Tornado Dreams, ACOA stuff....feedback?
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Join Date: Feb 2007
Posts: 126
Tornado Dreams, ACOA stuff....feedback?
Hi all, I found this very interesting and wanted to share.
Heres some background info: I am an ACOA in recovery. I am actively working my recovery process, and I am also a full time grad student in (humanistic) clinical psychology. I am also currently writing my thesis on the qualitative experiences of adult-children of alcoholic and/or dysfunctional families.
A night last week I dreamed of a tornado. I often have dreams like this, but figured, living in the midwest, this is really the only natural disaster we have to fear--so it must of made its way into my dreams.
Coincidentally, in grad school classes last week, we learned/practiced a method of dream analysis which involves free association and discovering meanings within dreams--relative to each individual, of course.
Then, maybe NOT so coincidentally, my therapist says to me yesterday (regarding my struggles in ACOA recovery), "Its like a tornado."
Last night I had another tornado dream.
This morning I took my dreams, and began to think about what they may mean--how I felt in them, etc. And before I knew it I was creating a poem in my head. I just wrote it down and wanted to share. I am thinking of putting it in my thesis.
I would like feedback on if it relates/makes sense to anyone?
Thanks :o)
Much love,
Stephanie
The Storm
It was a long windy road ahead.
Along the sides, fish out of water, frantically splashing in small gutter streams, clinging for life.
Turtles in their shells roll down the street, helplessly glaring, out of control. Loss of direction, being carried by the storm.
A tornado looms ahead, bringing fear, threatening the only life I know.
I look for cover in the old, familiar, aging house to my right.
Around back, it provides only a miniature place to hide in the ground. It is lined of rigid cement, it is tiny, and there is no room to move. It is filling with water. The discomfort of the water-filled hole seems less frightening than the looming storm.
My father and a child have already taken cover here, hidden. There is no room for me here, but I do not mind, and I do not fight.
It is okay for him to hide here. I will find somewhere else, somewhere less secure.
I leave him, his face expressionless, and he looks unafraid. But he must be? As he is hiding too.
I fearfully look inside the tattered house, and find a familiar closet to take refuge within its shaky walls. I am hidden, yet I do not feel safe.
But I am not alone. There is another with me, hiding here too. I imagine there are many.
I close my eyes, the walls shake, and I am afraid.
The storm passes. I arise from my closet, unscathed.
I go to check on my father. He is the same, expressionless, hidden in ground. He says nothing.
He is smoking now. A slow death, painful at the end. It is too late to undo the damage this cancer has caused.
Now I am in an open room of a building. It is a place of instruction. There are others with me, learning hands-on, by experience..They are using their tools and constructing what they have been instructed to construct, or maybe not.
The tornado strikes again. This time, there is no place to hide. I see the storm in the distance
The roof, my safe covering, begins to give way, and it is gone, stripped open to the sky. I am exposed; the harsh elements of the external world threatening to hurt me again, like an open wound.
The man next to me screams, "hold on to something strong" and I grasp the exposed metal, lying beneath the crumbling bricks of my structure.
The metal is clean and strong, it is of the foundation.
It is laced with holes, as if it were made to be built upon.
Heavy bricks, now falling apart, have burdened it for so long. Now it is free to built upon once more.
I wrap both my arms around, clinging tightly to my foundation.
I close my eyes and pray for my life. I see a glow of white beneath my closed lids, and remain rigid and fearful, expecting the worst.
Intense fear, and the wind blows hard.
I open my eyes, the tornado has passed and I am surprisingly unscathed.
The metal, my foundation, held strong.
In an instant, fear of the storm's return sinks within me.
Now time I look for a safe place to cover my head. My last defense?
Frantically, "where can I protect my head!! I need my head!!" It is the keeper of my thoughts, my mind, my intelligence (...and my defenses).
I do not find such a hiding place.
The storm passes quickly this time, and the fear lessens.
I am awake now, unscathed.
Heres some background info: I am an ACOA in recovery. I am actively working my recovery process, and I am also a full time grad student in (humanistic) clinical psychology. I am also currently writing my thesis on the qualitative experiences of adult-children of alcoholic and/or dysfunctional families.
