped immediately. I was selfish and kept going until everything crashed my senior year.

Thank you for being one of the first people to highlight my intricate yet simple shadows. You showed me that even though we all have a shadow, that is no excuse to hurt others.

I first came clean to my partner during my junior year. (I lied and said that the person was random and didn’t tell him about John. I didn’t want anyone to know about him a) because I didn’t want to ruin the group dynamic; and b) deep down, I was ashamed even though I could barely admit that to myself.) We tried to work things out. By my senior year, we weren’t together anymore. We still liked each other enough, but too much had happened for us to be in a healthy relationship. I knew I was in the wrong for what I did but didn’t comprehend how much what I did hurt until much later. I continued exploring things with John (despite everything) because I was having fun and didn’t see the point in getting into a serious relationship my senior year. We weren’t anything close to a couple. It was amazing that even though we spent all those nights together, I didn’t know much about him, and he didn’t know much about me. I liked it that way because I knew deep down I couldn’t trust him. (That should have been a red flag, but what can you do? We all have to learn at some point.) Bottom line: I knew he probably didn’t care about me, so the less we knew about each other, the better. We kept it a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know, and neither did he. Everyone on the team was pretty close by the time we entered our final year of university. Even though I was relatively private compared to others on the team, they had witnessed enough of my relationships, so I just wanted to keep something that didn’t mean much to me to myself. Maintaining the guise that we were just friends like he was with everyone else on the team was easy. I didn’t spend extra time with him while the sun was up, so there was likely nothing to be suspicious of. I also try not to underestimate people, so I am sure someone at some point figured it out. However, in my mind, everything was fine.

I lived with two women during my senior year. One was my junior-year roommate; we got along well and decided to live together for our final year. My junior-year roommate’s inner and external beauty radiated. Her implicit kind, beautiful, secure, and graceful energy reminded me of a swan’s2; she glowed in my eyes. She grew up outside the States, which allowed her to have all these life experiences, leaving her more self-assured and mature than anyone I knew. She was dynamic and unassuming. Her perspective on life wasn’t anything unusual, but she was embodied, which was rare at our age. She was a natural and genuine humanitarian. (For someone like me who rarely thought about someone or anything larger than themselves, this left me in sheer awe. I had yet to discover this dimension of myself then, but she always inspired me by caring about the Earth and those who needed help. I knew that someday I wanted something I was passionate about that served something other than my self-interests. This was one of the most beautiful things about her, and I knew I wanted to be beautiful in that way, too). She was open but didn’t overshare. I also admired the way she treated other people. Everyone on the team was close, but that didn’t stop people from gossiping. She didn’t partake in that. She stayed above the fray and even brought a more calming presence to the group. My junior-year roommate was genuinely a lovely and confident free spirit. Everyone loved her, and I understood why. 

My other roommate was… unplanned. It’s common for housing situations to fall through when you are that age because so many things change frequently. What classes are you taking? Do you want an apartment closer to the majority of your classes? Do you have a bike? Do you want to live with this or a different group of friends? Would you rather avoid the drama and live by yourself? Do you want to live by your favorite cantina, a chicken shack, or Whole Foods? Living closer to your favorite banh-mi shop could be nice… I don’t know what series of events led her to live with my junior-year roommate and me, but we were all on the same rowing team, i.e., we were friendly enough, and we were all on the same sleeping schedule, which was the more important requirement to me for a roommate.

The main issue was: I didn’t like her. When she asked to live with us, I messaged my other friend immediately, dramatically stating that my senior year was over. “Justifiably,” the girl that wanted to live with us had a demeanor that rubbed some girls on the team the wrong way. I didn’t have the wherewithal to tell my junior-year roommate, the one I admired and was thrilled to live with, that I didn’t want to live with this other girl. I admired her because she was so loving and accepting; she instantly offered to start looking for three-bedroom apartments. Damn. The dream was over.

