When Dreams get dented

You know the old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”  You also know what a load of you-know-what that really is.  Hurtful words carry with them wounds that take a lot longer than sticks and stones would create.  Especially words that on the surface sound kind and helpful.  Those are the ones that leave the deepest wounds, because they come from someone you were supposed to be able to trust.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of dancing.  That was not to be a reality for me.  But I could sew.  And I could learn to sew for dancers.  I would dance in the tulle and sequins that others wore instead of on my own two feet.  I got to live that dream for a few years.  Until it became a nightmare.

Complete betrayal. To be told one moment that you’re the best thing since sliced bread then suddenly being called crazy and unreasonable and inept behind your back.   Humiliating you in front of others in the room.  To be publicly given credit for work you have done, then denied that credit only months later.

I am living a new dream now.  Well, an old dream really.  And I can think of nothing I want more.  It has nothing to do with what came before this, and fills my heart to overflowing.

The nightmare still lurks in the shadows, especially at this time of year. What should be sparkly and light and magical has become sad and dark.  It’ll be redeemed soon, though.  I am dancing in fabric again.  Not as sparkly or as heavy with the tulle as before, but even more beautiful.  This time, there is a deeper meaning, a purpose beyond making money or simply entertaining the masses.  I’ve retained my integrity and the confidence that I am definitely not crazy, and I definitely am good at what I can do.  I can’t think of anything better.

So I am still hammering things out, with the help of the people I can really trust.  Someday, you’ll barely be able to tell there was even a dent, and I’ll be even stronger for it.


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