A night last week I dreamed of a tornado. I often have dreams like this, but figured, living in the midwest, this is really the only natural disaster we have to fear--so it must of made its way into my dreams.
Coincidentally, in grad school classes last week, we learned/practiced a method of dream analysis which involves free association and discovering meanings within dreams--relative to each individual, of course.
Then, maybe NOT so coincidentally, my therapist says to me yesterday (regarding my struggles in ACOA recovery), "Its like a tornado."
Last night I had another tornado dream.
This morning I took my dreams, and began to think about what they may mean--how I felt in them, etc. And before I knew it I was creating a poem in my head. I just wrote it down and wanted to share. I am thinking of putting it in my thesis.
I would like feedback on if it relates/makes sense to anyone?
Thanks :o)
Much love,
Stephanie
The Storm
It was a long windy road ahead.
Along the sides, fish out of water, frantically splashing in small gutter streams, clinging for life.
Turtles in their shells roll down the street, helplessly glaring, out of control. Loss of direction, being carried by the storm.
A tornado looms ahead, bringing fear, threatening the only life I know.
I look for cover in the old, familiar, aging house to my right.
Around back, it provides only a miniature place to hide in the ground. It is lined of rigid cement, it is tiny, and there is no room to move. It is filling with water. The discomfort of the water-filled hole seems less frightening than the looming storm.
My father and a child have already taken cover here, hidden. There is no room for me here, but I do not mind, and I do not fight.
It is okay for him to hide here. I will find somewhere else, somewhere less secure.
I leave him, his face expressionless, and he looks unafraid. But he must be? As he is hiding too.
I fearfully look inside the tattered house, and find a familiar closet to take refuge within its shaky walls. I am hidden, yet I do not feel safe.
But I am not alone. There is another with me, hiding here too. I imagine there are many.
I close my eyes, the walls shake, and I am afraid.
The storm passes. I arise from my closet, unscathed.
I go to check on my father. He is the same, expressionless, hidden in ground. He says nothing.
He is smoking now. A slow death, painful at the end. It is too late to undo the damage this cancer has caused.
Now I am in an open room of a building. It is a place of instruction. There are others with me, learning hands-on, by experience..They are using their tools and constructing what they have been instructed to construct, or maybe not.
The tornado strikes again. This time, there is no place to hide. I see the storm in the distance
The roof, my safe covering, begins to give way, and it is gone, stripped open to the sky. I am exposed; the harsh elements of the external world threatening to hurt me again, like an open wound.
The man next to me screams, "hold on to something strong" and I grasp the exposed metal, lying beneath the crumbling bricks of my structure.
The metal is clean and strong, it is of the foundation.
It is laced with holes, as if it were made to be built upon.
Heavy bricks, now falling apart, have burdened it for so long. Now it is free to built upon once more.
I wrap both my arms around, clinging tightly to my foundation.
I close my eyes and pray for my life. I see a glow of white beneath my closed lids, and remain rigid and fearful, expecting the worst.
Intense fear, and the wind blows hard.
I open my eyes, the tornado has passed and I am surprisingly unscathed.
The metal, my foundation, held strong.
In an instant, fear of the storm's return sinks within me.
Now time I look for a safe place to cover my head. My last defense?
Frantically, "where can I protect my head!! I need my head!!" It is the keeper of my thoughts, my mind, my intelligence (...and my defenses).
I do not find such a hiding place.
The storm passes quickly this time, and the fear lessens.
I am awake now, unscathed.
Member
Join Date: Jul 2004
Location: Starting over all over again
Posts: 4,426
Hi there Layla, and wonderful poem
It's been a few decades since my grad classes in clinical psych and dream analysis, but from what I recall, you're right on track. Yes, your poem is very metaphorical, but that is _exactly_ what dream analysis is all about.
Since I was not raised in tornado country I don't have the same sociological context as you, so the imagery doesn't quite resonate with me. My ACoA nightmares were about failing to save members of my family who were falling into some deep abyss. Different symbols, same pain.
Your poem shows a lot of introspection and analysis of it's symbology. i.e.: The rolling turtles are "out of control". That kind of emotional correspondence is exactly what dream analysis intends to provide a patient.
