This morning, the nightmares woke me up right on schedule: 5:39 am. 

I've had inescapable nightmares for at least the past two years. It's potentially been longer than that; I just can't remember. Up until a few months ago, I was able to blame them on overwork and the stress of my constantly shifting life.

But now... now that isn't so much the case. From the outside, my life is calmer than most these days. I work from home or my new quiet office nearly every day. My husband is working on building us a tiny house before he goes back to school in the fall. The baby that's brewing in my belly is healthy and growing stronger every day. I'm diving deeply into my connection to my Sami spirit guides, with beautiful revelations coming on a regular basis. I'm mobile, active, and all in all, I'm pretty damn happy.

Yet something was revealed to me in ceremony last night that I should be doing -- writing. I've pushed my writing away with lots of seemingly rational excuses. "I just don't have the energy." "There's so much else happening that I need to do first." "But I need to spend that energy figuring out how to get our business off the ground." 

So, when I hit the snooze button on my 5:30 am alarm, the guides said, "Oh no you don't! We told you..." and gave me the most vivid, terrifying, and instantaneous nightmare I've had in a long time.

"Okay, okay! I'm up, I'm up!"

This morning, I finally wrote, and it became clear to me why I've been avoiding writing.

To be honest with you, I've been afraid of being seen.

That may sound counterintuitive coming from a person who has run at least one solopreneur business since she was 22. But here I am, at 30, and I can finally admit: I've been afraid of being seen since I stopped traveling when I was 27 years old.

You see, I never thought I'd get this far.

I have been listening to Sylvan Esso's Die Young for weeks. It just resonates so deeply, and I can't get enough. (Funny how that didn't tip me off to this whole thing...) Like Amelia sings,

I had it all planned out

Before you met me

Was gonna leave early

And so swiftly

Maybe in a fire

A crash off a ravine

People would weep

How tragic, so early

I was gonna die young

I wasn't supposed to reach 30. I wasn't supposed to find a quiet yet sweet love. I wasn't supposed to get married (again). And I definitely wasn't supposed to have a baby.

At 24, I was a rushing whirlwind, traveling around the world, meeting people, volunteering my time and skills as an artist anywhere I could. I was living at breakneck speed. I fell in love hard (and often) and moved on quickly. I optimistically took on more projects than I could ever have time to finish. I didn't really consider money; if I had enough money to pay bills for the month, that was plenty. Any extra cash was put toward plane or bus tickets. 

At the time, that was all I could ever see myself doing, all I could ever seeing myself being: a flit of light, and then I was gone. 

Putting down roots terrified me. There was so much to see and do. And whenever I had put down roots in the past, my spirit was swiftly drained and dried to a husk.

That was my calling. To live on the wind, until I didn't live anymore.

And given the pace I was going, I was going to be kidnapped and sold or killed in a motorcycle accident in the outskirts of a shanty town. And that was all just fine. 

But then, I totally and completely ran out of cash. My body began to physically break down. I was emaciated and exhausted. I convinced myself I would go home just long enough to build up my reserves, and then I would go back out on the road. 

But then, I didn't. I fell in love with yoga. I fell in love with helping people by placing my hands on the places that hurt and somehow magically releasing the pain. I fell in love with listening to my body. 

When an on-again-off-again relationship finally (and painfully) dissolved, I began to notice new things about myself. I was stronger than I ever thought I could have been. I had actually learned a few life lessons.

I actually had something to offer to the world besides just being bright-and-shiny.

But I didn't know how to behave in that knowledge. So I hid.

I hid my skills. I would whisper my dreams into the night and convince myself that was enough. I would say that I wanted to do energy healing full time, but internally, my spirit was screaming, "NO! They will all think you are full of yourself! Who are YOU to tell anyone about health or healing or wholeness? They will think you are crazy! Because you ARE crazy!"

My inner critic undercut every attempt to step out into the light.

I hid out in soul-sucking "day jobs" which I convinced myself were just to "pay the bills". Nah, they were just so I could keep hiding. 

All the hiding ate away at me. It made it hard for me to have friends. It made it hard for me to even know who I was anymore. It made me oh so tired. And all that made me want to hide even more.

When I met my husband, he saw me. Instantaneously. If you ask him how we met, he will gush that he fell in love with my kneecap the moment I stepped around a corner. Over the whirlwind of our relationship (dating for only three months before getting married, married for only six weeks before getting pregnant), the reason I have been able to let go and trust that this is healthy and right (rather than crazy) is because he truly sees every part of me. And in seeing me, he has taught me how to see every part of myself. Even when it is scary, and even when I don't like what I see, I can't hide from him. And now I can no longer hide from myself.

It became so clear this morning that these nightmares have been the result of suppressing what I have been called to do.

I've been called to come out of hiding.

I've been called to tell my story. I've been called to step out and share what is being revealed to me in meditation.

I've been called to write about how our world works, about how we heal our bodies, and about how we can best love each other. 

So. Um. I guess I'll be doing that.

I'm terrified, but really anything is better than these crazy ass nightmares. 

So here goes...

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