Let’s be honest; even though our personalities didn’t mesh, I didn’t like the unplanned roommate for two reasons: 1) I was jealous of her, and 2) I didn’t understand her. I knew I didn’t understand John fully either, but he was light and fun, so that was okay. I didn’t know anything about her, so I couldn’t begin to appreciate her for the beautiful woman she was. She just irritated me, which leads me back to reason number one: I was probably just jealous. Even though, beneath the surface, many girls were annoyed with her, all the guys wanted her. She was beautiful in a way that represented everything I wasn’t and couldn’t be. She vaguely reminded me of every picturesque girl I knew from high school (why does everything seem to go back to some stage of primary school?). She reminded me that no matter how I reinvented myself in college or how confident I seemed, that shadow followed me like a ghost.

More importantly: my other roommate, the girl I originally wanted to find a two-bedroom with, seemed to like her better. Writing this seems so juvenile because now I know friendships aren’t the same, which is good. Diversity in all kinds of relationships is beautiful and necessary. For example, not everyone can be your “best friend” (if that still exists). That would be so much energy to devote to your friends, which would be exhausting depending on how many you have. We all have friends for a reason, season, or lifetime. We don’t know which category they will fall into until we can look back further down the line. Nevertheless, at the time, this was hurtful. I don’t know how it happened, but they got significantly close to one another, which left me feeling like the third wheel. I felt unwanted but in a different way. This isn’t their fault; we don’t choose who we click with. It especially wasn’t their fault that I was so insecure. It was just hard to have that insecurity reflected upon me in a place that was supposed to be safe. Another reason why this hurt was because I had this massive girl crush on my junior-year roommate. She was incredible. I wanted to get to know her better and wanted her to like me, too. What did it say about me if she liked our other roommate better? Being left out sucked but feeling left out by someone I admired really stung.

During our time together, the unplanned roommate ended a long-term relationship that lasted about three years. She was self-proclaimed as lost for a while which was understandable. When it was time, she wanted to have fun before the year ended. Amidst all her exploration, she found herself in a love triangle with a different guy and a girl on the team. It isn’t necessary to get into all of the gory details (also, it would be difficult for me to remember them accurately anyway). It’s just so fascinating how multidimensional mirrors are. I vaguely remember that none were in a relationship, so no one “owed” anyone anything. Everyone knew what was happening (to some extent), but that didn’t stop people from getting hurt.

I continued to hang out with John. We only had about a month of school left, so I told my roommates about him. They were both surprised. The unplanned roommate warned me he could be a player (or whatever the modern equivalent of that word is). I assumed he was probably hanging out with other girls, which was fine. We weren’t in a relationship, so who was I to dictate who he could and couldn’t be with?

John drank a lot. In college, it is hard to distinguish who is just enjoying their time away from parental supervision and who may have a real issue with alcohol. I began to suspect that John may have been the latter3. The more we hung out other between the hours of one and four a.m., the more often alcohol was involved. I would take a shot here and there (probably because our situation was becoming uncomfortable in a way I wasn’t ready to admit to myself). We didn’t get super drunk when it was just us. When we were at parties with the rest of the team, I noticed John seemed to want to blackout. When we were alone, I tried probing a bit deeper to see if there was anything I could do. I wanted to see if there was something else going on. Ironically, we just weren’t close enough to open up to one another. I wanted to make sure he was okay, but I wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy with him (what?!). He opened up a bit sometimes but mostly shook it off. John’s drinking was my first glimpse into an unseen side of him; it was my reminder that I didn’t know him well at all.

It was no surprise to me that sometimes you can develop feelings when you give yourself to someone for several months. One night when we were together, he told me he loved me. His dark skin shone, almost glowing under the moonlight when he said it. I didn’t believe him. We still didn’t know much about each other, so he was either trying to mess with me or he felt something, but it certainly wasn’t love. The statement was disingenuous. I said it back, which was also dishonest. I did have feelings for him, but they weren’t love. I was likely feeling attached. Nevertheless, months after John told me he loved me, I told John that I liked him and wanted more. (I don’t know what I could have wanted from him then. As I wrote earlier, I was probably more attached than anything. My unplanned roommate was also right; he was with other people. I wasn’t delusional and wanted to protect myself from potential pain. I thought us being together would protect my misguided feelings.) He said that he wasn’t in that headspace. I was hurt, but I understood. 

