Old Self, New Self

Dreaming for Two: The Hidden Emotional Life of Expectant Mothers
by Sindy Greenberg, Elyse Kroll, Hillary Grill, M.S.W.

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As you become a mother, the identity that has
taken you a lifetime to form is now
entirely up for revision.

When I become a mother, will I have to leave
my old self and my old life behind?

The only dream I remember took place in an immense white house on a cliff near the ocean. It looked like the ones you would see in California and was several stories high. The dream started on the top floor of this massive house with me being chased down the stairs by a man and a woman. I'm not certain of their identities, but I was sure they were trying to kill me.

After running down the first flight of steps, I passed through an empty room. After the second flight, I landed in a room full of clocks. There were hundreds of them-alarm clocks, grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks. The mix was very eclectic.

At the bottom of the stairs, I landed in an airy, modern foyer with picture windows looking out onto the ocean. I looked desperately for a hiding space, but the decorating scheme was very spare. Finally I found a small sofa, barely large enough for two, and crouched behind it. From my hiding spot, I could hear the man talking to the woman in the clock room. He said, "We can't find her. We have to go to the airport."W And the dream ended.

Caryn, 34, dentist

As you begin to embrace motherhood-possibly the biggest change you'll ever experience-you'll find the identity that has taken you a lifetime to form is now entirely up for revision. You may feel pressure to leave parts of your old self, and your old life, behind. This can be pressure you put upon yourself or pressure applied by the people close to you. No matter how excited you are about the upcoming birth of your child, the magnitude of the changes you're experiencing can cause tremendous anxiety and conflicting emotions.

The forty weeks of pregnancy are like a ticking clock. In that finite period, you have to prepare yourself in so many ways. While your waking hours may be devoted to getting ready for the rigors of labor and setting up your home to accommodate a baby, your dreams may be the only place where you're allowed the luxury of exploring how you feel about the more personal transformations you're going through-not the least of which is who you are becoming and how much of yourself you'll need to leave behind.

When Caryn became pregnant, she was planning to go to California on vacation with her husband. Canceling the trip was the first concrete change she made in her life because of her baby. While she was disappointed about not going away, what really disturbed her was the sense that giving up the trip felt like giving up a part of herself. For the first time, she began to consider what else she'd have to give up to become a mother and the enormous changes that lie ahead of her. The images in her dream-the clocks, the mysterious pursuers, the California house and its rooms-reveal her feelings about change and entering this new phase of her life, feelings that are familiar to so many of us.

You're probably aware that your home, besides just being where you live, is a container for your life and that everything in it speaks in some way of who you are. This idea carries over into your dreams, where a house is often a symbol for the self-the top floor contains your conscious mind; the lower levels, your unconscious; and different rooms signify different aspects of your identity.

In Caryn's dream, there's a lot of activity and conflict going on in the house, just as there's a lot going on inside Caryn. The house's California style is a reminder of her canceled vacation; it represents her fear that her life and her sense of self will be radically transformed in the months ahead. The sea cliff where the house is perched describes her anxiety about the change.

There's a sense of dread throughout the dream, personified in the unknown couple pursuing Caryn. They're chasing her through the house, threatening her sense of self and even trying to kill it off. As Caryn runs down the stairs, it's as though she's attempting to run back in time, toward her old self. She passes through an empty room, which can be seen as an empty womb, and a wish to go back to a time in her life when there was no pregnancy. It also suggests her fears about the possibility of losing the baby.

On the next floor down, she finds the room full of clocks. This is where the baby makes itself known, as the ticking of the clocks is just like the reassuring sound of its heartbeat. On a darker note, ticking is also the sound of a bomb about to explode, and on some level this is what becoming a mother feels like for Caryn-an explosion of self after which nothing about her will ever be quite the same.

The airy, modern room at the bottom of the stairs conveys a sense of order that stands in stark contrast to the chaos of the clock room. This is where Caryn is finally able to see the future and feel okay about it. The picture windows overlooking the ocean give her a clear view of herself as part of nature-a creator of life. The foyer also symbolizes Caryn's unconscious, the space where she can resolve her feelings about having a baby and becoming a mother. When Caryn attempts to hide from her pursuers behind a sofa barely large enough for two, it suggests that she's begun to accept that she will soon have to make room in her life for her baby, as well as room in her psyche for her new identity as a mother.

