In the upcoming group mentorship I'm offering called Heartfelt Dreams, one of the classes I'm most looking forward to sharing is called “Grieving Unlived Lives and the What Ifs.”

I wrote a little bit about this in my last newsletter and received a handful of responses around how much this concept resonated.

What does it mean to grieve unlived lives and the “what ifs” in the midst of nourishing a heartfelt dream? I'll start by sharing a short personal story - one I've written about before, yet not quite in this way.

Nearly five years ago, I moved to London. It's been a relentless dream of mine since age nine, and let's just say I had high hopes, big dreams, and not-so-subtle expectations. I sold most of my belongings and bought a one-way ticket. I hoped to find love and permanent residency (not necessarily in that order), and I anticipated my bold efforts would catalyze my lifelong dreams to finally come true.

Instead…I spent several challenging months trying so hard to make it work. I got bit by bed bugs and ended up with upstairs neighbors who liked to play piano and stomp around the floors above my bedroom at 3:00 a.m. every night. (One of my neighbors insisted they were vampires as he had never seen them leave their place.) Finding opportunities that would offer permanent residency proved fruitless, and my tourist visa was quickly running out.

As for finding the love of my life, I went on a date with a man who specialized in stone masonry. Before we met, he sent me photos of stone roses he carved into buildings. I swooned and promptly put him on a matching stone pedestal in my mind until we met in a dingy Shoreditch dive…where I realized that the ice-cold stone he carved matched my experience of his personality.

I also met new people who became soul friends and experienced the kindness and care of strangers who felt like angels in disguise. I reunited with emerald landscapes and wise trees that feel so ancient and familiar to my heart that at times I wondered if I was on a surprise Earth family reunion tour. One day, while seated on a park bench in Grosvenor Square, I had visions that felt like they were from a past life, and this poem poured through me.

After a couple months of trying to push things into place and falling down again and again, I went back to the States for the holidays. I felt so wrung out, exhausted, and defeated… full of grief and questioning, “What if?”  What if I'd made different choices? What could I do differently to receive a more favorable outcome?? I tossed and turned various possibilities in my mind – and still, it became clear that returning to London wasn't in my best interests. 

I felt defeated and emotional, reflecting and processing what had unfolded in the months prior. Was there another way possible I hadn't considered? In the aftermath, I went to lunch with my wise friend Margot – and I was still feeling pretty raw about the whole thing. I teared up telling her that I felt like I'd let my 9-year-old self down by not going back.

She said, “Madeline, what did your 9-year-old self really want? Was it London? Or was it a particular feeling received through that experience? What was the dream within this dream?”

I had genuinely never thought of it this way – and something in me lit up and broke through in that moment, like the sun suddenly pouring through a pocket of clouds on a gray day.

She wanted to have a magical adventure – and that's what I gave her. That's what I gave myself.

In the following months, an unexpected new beginning began to emerge in my life. Steadily integrating this awareness, I realized I had scratched the life-long itch to move to London. I had experienced it – and with reflection and integration, I no longer lived with regret or questioned, “What if things had gone differently?” I felt grateful that I was courageous enough to try, I felt confident that I'd given it my best effort, and I was able to slowly move forward with greater compassion for the lessons my heart's dreams can teach me.

I learned that a heartfelt dream coming true in the way I desperately wanted it to isn't the point. The point is who you become in the process of following your heart.

Sometimes, like this story illustrates, grieving unlived lives and the “what ifs” can come from courageously nourishing a heartfelt dream and the outcome turning out differently than anticipated.

How do you move forward when you do show up fully, when you do open your heart and take bold actions…and your dreams still don't come true, at least not in the way you wanted?

While the story I've shared today has a pretty gentle and integrated completion, that is certainly not always the case. Sometimes, grieving unlived lives and the “what ifs” emerges from genuine regret, wishing that you should've/would've/could've done things differently to be in a place you perceive as “better.” 

Other times, shocking or unexpected events outside of your control change the fabric of reality as you've known it. Processing and grieving loss or unexpected events can take time and resources. Sometimes placing this experience or loss on the proverbial shelf for quiet incubation is exactly what's needed to be able to meet the momentum of day-to-day responsibilities. Sometimes, waking up and getting through each day is all you can ask of yourself…and that's okay.

In these moments of disappointment and loss, whether it's something within your control or something outside of it, the idea of tending a heartfelt dream might feel: 

-Apathetic and numb (“I have no dreams.”)

-Hopeless (“What's the point of dreams?”)

-Not worth it (“I'll only get my heart broken if I hope again.”)

-Downright painful (“I can't do anything but survive right now.”)

When this is the case, it's necessary to start with resource — with nourishing your body's inner landscape and making a space to accept and honor that unlived life before you can dream your way into your future. 

If the garden of your heartfelt dreams feels frozen, barren, dustbowl empty, or non-existent, might you start by inviting a layer of loving support to meet this inner space? Not to change, dismiss, or deny it, rather as a way to lovingly nurture it with care? 

Imagine a cozy fire to rest by and warm your weary bones.

Allow an image of a loving friend or community of sacred soul friends gathered round you in the depths of your freeze, singing a song that warms your body and awakens your sleeping heart.

An angel or Divine Being wraps you in wings of Love, whispering in your ear, “Is there a place, landscape, or environment that feels the coziest and most nourishing for you now? What does it sound like, feel like? What are its sights and temperatures? Let's notice what it feels like to go there. I'll stay with you for as long as you need, even if it takes 10,000 years. I'm right here with you.”

Imagine being cradled by all this support as you allow yourself to feel your grief and regret. To accept that things didn't go as planned. Imagine that rather than causing you pain, you feel relief at giving these feelings space to express, to be, to receive what's needed. Imagine that the more you talk with them, sing with them, cry with them, the more they thaw out, too.

This unthawing can be slow, steady, and tender. Nourishing the garden of your heart requires your presence and willingness to meet what's truly here, especially if it's a reality you don't feel ready to face yet, like when I first realized that the life and love I dreamt of in London wasn't going to happen in the way I wanted it to. Grieving unlived lives and the “what ifs” is a courageous way to slowly, steadily thaw parts inside that have frozen over with regret.

As you read these words, are any unlived lives and what ifs swirling in your inner world?

Is there a heartfelt dream you're called to nourish, yet feel hesitant to pursue based on past experiences?

Are you afraid to even hope for something new, because in doing so, you'll have to finally let go of the dream that didn't work out?

And as my friend Margot asked me: is there a dream within your dream? What's the underlying feeling that's yearning for attention and care, consideration and commitment? Are there any ways in which the dream you're grieving actually did fulfill this feeling? What is one small way you can create that feeling for yourself now, if for only a moment? 

If you're called to share your answers to any of these questions with me, I'd love to hear from you 🙂 Please hit reply on this email if you feel called.

And if you'd like to dive deeper into your heart's dreams and receive a caring space to lovingly process the past and the “what ifs,” I'd love to invite you to Heartfelt Dreams. We begin next Thursday on 2/2.

Love,

Madeline