Soon after, I discovered that my unplanned roommate spent a night with John. I confronted her because she knew about John and me. She explained the (strange) circumstances to me, and we had a good conversation. It bothered4 me, but I wasn’t mad at her. A few nights later, I discovered that John had been with another girl on my team about a month prior. That bothered me. I didn’t blame her; she was my friend, just as hurt and in the dark as I was. I don’t know what they talked about but she didn’t know about me. A couple of days later, we discovered he was with approximately seven other girls. They were all from different groups, so he likely thought that we would never know since we had never met, and our chances of meeting, let alone talking to one another about him, were slim. (Have you ever seen John Tucker Must Die?) Or maybe he didn’t think anything of it because no matter what, it wouldn’t be cheating. That was the last straw. None of us knew about one another because we all presumably kept it a secret in some capacity. None of us were in a relationship, so we didn’t “owe” each other anything… but why was it still painful? Everything was unraveling.

John came over to talk to my friend and me one morning. We all sat at my small, circular kitchen table. It was awkward, and the thick tension filled the room. I was emotionally exhausted; my demeanor was cold. John apologized when we confronted him (the second time’s the charm). He admitted that he was working through some personal issues that were the source of his behavior. I wasn’t buying it. I was too hurt and embarrassed. Now I understand that even if he wasn’t telling the truth at the time, in a way, he was because no one does that unless they are somehow wounded. I would know. When I looked at him, the charismatic person I once knew vanished. He seemed tired. He looked as hollow as I felt; his eyes were empty. What John did wasn’t cheating because, as far as I knew, he wasn’t in a relationship with anyone. “Technically,” he didn’t do anything wrong. All of the dating rules that I had heard disappeared from my mind. From that moment forward, I knew that what was more important than any rule that could draw the boundary between “right” and “wrong” was how the person you care about feels. In this instance, John and I didn’t care about one another; we (or I’ll speak for myself) just needed people to make us feel less empty.

As I examined the mess I was in senior year, I began to understand how my past actions hurt so many people. Unfortunately, I was the kind of person that needed to experience my behavior firsthand to know that it was hurtful. I was John in previous scenarios. I didn’t realize how bad that pattern was until I was a part of someone else’s. The first time I got an inkling of how wrong I was was when I cheated on my ex-boyfriend with John (a classic example of what goes around comes around). It wasn’t until I got “got” that I fully understood how I could never do anything like that again.

Months before this moment, when I was traveling in Australia, I was thinking about John and what our relationship would be like our senior year. We didn’t talk much that summer except when he wished me a happy birthday (I was ecstatic when I received that message). (I wasn’t delusional thinking we would be like lovebirds5 senior year. Nonetheless, I assure you that I didn’t imagine all of this.) I knew then from his excessive drinking that John wasn’t the carefree, jovial character he portrayed himself as. I had seen a darkness in him that hadn’t impacted me yet. But subconsciously, I knew that it would come for me eventually. So I sat in the botanical gardens, pondering John’s puzzling nature while focusing on the lush green grass. 

“Everyone has a mother. Everyone out there is someone’s child. Imagine if the person you are thinking about was your child. What love and grace would you show them?”

The thought formed in my mind, and it calmed me.

John’s darkness was no different than mine. It wasn’t his darkness that I was waiting to catch up with me; it was my own. When I looked into John’s eyes across the kitchen table, I found myself in them.

It has always been easier for me to give grace to others than myself. Forgiving John was easy because there was nothing to forgive6. Everyone fucks up, but he wasn’t even in the wrong. I was hurt by John, and I honor that painful experience. I don’t believe he intended to harm me. With time, having empathy for John was easy. If I were a mother, I imagine would tell my child the same thing. I imagine that I wouldn’t judge them or love them any less.

So why was it so hard for me to apply the same consciousness to myself?