You find some metal from the foundation of a house, and use that to save you from the tornado. Usually a therapist will spend quite a bit of time teaching a patient how to "guide" their own dreams and find a place of refuge such as your foundation. Clearly you have come a long way in your recovery, good job
I think that before you include that poem in your thesis you explore the one last symbol that remains "disconnected". All the symbols in your poem are explained as connections to your "toxic family", except for "The man next to me" who screams at you to hold on to something strong. Who is that man that guides you to safety?
No, don't answer that question. That's one for you and your therapist to explore. I'm just noting that if you don't answer it in your thesis then you will be questioned on it
Lovely poem, thank you for sharing it, and for sharing your recovery.
Mike
It's been a few decades since my grad classes in clinical psych and dream analysis, but from what I recall, you're right on track. Yes, your poem is very metaphorical, but that is _exactly_ what dream analysis is all about.
Since I was not raised in tornado country I don't have the same sociological context as you, so the imagery doesn't quite resonate with me. My ACoA nightmares were about failing to save members of my family who were falling into some deep abyss. Different symbols, same pain.
Your poem shows a lot of introspection and analysis of it's symbology. i.e.: The rolling turtles are "out of control". That kind of emotional correspondence is exactly what dream analysis intends to provide a patient.
You find some metal from the foundation of a house, and use that to save you from the tornado. Usually a therapist will spend quite a bit of time teaching a patient how to "guide" their own dreams and find a place of refuge such as your foundation. Clearly you have come a long way in your recovery, good job
I think that before you include that poem in your thesis you explore the one last symbol that remains "disconnected". All the symbols in your poem are explained as connections to your "toxic family", except for "The man next to me" who screams at you to hold on to something strong. Who is that man that guides you to safety?
No, don't answer that question. That's one for you and your therapist to explore. I'm just noting that if you don't answer it in your thesis then you will be questioned on it
Lovely poem, thank you for sharing it, and for sharing your recovery.
Mike
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Join Date: Mar 2009
Posts: 741
This is creepy/wierd....I live in the Midwest too and I always used to have tornado dreams, especially when I was having issues with my dysfunctional parents. In my dreams, the tornado was bearing down on me, and either I had no place to hide or I couldn't hide the people I cared about, or both. For me, tornados represented a perceived lack of control over the things that were happening to me and a feeling that I could neither deal with it or hide from it.
I still have the rare tornado dream, but now that I am getting a grip on some of my life issues I usually dream that I can find shelter.
And I think we ALL need to lay of "The Wizard of Oz" for a few years....what do you think?
I still have the rare tornado dream, but now that I am getting a grip on some of my life issues I usually dream that I can find shelter.
And I think we ALL need to lay of "The Wizard of Oz" for a few years....what do you think?
Member
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2007
Posts: 126
Thanks for the support Mike & others,
I realized this dream is way too personal--to me--meaning, the metaphors and symbols may only make sense to me, so I revamped it for the thesis.
Also, Mike--I thought about the man who told me to "hold onto s/t stong" and I realized, it was not WHO that was important, but the essence of this man--he was safe to me, I could trust him, and he spoke to me as if he knew what he was talking about--as if he had been through this before. I think he represents many people in my life.
Thanks for the feedback. Here is the revised (better?):
Recovery: Through the Storm
It was a long windy road ahead.
Like a fish out of water, I am frantically splashing, clinging for life.
Like a turtle in danger of losing it's shell, I feel exposed and helpless.
I am carried by the wind of the storm, out of control.
A tornado looms ahead, bringing fear, threatening the only life I know.
I look for cover in my old, familiar dwelling, yet it provides a very rigid small place for me to hide. There is no room to move.
Yet still, the discomfort of this familiar hiding place seems less frightening than the looming storm.
HE, the one who taught me of myself, has already taken cover here; hidden, in this cement hole.
He has been here long before me.
There is no room for me here anymore, yet I do not mind.
I will find somewhere else, somewhere less secure, more exposed.
And so I leave him, his face expressionless.
He looks unafraid...
But he is hiding too.
I fearfully explore the shaky walls of my childhood home, and I find a familiar place to hide--my closet, my childhood place of refuge.
