So, in my dream last night, I was in the same room as someone I really wanted to speak to. I could see them on the other side of the room. They weren’t busy talking to anyone. They didn’t seem upset. They were just there, and I was over here, wanting to close the gap and have a conversation. But, for some reason, I couldn’t get to them.

I’ve had a similar dream before. Different setting, same feeling. Someone I wanted to connect with was right there, yet somehow out of reach. And I don’t really know why it affected me so much. Nothing disastrous happened. There were no bad vibes, no dramatic goodbye. Just that feeling of wanting to reach someone and being unable to. I woke up feeling a bit weird.

Anyway, it got me thinking about connection. How we can see someone, spend time with them, even be part of their lives, and still have very little idea of what’s going on inside their head. I started thinking about childhood. And look, I’m not complaining here. I had a good childhood. But when you’re young, you don’t necessarily understand why your parents behave the way they do. You don’t know what they’re worrying about, what they’ve been through or what they find difficult to express. You just know how it feels to be on the receiving end.

If a parent is physically there but emotionally hard to reach, you can feel that distance without having the words to explain it. You can see them, but you don’t feel seen by them. You want comfort, interest or a little reassurance, and you’re not quite sure how to get it. And let’s be honest, when you’re young, how are you supposed to know that their distance might have nothing to do with you? You don’t understand what they might be going through. You just notice how they are with you.

I wonder how much difference it would have made if you’d understood a little more. Why they found it difficult to show affection. Why they seemed distant. How they’d grown up, what they’d learned about expressing feelings, or what was going on in their head that you knew nothing about. When you’re the one feeling that distance, it can seem so personal. How are you supposed to know that it might have more to do with what they’re struggling with than anything you’ve done? Understanding that wouldn’t necessarily have taken away your need for comfort or closeness. But it might have saved you from believing you were the reason it wasn’t there. And I wonder how often we still do this as adults: feel a distance we don’t understand and decide it must say something about us.

Someone seems a bit off, and we wonder whether we’ve upset them. We feel a gap opening up, but instead of asking about it, we sit with our own explanation. I know I’ve done that. I can replay a conversation in my head, decide what the other person meant and work out how they feel about me, all without them contributing a single word. I mean, it’s quite extraordinary really, how confidently I can decide what’s going on in someone else’s head without actually asking them.

And when I think about it properly, I’m like, come on, Sarah. How many times have you not felt great and just kept your head down? You’ve been tired, distracted or caught up in your own worries, and being sociable has felt like a bit too much. It hasn’t meant you’ve got a problem with anyone. Yet when someone else seems quiet or withdrawn, I can suddenly decide it must have something to do with me. They have a whole life going on, worries I might know nothing about, and somehow I’ve made their mood about how they feel about me. God damn, that’s a bit self-absorbed, isn’t it? Perhaps I could spend a little less time wondering whether I’ve upset them and a little more time wondering whether they’re okay.

I guess sometimes the way you see things can feel pretty damn convincing. Once you’ve decided someone doesn’t want to hear from you, reaching out feels uncomfortable. You don’t want to bother them, so you don’t send the message. You tell yourself they probably want to be left alone, even though they haven’t actually said that. But I’m realising that if I want to understand someone properly, I need to have a proper conversation with them. And look, if I’m honest, I don’t always find that easy. I’m not really used to being that open, saying how I feel or admitting that something matters to me. But I’m learning how valuable those conversations can be. You get to hear what’s actually going on for them, explain what’s going on for you and understand each other a little better. And if someone matters to you, that’s worth the discomfort, isn’t it? Otherwise, you can end up letting assumptions and misunderstandings shape a relationship you actually care about.

I still don’t know what my dream means. Perhaps it was just a dream that left me with a feeling I couldn’t quite shake. But there was something sad about being so close to someone I wanted to speak to and still feeling unable to reach them. And I suppose, while we’re awake, we sometimes have more of a chance than we think. We can send the message, ask the question or say, “It would be good to catch up.” We might hear something difficult. We might also hear, “I’d really like that.” We won’t know until we ask. But at least we’ll have given each other a chance to talk, rather than leaving everything we think and feel unspoken. 🩷