The Dream That Spoke Louder Than I Did

Dear Gabrielle,

Last night, I had a dream so vivid it has stayed with me all day. I was in a classroom—my usual place, front row, prepared, textbooks in order. I’m always the student who tries, who shows up, who wants to be ready. But this time, something was different.

We were expecting a guest. Not just any guest—someone I had been dreaming of, someone powerful. A big fish. The kind of person you hope to impress, the kind of presence that makes you want to sit up straighter and be your best self.

But just as I’m preparing for this moment, I find myself moved to the very back of the class. From front and ready to far and hidden!! Unbelievable. Unacceptable. Unhaveable.

I share a desk with two others, and we make the decision to move back up front—right next to the door where we can be seen. Where I can be seen.

My Insecurities Show Up

As we move, I suddenly realize: I’m not wearing a bra. I panic! I only have time to wear it on one side. The other breast stays unsupported. My real-life insecurity—the size and sag of my body—floods my mind. I hesitate, thinking about my fallen soldiers! But then I talk myself down. “It’s not that bad,” I think. And as if by magic, it isn’t. The unsupported breast’s nipple levels up.

We make it to the front, but the desks are different now. Each of us has our own. Mine is the smallest and the lowest. The others sit just a bit higher, just a bit better. The symbolism didn’t escape me even in sleep.

When we finally begin reading, I realize my textbook is missing. I remember one of our friends visiting during the move. My desk mate accuses her of taking it. She denies it, but I’m left empty-handed, needing to share. It feels awkward. The height difference between our desks makes me feel smaller—physically and symbolically—when all I want is to stand out.

I try anyway. I read the loudest, answer questions the fastest. I try to make my voice bigger than my desk, bigger than my insecurity. I want to shine. I want the guest to see me.

I don’t remember how the dream ends. Like most dreams, it slowly morphed into something else. But this one left a mark.

Reflections
Gabrielle, this dream feels like a mirror of my current life—my hopes, my fears, my desire to be seen, respected, valued. I feel ready to shine, but I’m constantly placed at the back. Just like in the dream, I try to move forward. I make choices, take risks. But something always makes me feel “less than.”

Still, I show up. Even if one side of me feels unfinished or imperfect, I show up. Even if I’m seated lower than the rest, I raise my voice. Even without the textbook, I try to read louder.

Maybe the lesson is this: The value isn’t in where I sit or what I lack, but in how I show up anyway.
Even dreams can remind us that our determination doesn’t go unnoticed. Even if it feels like no one sees us yet—we see ourselves. And that’s a start.

With love.