Still, I do not feel safe here.
But I realize, I am not alone in this place. There is another hiding with me, another who has felt my same pains.
I imagine there are many others,
and I take comfort in this.
Now the storm draws near, I close my eyes, my internal walls shake, and I am afraid. Will I be hurt again?
When the storm is over, I check on them first, because that is what I do...as I always do...as I have always done. Is HE okay? Are they okay?
I do not think to ask, “Am I okay?”
No surprise, HE is the same, expressionless man, still hidden in-ground.
He speaks nothing and puffs away on a cigarette.
His choices are like his cancer-the consequences are his slow death.
His disease is painful at the end, and he regrets the years of abuse; but it is too late to undo the damage.
A new day and I am feeling exposed and unsafe once again.
Inside myself, I feel the rigid, cement walls, as if I am trapped inside a brick building. There are others here inside me, or at least I believe they exist.
They are constructing what I “should” be, or maybe not.
The storm nears again and my fear returns.
Soon the roof over my head, my sense of security, begins to tear away.
I am exposed to the open sky;
The harsh elements of the external world are threatening to hurt me again.
There is nowhere to hide.
In fear I ask, "how did I get here?"
But I know I chose this path, through the storm.
Suddenly I hear a comforting voice. It tells me, you will be okay, “Hold onto something strong!”
"Something strong?!" Frantically, I glimpse my foundation—it is like the sturdy exposed metal lying beneath the rigid, yet crumbling bricks of my external structure. It is clean and strong, and laced with holes, as if made to be built upon anew.
I grasp the foundation of my being, holding on for dear life.
I close my eyes, I can’t bear to see what will become of me, or maybe I cannot bear to see ME.
But I see a glow of white beneath my closed lids;
I remain rigid and fearful, expecting the worst.
The wind blows hard.
The storm has passed and I am surprisingly unscathed.
My foundation held strong,
But fear of the storm's return sinks within me once again.
I believe it will return.
But when it does return, it passes quickly this time, and the fear lessens.
Is it over yet? Have I made it through?
Trust the process, they tell me, those comforting voices.
I am awake now, foundation in tact, unscathed.
I realized this dream is way too personal--to me--meaning, the metaphors and symbols may only make sense to me, so I revamped it for the thesis.
Also, Mike--I thought about the man who told me to "hold onto s/t stong" and I realized, it was not WHO that was important, but the essence of this man--he was safe to me, I could trust him, and he spoke to me as if he knew what he was talking about--as if he had been through this before. I think he represents many people in my life.
Thanks for the feedback. Here is the revised (better?):
Recovery: Through the Storm
It was a long windy road ahead.
Like a fish out of water, I am frantically splashing, clinging for life.
Like a turtle in danger of losing it's shell, I feel exposed and helpless.
I am carried by the wind of the storm, out of control.
A tornado looms ahead, bringing fear, threatening the only life I know.
I look for cover in my old, familiar dwelling, yet it provides a very rigid small place for me to hide. There is no room to move.
Yet still, the discomfort of this familiar hiding place seems less frightening than the looming storm.
HE, the one who taught me of myself, has already taken cover here; hidden, in this cement hole.
He has been here long before me.
There is no room for me here anymore, yet I do not mind.
I will find somewhere else, somewhere less secure, more exposed.
And so I leave him, his face expressionless.
He looks unafraid...
But he is hiding too.
I fearfully explore the shaky walls of my childhood home, and I find a familiar place to hide--my closet, my childhood place of refuge.
Still, I do not feel safe here.
But I realize, I am not alone in this place. There is another hiding with me, another who has felt my same pains.
I imagine there are many others,
and I take comfort in this.
Now the storm draws near, I close my eyes, my internal walls shake, and I am afraid. Will I be hurt again?
When the storm is over, I check on them first, because that is what I do...as I always do...as I have always done. Is HE okay? Are they okay?
I do not think to ask, “Am I okay?”
No surprise, HE is the same, expressionless man, still hidden in-ground.
He speaks nothing and puffs away on a cigarette.
His choices are like his cancer-the consequences are his slow death.
His disease is painful at the end, and he regrets the years of abuse; but it is too late to undo the damage.
