Even My Dreams Are Healing

It’s the kind of thing you don’t notice until it starts to happen over and over again. I’d wake up with tears drying on my cheeks, heart pounding, not because I had a nightmare, but because my dreams had started pulling up the past—old conversations, old fears, old faces. But what stood out to me wasn’t just the content of the dreams. It was how I responded to them. Somewhere in the background of my sleeping mind, I was reacting differently. I wasn’t falling apart. I wasn’t spiraling. I wasn’t shutting down or trying to prove something or running away.

I was choosing calm. I was choosing grace. I was choosing restraint. Even when unconscious, I was choosing to heal.

And that’s when it hit me—healing had started to make its way into the deepest parts of me, even the parts I didn’t have control over.

The enemy has always known how to get to me. He’s not random in his attacks. He’s calculated, patient, strategic. He doesn’t waste his time on the parts of my heart that are closed off or already surrendered. He comes for the places I’m still learning to love, the places I’ve just started handing back to God, the places where hope has only just begun to bloom. And lately, those places have been lit up like a target.

It started when I began leaning in deeper. I started praying consistently. Not just the kind of prayer that feels like a wishlist or a last resort, but real, intentional time with God. I started lighting a candle and praying the Rosary when I felt anxious. I started showing up at Mass and actually feeling at home there. I started reading Scripture not to get something out of it, but just to be with Him. And as soon as that shift happened—as soon as I got serious about this relationship—the dreams began.

They weren’t scary in the typical sense. There were no monsters or jump scares. Just emotional echoes of things that used to break me. Someone leaving. Someone yelling. Feeling unseen. Feeling not enough. But instead of shrinking, my spirit started standing firm. And I know that sounds like a strange thing to notice in a dream, but I promise you—when your subconscious starts choosing peace instead of panic, you feel it.

There’s a verse that I’ve kept close lately: "Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour" (1 Peter 5:8, NLT). It’s a reminder that this isn’t random. When we step toward God, we step into a battlefield. But what used to feel terrifying now feels a little bit like confirmation. I must be doing something right, because the enemy is trying hard to make me stop.

But here’s what I’m clinging to: "The Lord Himself will fight for you. Just stay calm" (Exodus 14:14). That’s the posture I’m learning. Calm doesn’t mean numb. It doesn’t mean detached. It means I don’t have to carry the weight of this alone. I don’t have to flinch every time something stirs in my chest. I don’t have to fall apart to be real. I can be calm. I can trust that God sees the war I’m in, even if it only shows up while I sleep. And I can trust that He’s already fighting for me, even in the hours when I can’t fight for myself.

The thing is, healing isn’t linear. It’s not neat. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s in the rewiring of instincts. It’s in the way your breath doesn’t catch in your throat when someone raises their voice. It’s in the way you don’t feel the need to defend yourself every time you’re misunderstood. It’s in the way you choose to pray instead of post. It’s in the way you stay instead of flee. It’s in the way you wake up from a painful dream and don’t feel like it owns you anymore.

I think God is showing me that even when I’m unconscious, even when I’m unaware, even when I’m sleeping, He is still at work. And maybe that’s what healing really is—letting Him transform even the parts of us we don’t know how to fix. Maybe it’s not about forcing ourselves to be whole, but letting Him tend to us so completely that our default settings begin to change.

And I won’t lie. It still hurts. These dreams still leave me raw. They pull me back to times when I felt abandoned, overlooked, unloved. But instead of believing that those moments define me, I can now recognize them as places where God is still writing a new story. I’m not who I was in those memories. I’m not trapped there anymore. I’m moving forward. And even when my mind forgets, my spirit remembers.

If you’re in a season where the attacks feel constant, where the weight feels too heavy, where you wonder if the healing is even working—please know this: healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes it looks like crying at 3AM because you remembered something painful but didn’t let it consume you. Sometimes it looks like waking up heavy but still choosing to pray. Sometimes it looks like writing down the dream and asking God what He wants to show you through it. That counts. All of it counts.

You are not back at square one just because it still hurts. You are not broken just because the enemy is loud. You are not failing just because your healing isn’t finished. God is doing something deeper than you can see, and He isn’t wasting a single part of your story—not even your dreams.

So I’m choosing to keep going. I’m choosing to keep trusting. I’m choosing to see the growth, even in the grief. I’m choosing to believe that the girl in my dreams who responds with grace is the fruit of the Spirit alive in me. I’m proud of her. I’m proud of me. And I’m holding fast to the truth that God is not finished yet.

He’s just getting started.