Sometimes what we’re desperately searching for isn’t gone. We’ve just forgotten we’re carrying it.

I had the weirdest dream.

Now, my dreams are usually a little all over the place anyway, but this one stuck with me. It was nighttime, and apparently we were getting ready for some kind of event while also being on the lookout for zombies or something. Don’t ask me why. Maybe I watched something on TV. Maybe my subconscious just decided that preparing for an event wasn’t stressful enough and threw in a zombie apocalypse for a little razzle-dazzle.

Either way, there was a lot going on, and I was doing what I tend to do when there is a lot going on: trying to handle everything.

I was fixing flowers, and some of them were dead. I was straightening things on a shelf and trying to get stuff together. My mother, who has passed away, was there briefly, and she was frustrated. She was saying how much stuff there was to do and how hard everything was, and I remember telling her, “Mom, I’m trying to help you.”

Then I realized she wasn’t necessarily frustrated with me. She was overwhelmed and needed to vent. Once I understood that, we were okay.

Which, now that I think about it, is kind of funny. Even in my dreams I’m like, Okay, everybody, let’s process our emotions appropriately so I can get back to this shelf. Apparently Dream-Thea has things to do.

Then there was meat that needed to go on the grill. I knew I had it, but somehow I misplaced it, so now I’m running around trying to figure out where I put the meat because clearly the zombies weren’t enough.

And somewhere in all of this was someone I once loved.

The Screwdriver

Earlier in the dream, I had noticed him helping with some of the things that needed to be done. I hadn’t asked him to help, and I remember being a little nervous about whether I should ask if he needed anything. But mostly, I remember feeling grateful that he had stepped in on his own.

Later, we were in another part of the house, and he handed me a screwdriver. I remember this screwdriver very clearly. It was a flathead screwdriver with a white handle, and he told me to hold onto it for him and not lose it.

So I put it in my back pocket.

Then the dream went on for what felt like forever. I was doing this, looking for that, going here, trying to remember something else—you know, basically my waking life with zombies added.

At some point, though, I remembered the screwdriver and panicked.

Oh my God. Where did I put it?

He had trusted me with it. He had specifically told me not to lose it, and now I couldn’t remember where it was. I started looking everywhere, trying to retrace what I’d done.

Then it hit me.

My back pocket.

I reached back, and there it was. Safe. Exactly where I had put it.

I hadn’t lost it at all.

I had spent all that time panicking and searching for something I had been carrying the whole time.

And THAT part stayed with me.

So What Was the Screwdriver?

After I woke up, I started thinking about the dream and eventually came to this question:

What did I think I lost that I actually still carry?

I started answering some questions about that relationship, and I didn’t sit there trying to come up with pretty answers. I answered with whatever came to me first.

Before that relationship, I didn’t know I could love and connect with someone that deeply again.

When things were good, I felt safe. And when I say safe, I mean I could actually sleep deeply. There was something about that connection that allowed a part of me to settle.

When I asked myself what I really missed, the answer was belonging.

And when I thought about what the hurt taught me about what I need from a relationship now, my answer was clear: I need someone who is prepared to build something with me.

Not just feel something for me. Not just have chemistry with me. Not just enjoy me, care about me or connect with me. I need someone who is prepared to actually build.

Then I asked myself what I never wanted to have to do again to keep someone’s love.

My answer?

Beg.

Whew.

I also asked myself what beautiful parts of me that person got to experience, and I immediately thought about my creativity. My painting. My writing. Those pieces of me that come alive when I feel free enough to create.

Then came the harder question.

What did I think losing that relationship took away from me?

My value.

And finally:

What do I still have?

Worth.

And there it was.

That was my screwdriver.

Sometimes We Grieve Ourselves Too

I think when a relationship ends, sometimes we aren’t only grieving the person. We’re grieving who we remember being when we were with that person.

Maybe you felt beautiful with them. Maybe you felt wanted, safe, funny, interesting or understood. Maybe you slept better. Maybe you felt like you belonged somewhere. Maybe there was a version of yourself that came alive in that relationship, and when the relationship ended, you started believing that version of you left too.

I think that’s where we can get ourselves in trouble.

Because without even realizing it, we can start attaching our value to the person who reflected it back to us. He made me feel beautiful, so without him maybe I’m not. They believed in me, so now that they’re gone, maybe I can’t do this. They chose me once, and now that they don’t choose me, maybe that means I wasn’t as valuable as I thought I was.

Then we start searching.

We search for that feeling in another relationship. We search for it in being chosen. We search for it in our appearance, accomplishments, money, productivity or how much everybody needs us. Sometimes we even go back looking for it in the same person whose absence made us question it in the first place.

But what if the thing we’re searching for never actually left?

Check Your Pocket

That is what gets me about this dream.

I was convinced I had lost that screwdriver. I was searching everywhere for it, worried because something important had been placed in my care and I thought I had failed to hold onto it.

But I hadn’t lost it.

I had simply become so busy doing everything else that I forgot I was carrying it.

And maybe that’s what some seasons of becoming really look like. Maybe becoming isn’t always about creating some brand-new, improved version of ourselves. Maybe sometimes it is recognizing what survived.

I don’t have to resurrect every dead flower just because it was once beautiful. I can appreciate what it was, accept that its season ended and still keep tending what is alive.

I can take the lessons without living in the lesson forever.

I can remember what safety felt like without believing only one person can ever make me feel safe.

I can miss belonging without settling for a relationship that isn’t building toward anything.

I can acknowledge that I loved someone deeply without deciding that was my one opportunity to experience deep love.

Because the creativity is still here. The capacity to love is still here. The desire to belong is still here. The knowledge of what safety feels like is still here.

And my worth?

I thought I’d lost it when I lost something that made me feel valuable. I searched for it in people, relationships, accomplishments and being chosen.

But maybe I’ve been carrying it all along.

My worth was in my pocket the whole damn time.

Maybe Yours Is Too

I don’t think I’m the only person who has done this.

Maybe the thing you think you lost isn’t worth. Maybe it’s your confidence. Your voice. Your joy. Your softness. Your courage. Your creativity. Maybe you went through something that made you feel like the woman you used to be disappeared somewhere along the way.

But before you decide she’s gone, check your pocket.

What if heartbreak didn’t destroy her? What if grief didn’t erase her? What if survival simply kept you so busy tending everybody else’s flowers that you stopped noticing what was still blooming in you?

You don’t have to return to an old season to retrieve the woman you were there.

She came with you.

And maybe today isn’t about finding yourself at all. Maybe it’s about remembering what you’ve been carrying this entire time.

A Radiant in Bloom Reflection

Psalm 139:14 says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

My worth wasn’t created when somebody recognized it, which means it couldn’t disappear when somebody stopped choosing it.

That’s something I’m still learning.

So here’s what I’m sitting with, and maybe you need to sit with it too:

What do you think you lost?

Where have you been looking for it?

What did that experience teach you about yourself?

What are you no longer willing to beg for?

What beautiful part of you survived?

And if you finally stopped searching everywhere else and checked your own “back pocket,” what might you discover has been there all along?

I’m still becoming. I think I always will be.

But I’m beginning to understand that becoming doesn’t always mean turning into somebody new.

Sometimes becoming is finally recognizing what was already yours.

Still growing. Still becoming. Still in bloom.