And I'm Amish

So, I figured out my dream. The one where I morphed into an Amish person and had really horrible teeth. It’s funny because it sounds really normal when I say it but the reaction I’ve gotten from other people has been the following:  crickets, a gaping mouth, or a furrowed brow. 

I woke up from this dream and went directly into my 9th grade class. For some reason, I felt the need to share my experience with them.

“Hi guys. Before we start, can I just tell you that I just woke up from a dream where I morphed into an Amish person?”

Nothing. No response. Beyond awkward. I don’t know what I was expecting.  Someone else to jump up and say,

“Oh, I had that dream too!”

I was looking for validation but felt even more freakish than I did in the dream.

(In my dream) I’m standing in a public restroom in front of a huge square mirror.  And I’m looking at myself and the way I look is very similar to how I looked when I was 14. 

(Out of my dream) At 14, I had yet to figure out how to fully embrace my naturally curly hair so I was using this mousse that made it both frizzy and crunchy simultaneously. I had started wearing makeup a few months earlier, taught to me by my cousin Joyce who worked for Clinique. I suppose it helped a tad but I was still just horrendously awkward. And it was the eighties so lavender eyelids and matching eyeliner was in style. I was short.  So short that we weren’t sure if I was going to make it to five feet! You know how they take class photos and line you up according to height? Well, I was always last. Oh, and I had braces…for the second time. Luckily my acne didn’t kick in until I was 17. 14 was also the time when I hid in the bathroom stall every day for a week because I didn’t want to go to my French class. I knew other kids ditched classes but I didn’t know how to do it. So I sat on top of the toilet and watched my classmates walk in and out of the bathroom through the slender crack in the stall door. I was miserable. Paralyzingly shy and socially uncomfortable.

(In my dream) I’m somehow aware that I’ve morphed into an Amish person and the giveaway is that my teeth are completely fucked up. Having watched the reality show Breaking Amish a few months ago, I learned that the Amish have notoriously bad teeth that often need to be removed and replaced with dentures. But the dentures I have in the dream are like an extreme version of Austin Powers’ teeth.  And the primary emotion that I’m feeling is complete horror and fear. I don’t want to be seen by anyone. I want to become invisible because I’m so hideous. And people keep trying to come into the restroom and when they see me, they start laughing.

So, I start thinking about what had happened in my life recently. I’m on a mission to figure out what the hell this means.

See, I take my dreams very seriously. With both of my parents being therapists, I grew up dissecting and interpreting dreams and I’m usually pretty good at figuring this shit out but this Amish thing, well, it’s got me a bit stumped.

I just saw my therapist, the one who falls asleep in our sessions. And I was good! I mean, for the first time in a while, I left 15 minutes early! Not because she was nodding off but because I seemed to be in a fairly healthy place. But now I’m not so sure. 

I’m used to the frustration dreams. You know, the ones when you just can’t seem to walk properly or when you’re trying to call someone and the phone or your fingers just won’t work properly? Those I’m overtly familiar with.

And then it hits me. Five days after the dream, I know what happened. The night before the dream, I had attended a Parent Potluck. These are the kinds of social situations I dread. I feel awkward, uncomfortable, and wish I could crawl underneath the ground. And I couldn’t drink because it was a school event. I mean, I could’ve but I was afraid I would go from one extreme to another. I could either be completely mute or sloppy, obnoxious, and tripping over myself. I clung to my colleague who also suffers from acute shyness and waited it out. It was painful and exhausting and apparently tapped into my 14 year old self. The freaked out, ugly, displaced 14 year old who hid in the bathroom.

“I figured out my Amish dream!” I told my husband.

And I proceeded to tell him, both of us relating and connecting with the story. And I felt this huge sense of relief. Finally, I understood what it all meant. It’s amazing to me…these wounds that we carry in our subconscious. At 43, I’m still 14.

“But why were you Amish?” He asked.

“Remember in Breaking Amish when they would go out in public and everyone would stare at them like they were aliens? That’s how I felt growing up. I felt like I was abnormal, like something was wrong with me, like I didn’t belong.”

“Wow…that’s deep.” He said.

And it is deep. In a way, I’m glad that I can still be reminded of who I am at my very core. As an adult, I continue to navigate my way through life, anxiety and fear still being lugged around in my backpack of experiences. This is who I am and I’m starting to now appreciate the flaws. Wow, I never thought I’d say that.