Every now and then, I have a recurring dream that many others have experienced as well.  I’m in a classroom, and it’s the end of the semester.  I had enrolled in this class but had forgotten about it.  I haven’t been there in weeks.  I haven’t done any of the reading.  I know none of the material.  It’s almost time for the final exam, and I’m panicking.  I’m completely unprepared, and I’m going to fail.

When this dream appears, it’s an obvious sign that I’m feeling overwhelmed.  I usually try to take it as a cue to reassess my priorities, remove a thing or two from my schedule, and maybe set aside some time to meditate, exercise, or otherwise relax and regroup.

The fact that I had that dream yesterday morning is not surprising.  The last few months have been packed with travel, family responsibilities, and a heavier than usual workload, made more challenging by some personal ups and downs.  For the most part, I’ve felt like I’ve been able to maintain my balance, but only precariously.  This scenario is exactly when I’d expect to have The Dream.  What was surprising, however, is how The Dream ended this time.

Unlike in every previous iteration, I didn’t keep my fears to myself and panic in silence.  I turned to two classmates sitting next to me, and I told them that I had fallen behind.  “There’s so much reading for all these classes,” I said.  “I just can’t keep up.  I used to be able to do this, but I have a baby now.”

They offered their support, and then we talked to the professor.  We discussed my options.  I could withdraw from the class and try again next semester.  My GPA would take a hit, but it would be better than failing.  Or we could come up with a study plan.  “I can do office hours at 6:30 AM,” the professor offered.  She’d even let me bring my son along.  “I think you can do this.”  I left the meeting and awoke from the dream feeling empowered and supported.

I could view this as my subconscious giving me a pep talk, but I see some other takeaways.  One is the healing power of allowing yourself to be vulnerable and open about your struggles.  Over the past few years, I’ve come to realize that voicing my feelings and frustrations to others can make them seem a little smaller.  Sometimes there’s nothing anyone else can really do in a practical sense, but putting my thoughts into words and knowing someone cares can be very comforting.

And sometimes, like the classmates and professor in my dream, a friend can provide a different perspective and help me find solutions that hadn’t occurred to me.  They may even be willing to take on daunting tasks and lighten my load, but only if I let them.  Accepting help doesn’t make me weak or a burden.  When they’re in a bind, I’ll do the same for them.

I’ve been thinking about community lately, and specifically about how I can build a stronger one around my nuclear family.  I’m a pretty independent person, and I’m not always the best at letting others help me.  But raising a child far from extended family can be tough, and it’s important to me that my son grow up surrounded by a stable group of people on which he can rely.  Planning social gatherings is something I used to do often, but it’s been pushed to the back burner over the past year or so.  Many of the friends I made when I first moved here have moved away, and I know I need to make an effort to solidify new relationships, both for the good of my soul and so that our network is strong when we need it.  So in the coming weeks, I think I’ll host a few dinners, invite a friend or two out to lunch, and look into whether there is a regularly meeting group or organization I/we might want to join so that I can strengthen my local circle of friends.

What have you done to forge a community around yourself and your family?  How do you lean on others in times of overwhelm?  I’d love to learn from your experiences, so please comment below.

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