For Part One, see Three Otters and a Spa Tub
Like every grown-ass human, my narrative is made up of several layers of stuff that have built up over my 46 ½ years on this planet. Many times, these layers comforted me. I needed their security and protection to get through [fill in crazy shit that happens in life]; I needed them to survive.
Mostly, I hid underneath these layers because the truth terrified me: I have the life I always wanted and losing it would devastate me, but keeping it means I have to give a fuck, which means I might get hurt — very deeply hurt.”
I’d start to relax, feel secure or happy, and then freak the fuck out. I’d get tied of hiding, grow a little, and the voices would say “crazy girl, you’ll never be good enough, so at least be useful.” or “as you have the life you always wanted, you’ve no right to be angry about [fill in utterly fucked up shit that parents struggling with mental illnesses do to their kids].” or “once they really know you, they’ll ALL abandon you!”. And I'd drink, and shop myself back into hiding.
It’s a shockingly predictable pattern of behavior, but hell if I was conscious of it until I got sober. Sobriety enabled me to acknowledge the pattern; maintaining my sobriety necessitates that I neutralize the pattern’s triggers (this is where change gets super gnarly, as I’m blood-related to a couple of my strongest triggers).
believe the dream's message is "I must dare to grow beyond my self-imposed boundaries.” I must be brave, and relinquish my need to catastrophize and control for the unknown. Choose to be more open, more authentic and more trusting of myself and the amazing people I have in my life. But don’t think for one damn minute “Daring” is never terrifying, I’m a god damned INFJ for fuck’s sake! It’s my nature to be perfectionistic, and I trend towards “controlling as fuck.” I believe the "pawing otter" was telling me that I can relax, and trust that the universe is NOT about to shit all over me.
Growth requires that I continually critique my narrative. I must step outside of my story and ask “how am I making myself miserable” and “are these layers protecting me or are they smothering me?”. By asking these questions, I not only step out of my narrative, but I also rework it.