THE DREAM'S JUST DOING ITS JOB
You say you want to become a writer. Or a singer. Or to find love. Or start a business.
You dream that once it happens, you’ll finally feel happy. Settled. Whole.
But something else starts to happen along the way…
Doubts arise.
Old wounds open.
Your system starts to shake.
(Per usual, I’m talking about myself.)
If you’re not careful, you might think you’re failing.
Because all of this stuff that comes up feels like blockage.
You might begin to doubt yourself—or your alignment.
But what if the dream is just doing its job?
What if it’s meant to shake loose everything in you that cannot come with it?
People often talk about becoming the “best version” of themselves.
But I personally find that phrase rather slippery.
Because in a culture that measures “best” through productivity, wealth, success, and external beauty, it’s so easy for this “best version” to become an outward shell—if not a performance.
“My best self makes seven figures.”
“My best self always glows with gratitude.”
“My best self never doubts herself.”
But really?
What if your best self isn’t something you earn?
What if your truest self is beyond what you’ve been able to imagine for yourself?
Because, after all, you can’t imagine anything beyond the limits of your current imagination.
Lately, I’m discovering in real time that my dream is not just a goal or a destination.
More accurately, I’ve come to see it as an activator.
Or—one might even say—an agitator.
My dream has been pulling up everything in my body, nervous system, and lineage that isn’t compatible with the future I’m hoping for. Or, “all the crap,” as I’ve been calling it.
And oh, my God, it’s been hard.
My only saving grace is that at least I know…
it’s not here to punish me.
It’s here to prepare me—for my next self.
Just in case you relate, here are a few examples of my personal “all the crap”:
1. Belonging wounds
“Do I belong in the global arena?”
A dream of expansion stirs the parts of me still seeking permission to be fully visible—especially in spaces where I’m no longer the quiet, careful one.
2. Fear of backlash
The fear of being misunderstood, rejected, or shamed—especially by wider, more vocal audiences.
“What if they come for me?”
3. Grief and unresolved loss
The weight of my husband's absence. The longing for shared joy.
The ache of dreaming big in a new chapter he isn’t physically part of.
(Maybe that’s even survivor’s guilt?)
4. Identity shifts
I’m not just changing careers—I’m changing who I’ve known myself to be.
That expansion is gorgeous … and destabilizing.
It can also feel like I’m “leaving” my current audience. A minor sense of betrayal.
Even though I know that’s not true, the feeling still comes up.
5. Good old self-doubt
The idea that this will happen—based on what?
My hunch? My desire?
Just because I think I've done everything in my power to make it happen … does that mean it will?
Trusting when there’s no proof yet is impossibly hard—especially for those of us who have a complicated relationship with the G word—God.
I much prefer the suggestion that intuitive and author Laura Day makes:
Instead of trying to make yourself trust, "see if you can suspend disbelief," she says.
It’s hard, hard work.
But I do have to admit—there’s a sliver in my heart, way back there somewhere,
that is in fact delighting in the truth that my dream is not my finish line.
Something about letting the dream be what calls me forward—not the end—feels so right.
And that’s why lately, I’m beginning to wonder…
Maybe my best self isn’t the one who’s attained “it all.”
But the one who dares to let it all surface along the way—
and stays for the ride.