I am deeply sorry for projecting everything onto you. None of this was ever about you; I was judging what I didn’t like about myself and take full responsibility for the part I played in our relationship. I am sorry for all of how I hurt my loved ones. I am my harshest critic; I carried a lot of guilt, regret, and shame from my past actions. From our time together, I have learned to have patience, compassion, and love for the darkest parts of myself. I can honor where I was coming from and that I was doing the best I could with what I knew at the time. You have challenged me to learn how to empathize deeper and hold space for the inherent multidimensionality of perspective.

Weirdly enough, even though the situation with John was an absolute nightmare, my unplanned roommate seemed to haunt me even more. I didn’t think about John much after we all graduated and moved on; that situation was cut and dry. Curiously, my roommates remained in my dream space for several years.

The dream always felt the same. It didn’t matter where we were or who else was there. They were always together in some capacity, and I was left out. Even though John was involved in the sticky web of relationships, he was never in the dream. It was always my two roommates, happily together with me on the outside.

Dreams are raw, honest, puzzling, challenging, revealing, unpredictable, uncontrollable, wild, and free. They are the candid, innate, kaleidoscopic compasses to navigate the complex emotions and dimensions of the human experience. Dreams are a gateway to our inner oracle. We are filled with infinite symbols and inner knowings that activate our endless, loving medicine. Dreams are the compassionate, wise, discerning, multidimensional mirrors and portals that allow us to be our own healers. As we interface and cultivate a relationship with our dreams, we interdimensionally develop deeper, richer relationships with ourselves, something greater than ourselves and the collective. Aligning with our inner oracles allows us to embody responsibility, integrity, and sovereignty as we continuously see ourselves for our radiant, dynamic spirits. Dreamscapes dismantle everything familiar. They transport us past duality into the unknown.

All of this being said, to this day, I don’t know what this dream means. That’s not entirely true. I have some ideas due to what I felt in the dream. Dreams are interesting because the most unexpected characters7 and symbols can float throughout your subconscious for years while revealing endless wisdom. Every time I feel like I nail down a dream, it continuously reveals itself and reminds me how endlessly mysterious they are.

One of the main takeaways from the dream featuring my two roommates was that I needed to let go of any need for external validation. I was and am imperfect. Being imperfect doesn’t mean you deserve less love than the next person. I have always hated and criticized myself mercilessly for my imperfections (more on this in the following essay). 

I have always had a wound surrounding never being someone’s number one priority. This was primarily reflected in friendships. Even though John was with many other women, which I always suspected, I secretly liked when he told me he loved me because he made me feel special. I never felt special. 

But it wasn’t him in the dream. Something is compelling about those two women being the characters in that dream. Sure, it reflected a real-life situation because they were so much closer, but the feeling in the dream was so exaggerated in a difficult way to ignore. Imagine if John was in the dream. If he had been there in any capacity, I might have just chalked everything up to being upset that some guy I wanted didn’t want me in the way I wanted, which was far from the point. Moreover, my unplanned roommate was with John at one point, which was probably enough regarding symbolism. But somehow, he felt more like a supporting character to highlight her significance. The fact that she was somehow the most powerful symbol of this entire situation was captivating.

I primarily felt this feeling in friendships. My mom used to say never to hang out in threes because someone always felt left out. Naturally, I was always in a group of three girls. I never felt “chosen” or prioritized until my best friend from middle school. We were inseparable until one day, everything burned to the ground (perhaps another story for another time). Our roommate situation from years prior opened the wound, which was being reflected in my dreams. It was the same feeling dressed up as different characters in various settings. Issues with lovability and desirability aren’t just confined to romantic relationships; they can be found in all kinds of containers.

The wound of belonging (and, resultingly, desirability) is so profound for me. My unplanned roommate is one of the few people, if not the only person, that accurately captures this wound’s depth, nuance, and multidimensionality as a symbol. This is only the beginning of how she has been integral in my healing process (I am so thankful for you). You can only hold onto a wound for so long before it swallows you whole. I had hurt many of my ex-partners, been hurt by John, and probably self-sabotaged my way out of the incredible friendships I desired because I had done nothing to heal what was truly eating me up inside. One of the many things this dream has taught me is that if I want to create meaningful, healthy relationships, this part of me needs to die.

