Dreaming Out Loud: The Chaos of Living Inside Your Head

The Power of Failing

To have failed means to have tried. To have tried means to have lived — outside of one’s head, that is, where you control the outcomes and always wear the perfect outfit.

“The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing.” — Henry Ford

When we act on our dreams — even the wild ones — we bring them into the light. Some bloom. Some wither. When they wither, they weren’t meant for us. That’s not failure. That’s clarity.

Every time we try, our hopes get more realistic, more us. The next dream we bring forward? More likely to bloom.

A Childhood of Imagination

I was born in Romania in the late ’80s. We were sugar-on-bread for dessert kind of poor, not “had-to-fly-economy” poor. No hot water. One outdoor toilet. Winter? Brutal.

I wore my siblings’ hand-me-downs. But hey — I mastered fire-building by ten.

Books were my safe space. Watching American films on our black-and-white TV — with only two channels and grainy subtitles — is how I learned English. But mostly, I lived inside my head. Friends and family noticed. I’d zone out mid-sentence. It became a habit. Then a lifestyle.

Sometimes, I’d “wake up” and not recognize the life I was living.

My First Failed Dream: A Life of Crime

Age 12. I dreamt of becoming a professional thief. In my head? Catsuit. Lasers. Museum ceiling. Cool heist soundtrack.

Reality? I stole a pen. Got caught. Panicked. Never again.

Dream failed. Crisis averted.

When Life Happens to You

Back in high school, I launched a school paper called VOX (yes, I was very proud of my Latin). I rallied classmates to submit poems and short stories — and I even wrote a brave little piece on why we desperately needed sex education. Bold move for a teenager in a Romanian village. One issue in, and it was shut down. Our school didn’t welcome these kinds of conversations. Free thinkers were snuffed out.

One teacher — someone I’d known since I was a child, who lived just a few houses down — “disciplined” me for speaking out and, I guess, for being a bit different. It got physical. A message, loud and clear: stay in your place.

I went to the police. Alone. I reported him. Nothing happened.

My parents? |Did nothing. The school? Did nothing. The system? Did nothing.

And just like that, my trust in adults — in authority — was obliterated.

At university, I picked a degree at random, I didn’t care anymore. Later, I walked into a sales interview by mistake, a funny story for another time. They ended up hiring me. And I went along with it.

I hated it. I panicked with every call. Years later, I was still trapped in sales — only I’d mastered the art of faking confidence.

Life happened to me. I wasn’t steering — I was drifting.

A Move, A Mistake, A Wake-Up Call

In my mid-20s, I had finally managed to steer myself out of sales and into publishing — something that aligned with what I enjoyed. And then, I gave it all up to follow a boyfriend to England… on the back of a motorbike. Romantic, right?

We landed in North Yorkshire. I had no friends. No family. Only what turned out to be an abusive partner. First Christmas, I ate nothing but digestive biscuits, living in a shared house, clueless, with no job.

I began to see the pattern.

Childhood, Revisited

I used to say my childhood was fine.

Then I tried Reiki one day. During the session, I saw a version of myself — scrawny, lonely, tears dried on her face, definitely not okay.

My mother had rage issues, let’s leave it at that. I became invisible. Don’t talk. Don’t fight. Don’t disappoint.

No teenage rebellion at home. No self-discovery. That would come later.

Living the Dream

Approaching 30, I was in a better relationship and desperately wanted a house. I thought that was the embodiment of security. My job didn’t pay enough, so I got a better one. I saved. I bought the house. I was starting to wake up. Feel my power. It was exhilarating. I got married to a kind, gentle man.

Then I dreamed of Bali. Cheaper, tropical, exotic. So one day, when my son was nearly one year old, we moved — me, my husband, and our baby. At first, it was amazing, the people were the kindest, friendliest I had ever met. I started painting again. Finding time for myself. Finally healing after a very traumatic birth.

Six months in? Cockroaches. Dengue. Earthquakes. Busy planning escape routes in case of tsunamis. Back to dreaming of roast dinners and Christmas lights…

So we moved again.

France — the Shared Dream

We thought France was it. Countryside manor. Big garden. Rustic charm. But three months in, I knew — this wasn’t the place I wanted my son to grow up in.

Back to England? Not quite. We asked ourselves, ‘What’s next?’ — and Scotland was the answer. We’d always wondered what life there might be like. We landed in a peaceful little town with red brick houses — and, ironically, the birthplace of Peter Pan. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Back to the Present Day

Then… I ran out of dreams. And money.

I let go of my job — even though it allowed me to travel the world — because, deep down, it just didn’t feel right anymore. I wanted something better. Something that offered not just freedom, but security. A better financial situation. The chance to buy our dream house. To build a life with roots, not boarding passes.

But better pay came with a catch — more travel. And 50% time away just didn’t align with the kind of family life I wanted. So, I turned down offers that didn’t fit my values.

That’s when I was confronted with a terrifying truth: Maybe what I wanted wasn’t out there waiting for me. Maybe I had to build it myself.

Change isn’t scary. But the wrong kind of change is.

Changing jobs, moving countries, saying yes to anything — that’s not progress. That’s panic in disguise.

So, What Now?

For so long, I thought dreaming was my superpower.

But untethered from action, dreams can trap you. They keep you in your head, promising magic, delivering confusion.

“For broken dreams, the cure is, dream again and deeper.” — C.S. Lewis

And here’s the best part: I let go of the pressure to do everything at once.

I took a part-time job. Flexible. Low stress. It lets me be with my son — and it could become full-time later.

I finally launched the business I’d been dreaming of for years: Technical writing and marketing. My work. My way.

Not chasing. Choosing. Not someday. Now.

Was It All Worth It?

Yes.

Every “failure” gave me something. Every wild leap brought me closer to clarity. Every move, every mistake, helped me learn how to live outside my head.

I’m not building a perfect life. I’m building a true one.

Sometimes, the dream isn’t a place, or a job, or even a house.

Sometimes, the dream is peace.

And I’m finally living it.

#Dreams #SelfGrowth #Motherhood #Writing #FreelanceLife #PersonalDevelopment