An Old Recurring Dream

A friend had shared one of his cartoons this morning, that I somehow missed.

I was so moved by the cartoon and his commentary, that I wrote him this note, and I wanted to share it here: 

I don’t know how I missed this post, originally, but a friend just shared it, and I gasped. I feel it so deeply, I wanted to write to you, personally, and not hijack your post.
I think the best way to describe this to you is to tell you about a series of dreams I had over the course of my marriage and deconstruction:
I frequently dreamed that I was in a house in which I didn’t feel safe. I never really knew what the threat was, but I was disgusted and afraid. The house was always filthy, with animal excrement and garbage everywhere. I would often find corners or closets to stand in, just so nothing could sneak up behind me. There was a fear of being “discovered.”
I always woke from these dreams feeling ill at ease. No threat ever presented itself. I just wasn’t comfortable and this was my home.
As I have mentioned before, my husband was not a churchgoing man, nor was he particularly religious. But he loved the “sweet little innocent virgin Christian 16-year old” I’d been when we met. I was never permitted to evolve from that, partly because of his expectations, and partly because of what my church community had taught me. For heaven’s sake, my name at birth was “Virginia.” 🤦‍♀️
The whole process was very painful, but when the smoke cleared, my recurring dream changed. I began to dream that I was in an enormous old manor. It was dusty and there were ghosts, but I wasn’t afraid. I was excited to explore it. There were winding staircases and secret passages and compartments. I would wake from these dreams excited about the adventures and treasures ahead of me.
I wish I could draw like you. Thank you so much for using your gift to minister to those for whom name brand Christianity no longer satisfies. 💝💝