Behind the Song: Dream Again
I felt very alone after having a child.
It seems like a great irony: I had this tiny human that was literally attached to me all day every day, and I’d never felt more isolated. I vividly remember afternoons where months-old Mia would be laying on the ground, and I next to her, where I just wished someone could be there and tell me I’m not crazy for finding motherhood weird, and hard.
Loving Mia was easy. I was in love the moment I saw her. But becoming a full-time caregiver overnight caught me off-guard. My body was not my own anymore, and nothing about that new arrangement felt natural to me.
For a long time I stubbornly refused to get regular help taking care of Mia because I felt the need to prove I could do this. I could be an ever-present mother, a supportive wife, and (somewhat) keep my business going. There were so many days I’d be in tears from exhaustion by the time Mark came home from work, and he’d ask if we can look into getting more help, and I’d answer with no further explanation, “no.”
It took 10 months for me to really open up to the idea of having steady enough care for Mia that I wasn’t manically finishing unending to-do lists the moment I wasn’t with her. And about a year for me to find myself walking around my neighborhood alone, without Mia snuggled around my chest.
It was on one of these walks I wrote “Dream Again”. I was sitting on a bench in Jackie Robinson Park on 148th Street, I had my notebook with me, and I started writing.
I had grown up with the sweet reminder that I am never alone drummed into my head. God is always with you. He will never leave you. For most of my life, that was a felt reality. But in that first year of motherhood, the phrase felt more like a post-it note losing its adhesion, barely sticking to the edge of my brain. I did feel alone. I felt exhausted.
I was tired of moving. My back was always aching. I was tired of breastfeeding, miraculous as it is. I was tired of counting the minutes till Mark came home. Tired of never relaxing anywhere we went because Mia would soon need to eat or sleep or just be in my arms. Tired of my own inability to relax, even when I could and should.
I was tired of music not being a big part of my life. I missed performing. I missed feeling alive. I missed singing into the microphone and hearing the sound move around a room. I missed spending hours with other musicians trying new things and completely losing track of time.
I was tired of being so tired.
That day on a park bench bench in early 2019, I began to pray with my pen.
Dream Again
Are you there?
Are you still by my side?
I see your lips move
But I don’t hear a sound
Will you hold me?
Like we have nowhere to be
Like we’re floating
Surrounded by
A silence
How I long to
Sleep in your arms
Dream again, dream again
Sleep in your arms
Dream again, dream again
Do you see me
With my head to the ground
Waiting vainly
For the slow swelling sound
Of an answer
Don’t you see how I need interference
This child needs to rest
In silence
How I long to
Sleep in your arms
Dream again, dream again
Sleep in your arms
Dream again, dream again
I’ll let my mind be intertwined with your design
I’ll dream again…
…of a new home in the eye of the storm
I will hear you and your breath will be warm
