I had another one of those dreams last night. The one where I wake up and my limbs suddenly weigh thousands of pounds, but no one else seems to notice. And for the whole dream my limbs weigh me down, taking away my control over what happens to me and my ability to fulfill other people’s expectations. And I struggle in my sleep: to move, to protect myself, to communicate. But I can’t. I’m just too heavy.
And I wake up feeling just as heavy. Certain in my doubt. Certain that no matter what “it” is today, I will fail. I can feel everyone’s disappointment in me before I even get out of bed.
I stop wanting to be me.
I don’t feel like me.
I feel like an imposter. An imposter who can’t possibly keep up the charade today, and convince everyone I am me.
And the weight of myself — the self I can’t be but can’t get away from — holds me frozen.
Just like in my dream.
An Experiment with Vulnerability 