I have a recurring dream when stress peaks in my life. I am in an unknown building. I look outside the window to find dozens of tornadoes churning silently on the ground, moving wildly in all directions – some far away, some mere blocks from where I am standing, frozen and unable to look away, awed by their number and unpredictable movements. I am with strangers, and I am always the first to see the cyclones. I alert the group with me, and we run. I lead the way, as we wind deeper and deeper into the building, lower and lower.
I am all at once lost, yet somehow know the way.
We run as far as we can go into the darkness of a closet or under the bottom slope of a stairwell. We huddle together tightly and wait. I feel the tremor of impact. And wake up.
A quick Google search of “tornado dream” returns analysis ranging from fear, to lack of control, to destructive behavior. And I would tend to agree. I had a tornado dream last night, but this time, it was different. And I think I know why.
This time, I am in a house. I look outside the window and see a tornado so massive I can’t see its sides. It is less than 100 yards away, gray and gruesome, and packed with debris. I turn to the people inside. There are maybe 10 of us, all told. This time I recognize a few faces among the group. My summer intern and my parents. The others are strangers. I tell them about the tornado, and we begin our journey downward. We descend what must be three or four stories, with smooth, sloping floors and wide circular hallways. It gets darker and darker the lower we get. I find an underground room with a slanted back wall that goes all the way to the floor. We huddle together, me on top with my arms over everyone, and my face looking down on the web of arms.
This time it is silent, except for my mom’s voice as she counts slowly and steadily – a habit she does in real life to get through something she fears. I remember her doing this when I was a child as we drove over tall bridges or when I begged her to ride the freefall with me at Six Flags.
I feel the tornado begin to lift the house. It is surprisingly peaceful. I recall that it felt much like when a plane takes off, but it was silent. When Mom reaches the count of 10, the house sits softly back on the ground. We walk outside. It is now damp and dark. The storm has subsided. I say to my intern that I have always been afraid of tornadoes, but that we survived and I have conquered my fear. She smiles. I wake up.
Yes, there is stress going on in my life, but I am now dealing with it differently. I am learning to stand on the proverbial shore, rather than getting swept up in the current. My parents and my intern represent those that I feel are most vulnerable right now, that I feel most protective of as they navigate current situations. I still have a lot to learn about overcoming my anxiety demons, but I have come a long (long) way, and I believe last night’s dream was confirmation of my hard-won progress.
I am grateful and encouraged to continue this path of healthy growth, and to continue swimming toward those sharks.
swimming toward the shark 