Isn’t it true that for many of us, the fear of our dreams coming true is as strong, maybe even stronger than the fear of failure? We may not think about it as often because we’re wired for survival. Most of the time, we’re simply making sure that we don’t fail or that others are happy with us.
But in the quieter moments, our minds go to the unlived places deep within. Dreams from childhood. Aspirations out of college. Paths that spoke to our hearts before life weighed us down with responsibilities. We visit these places as though it were an imaginary world – with excitement and a sense of possibility. We imagine the impact we would make, the lives we would change, the joy it would bring.
And then, on its heels, the reality check. It’s not practical. It’s not the right time. It’s stupid and frivolous. It will disappoint people. Yes, that forever lurking fear of other people’s opinions…
I remember that even as a ten-year-old, I wanted to be the kind of person who makes people’s lives better by meeting them where they are rather than guiding them from above. I was a sensitive child and deeply attuned to people’s lived reality – the conversations beneath the words, the pains beneath the projections. In hindsight, my longing was a reflection of my nature, and longings that come from this place of truth point us to our purpose and the work we’re here to do in this world.
The problem is that these longings are like little seeds: fragile and easy to dismiss. As the author Marianne Williamson writes in her poem A Return to Love: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.”
We need people in our lives who value our nature and champion our aspirations, especially when we are little, and especially for the sensitive ones who are highly attuned to the words and reactions of the people they love. We need caregivers who get excited by our scribbles and tell us it the gorgeoustest painting they’ve ever seen. We need them to be wowed by our imagination and live in the castle on the moon with us. We need them to believe in our stories, so we know that our particular way of seeing the world is not just acceptable, it is needed.
The psychologist Carl Rogers called it “prizing” – a genuine, delighted recognition of the child’s particular qualities and dreams. Not just love, but seeing with appreciation. It reminds me of the poem On Children by the poet Kahlil Gibran where he is talking to parents:
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
Not many of us were raised by such parents. They may have been warm and kind and highly devoted. But they may also have had their ideas of what power or success looks like – and these ideas are often colored by societal norms and expectations. My parents believed that my softness and thoughtfulness were hurdles I needed to overcome. I needed to be one of the many who seem to have all the answers all the time. The ones who are always on top, always in control. So I locked my dreams away and visited them only when I felt the emptiness of a half-lived life, until it became so heavy that I decided to do something about it.
After years of study, research, and living what I learned, this I now know: when caregivers are dismissive of our gifts and dreams, we end up feeling insignificant and inconsequential to the larger flow of life. We live with the ache of not mattering, of having nothing of value to contribute, of never knowing our drop on the ocean, or never painting our dot on the canvas. It is one of the greatest regrets of the dying – not having lived a life true to oneself.
If any of this relates, here is what I want you to know. That unique something in you, maybe even the thing you feel ashamed about, or call idealistic and non-pragmatic, that is your work in the world. Yes your social self is important – it helps the world go around. But your unique and authentic self – it is needed to move the world forward.
The reality is that the universe plants gifts and longings within each of us like little seeds of potential. And it wants us to be the gardener who tends and tills them into the plants and trees they can become. That is your ultimate job – to be the gardener, the parent, the protector of potential. To value it, to grow it, and to trust the process just like you trust the work you’re given, even if you never see fruits of your labor.
So take a moment to reflect on your own life. Was your personality or capabilities appreciated? Were you told how your presence or gifts mattered? What about later in life? What are the messages you’ve been receiving about your way of being or thinking? This is especially true if you’re a thoughtful, reserved, or conscientious person. In a world where loudness, speed and even greed are amply rewarded, many of us become an invisible population, shrinking, blending in, deflecting, and disappearing.
On this Substack, we do the work of grounding ourselves in the deeper truths that exist beneath the fears. The truth that you matter. The truth of your value and goodness and belonging. Every season, we work through one of them so that we build the ground on which we can pursue the highest version of our lives. If you aren’t subscribed already, I’d love you to be. Because this work is worth doing. Not only for your own joy and flourishing, but for a world that needs you more than ever.