Bad Dream/Good Dream

This morning I had a dream. It was not a good dream. It made me realize some fears linger long after the reality is gone.

I dreamed I went to my usual counseling appointment. When I got there a different person called me into the office. It was a man I'd never met before. I asked where my  regular counselor was, and he gave a really lame excuse. Add to that my mother and sister were waiting in the room for me. 

I asked the counselor if he'd read my file, or if I needed to give him a little background. The whole time I'm thinking this is pointless, and why are they here. He "assured" me that he was familiar with my "case". 

The other people in the room began talking and he was nodding his head in agreement with them. Other people began to filter into the room putting in their two cents worth. No one was talking to me or had in interest in listening to me.

And then it happened. The counselor announced that I had made everything up. It was all in my head -- all the abuse, all the struggles to deal with the abuse. He validated the people in the room who had hurt me the most, and just kept telling me I was wrong.

But here is the good part. I stood up and yelled at them all. I began to recount episodes in detail, asking how I could have made that up. I reminded them of validation they had provided about details. I asked them why I would have done this to myself for all this time? What is my motivation? Why do I have physical pain in areas that were harmed by the abuse? 

And then I turned on my heel and walked out. I didn't consider for one moment that this new counselor was right. I knew he was wrong. I was angry and sad that he was giving the nay-sayers what they wanted to hear, but I knew he was wrong.

And that was the gift from the bad dream. In the past I would have waked up worrying that this new person was right -- that he had some knowledge that no one else has had. 

Redemption is about recovering something. I recovered a little bit of my self-worth in that dream. A little more faith in myself.

Maybe it was a good dream after all.

linking up with imperfect prose on thursdays