These metaphorical deaths can point to something beautiful. Sure, it feels safe to fit in and to be wanted by everyone. What if I was never meant to? What if that was okay? What if that was the most beautiful thing about me?

I love you.

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(1) Disclaimer: Anything I write about anyone in my essays results from my subjective, human, and imperfect perspective. None of my essays aim to portray anyone negatively; that would be unfair, as this is my side of the story. I do not claim 100% accuracy of anything but my perspective, mainly because I have not had contact with some mentioned people in several years. We all grow and change.

(2) Lovebirds and swans mate for life.

(3) Disclaimer: I am not an expert on alcohol use, nor am I attempting to diagnose anyone. That would be wrong and misleading. These are purely my own observations and perspectives on a past situation. This says nothing about who he is now, as I have not had any contact with him for several years.

(4) This essay is long enough, but I would be remiss if I didn’t address the underlying impersonal dynamic of this interaction between John and my unplanned roommate. In this collection of essays, I discuss what it is like being a black woman in America who continuously attempts to fit into an impenetrable beauty norm perpetuated by the white male gaze. That in itself is complex enough. When you bring the black male gaze into the conversation, there is even more complexity to navigate. 

Cultural beauty standards aren’t universal; they evolve and change throughout time and in various spaces. For example, there are time periods and countries where a fuller figure is celebrated. Black Culture has its host of rules that define what is desirable. Some of those rules diametrically oppose what is considered desirable according to the white beauty standard. For instance, to keep it simple, Black Culture is more apt to celebrate fuller, curvier figures than White Culture which considers thinness the beauty standard. So as a black woman, what standard do you want to appeal to? How does one reflect the duality of beauty?

There is another conversation regarding black men “choosing white women over black women.” Look, in an ideal world, everyone would be able to a) individually decide what they authentically desire and b) pursue those authentic desires without all of these complications, and that would be the end of the story. We don’t live in an ideal world. It was subconsciously damaging to see the black man I was with choose a white woman in less-than-ideal circumstances. I wish that that wasn’t a thing, but it is. Not only that, but my unplanned roommate somehow managed to be desirable within both gazes (from my admittedly immature perspective, I subconsciously wondered how this was possible). It wasn’t personal, and neither of them intentionally tried to hurt me that way (that would be unfathomable considering the numerous, nuanced intricacies), but it still had an impact. I am grateful for that experience because if I hadn’t lived through it, I don’t know that I would have had the glimpse that I do into these complex cultural dynamics. (Please note that I am not a cultural expert; the following observations and oversimplifications are my speculations.) There is probably some unspoken thing where if a black man has a white woman as a partner, that says something positive about him. Furthermore, for black men to benefit from the white beauty standard, black women must do their part by internalizing it so that if they do have a black female partner, it will reflect positively on them.

Tressie McMillan Cottom, the author of Thick, describes phenomenally how black women must try to achieve the paradox of white beauty while simultaneously cultivating its counter-paradox for black men to reap the benefits of choice between different potential racial partners. For a more professional perspective, check out her book.

(5) Refer to the second footnote.

(6) I don’t use the word “forgiveness” often because it usually implies that someone was in the “right” and the other person was in the “wrong” when perspective and truth are fluid. That is not an excuse to run around wreaking havoc on unsuspecting people. This word can lock people into polarity if not used carefully, possibly preventing movement and growth. There is nothing to “forgive” because we all do our best with what we know and the tools we are given. It doesn’t mean we didn’t cause pain, and it should not be used as an excuse. Most of the time, we miss that people act with what they believe are the best intentions, further separating us from understanding one another. That is something I want to change.

(7) The term “characters” refers to different people that appear in the dream. You may or may not recognize these people from your waking life. Instead, they act as powerful symbols and mirrors for hidden aspects of ourselves.