A new day and I am feeling exposed and unsafe once again.
Inside myself, I feel the rigid, cement walls, as if I am trapped inside a brick building. There are others here inside me, or at least I believe they exist.
They are constructing what I “should” be, or maybe not.
The storm nears again and my fear returns.
Soon the roof over my head, my sense of security, begins to tear away.
I am exposed to the open sky;
The harsh elements of the external world are threatening to hurt me again.
There is nowhere to hide.
In fear I ask, "how did I get here?"
But I know I chose this path, through the storm.
Suddenly I hear a comforting voice. It tells me, you will be okay, “Hold onto something strong!”
"Something strong?!" Frantically, I glimpse my foundation—it is like the sturdy exposed metal lying beneath the rigid, yet crumbling bricks of my external structure. It is clean and strong, and laced with holes, as if made to be built upon anew.
I grasp the foundation of my being, holding on for dear life.
I close my eyes, I can’t bear to see what will become of me, or maybe I cannot bear to see ME.
But I see a glow of white beneath my closed lids;
I remain rigid and fearful, expecting the worst.
The wind blows hard.
The storm has passed and I am surprisingly unscathed.
My foundation held strong,
But fear of the storm's return sinks within me once again.
I believe it will return.
But when it does return, it passes quickly this time, and the fear lessens.
Is it over yet? Have I made it through?
Trust the process, they tell me, those comforting voices.
I am awake now, foundation in tact, unscathed.
Member
Join Date: Jul 2004
Location: Starting over all over again
Posts: 4,426
ooooooh I _love_ it !!! I love the ebb and flow, storm after storm yet you overcome them all. You have so many people to follow, yet _you_ decide which ones are healthy for you and which are not. This is a lot more than a dream, it sounds to me like you've come up with a song to inspire you thru the rest of your recovery.
So, um, do you play an instrument? If you do, you could put it to music. And if you don't you could always learn
Mike
So, um, do you play an instrument? If you do, you could put it to music. And if you don't you could always learn
Mike
Member
Join Date: Oct 2007
Location: Manchester UK
Posts: 1,017
I see myself and Joe in your poems, I can relate your words to us so easily!
Joe is 12, he left his Dad to come to live with me, at first he hated that people (even close family) knew he'd moved here, he told me he thought he'd failed his Dad (not in those exact words) and he was scared to move away but knew he 'had' to do it. He worried so much about other people, never himself.
Me? I'm Joes 'exposed metal', and happy to be that.
I love what you wrote. Thank you.
Joe is 12, he left his Dad to come to live with me, at first he hated that people (even close family) knew he'd moved here, he told me he thought he'd failed his Dad (not in those exact words) and he was scared to move away but knew he 'had' to do it. He worried so much about other people, never himself.
Me? I'm Joes 'exposed metal', and happy to be that.
I love what you wrote. Thank you.
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Join Date: Feb 2007
Location: Wabbit Hole
Posts: 1,923
I lived in Oklahoma and Texas for 11 years.
So, naturally I have seen tornadoes up close and personal. They're terrifying.
I used to dream, still do on occasion of a tornado. (as well as the big frightening dog chasing me in the dark) I am trying to hide from it, find a safe place to rest. But it lasts for hours and I am moving from one safe place to another.
I came to realize that this tornado represents the obvious: turmoil in my life that seems to be headed straight for my house. I am trying to find a solution in my dream, but there is none except to keep moving.
Knowing this, I wake up and begin to examine the problems I might be facing that would illicit such a dream.
Before I put it all together, I was waking up sweating and fearful.
It's ok now.
So, naturally I have seen tornadoes up close and personal. They're terrifying.
I used to dream, still do on occasion of a tornado. (as well as the big frightening dog chasing me in the dark) I am trying to hide from it, find a safe place to rest. But it lasts for hours and I am moving from one safe place to another.
I came to realize that this tornado represents the obvious: turmoil in my life that seems to be headed straight for my house. I am trying to find a solution in my dream, but there is none except to keep moving.
Knowing this, I wake up and begin to examine the problems I might be facing that would illicit such a dream.
Before I put it all together, I was waking up sweating and fearful.
It's ok now.
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