As I travel toward motherhood, it sometimes
feels like a bumpy ride.

I was in my hometown driving my car around a very hilly, curvy road. I've had the car since high school. It's a red Mustang convertible I call Scarlett. And I recognized the road. It's Cemetery Curve, a treacherous part of Route 1, not far from where I grew up. So I was driving around Cemetery Curve and the road was lined with rumble sticks-those bars in the road that keep trucks from going too fast-and each time I hit one I would fall out of the car, literally just roll out the door. Then I would get back in the car and check to make sure the baby was okay-and thank God, each time she was fine.

Maria, 31, stockbroker

As you begin to integrate the idea of yourself as a mother into your identity, you're beginning to say good-bye to the person you've been up until now. This is a prevalent theme in both Caryn's and Maria's dreams, even though the plot and imagery of Maria's dream about a car are completely different from Caryn's dream about a house. In our dreams, there's no single pattern of images that correlates to a particular emotion, just as there's no formula for the way this happens in our waking lives. Keep this in mind as you read this book-while you may share many of the issues and emotions evoked in these dreams, your own dream imagery may be quite different.

The journey in Maria's dream seems to span from the past to the future. Its setting, Maria's hometown, is an important part of her old identity, and the road she travels symbolizes her passage to her new one. Scarlett, her red Mustang, evokes the adventure, freedom, and sexiness Maria associates with her youth, and the road she travels with her baby evokes an unknown future.

The treacherous road and the rumble sticks causing her to fall out of the car describe the dangers inherent in Maria's journey. She seems undaunted, as she keeps moving toward her new self despite the obvious hazards along the way. Even falling out of the car is not a significant impediment-she simply picks herself up and continues on, treating the speed bumps like a pacing device that keeps her from reaching her destination too quickly. It's as if her unconscious mind is telling her it's okay to become this new person-just take your time getting there, and be careful not to lose yourself along the way.

Scarlett has been Maria's baby and she has lovingly cared for her over the years. Maria knows the feelings she's forming for her real-life baby will be far more complex than the ones she has for Scarlett. In this way, Scarlett recalls a simpler time for Maria and represents the continuum from then until now.

Like Caryn, Maria is beginning to accept her pregnancy and integrate motherhood into her identity through her dream. The baby in the car, besides portraying her actual baby, represents Maria's old, childlike self. She's keeping that part of herself safe inside the car. Her ride around Cemetery Curve helps her see she doesn't have to lose her old self altogether in order to make room for her new self and her baby. She's beginning to integrate parts of her past identity with her newly forming one, despite some bumps in the road.

I'm excited about my future as a mother, so
why do I find myself clinging to my past?

I've had a lot of dreams with water imagery-showers, waterfalls, pools. I even dreamt I could breathe underwater. I think that was because of a movie I saw about babies breathing in amniotic fluid.

I remember one dream about diving underwater and looking for excavated ruins. It was at a resort and I was with a friend of mine from college, a guy I used to be really close with. We were relaxing in lounge chairs when, suddenly, it was imperative that we go diving. The water was an unbelievably radiant shade of blue and so clear. We descended and after swimming around a bit, we saw Roman and Greek ruins rising from the sand. I remember the dream because it was so bizarre and because I thought it was strange that my husband was nowhere to be found.

Tricia, 31, college admissions officer

As we enter a new phase of life, we tend to look back and remember the people who have been important to us. Like leafing through an old photo album or scrapbook, it's a way of taking stock of what we've done, who we are, and who we're becoming. So it's not surprising that at a time of such monumental change as pregnancy, we find ourselves consciously and unconsciously remembering all sorts of people. Thinking of them helps us remain connected to our past, and in some ways, that's where we'd feel more comfortable. Even though our vision of the past is probably romanticized and idealized to some degree, hidden there are parts of ourselves that we want to capture and take with us into the future to ensure they are not lost to us forever.

Tricia's dream is about the difficulty so many of us have during pregnancy letting go of our old selves and our old lives. She pictures herself relaxing in a vacation paradise with a male friend from her college years, free of responsibility, and her husband nowhere to be found. This doesn't simply imply a desire to be with another man, it suggests a longing to once again experience a relationship that's about two people and pleasure, instead of the responsibility of planning a family and a future. This idea is reinforced by the dream's exotic setting-the opposite of what Tricia imagines her life will be like after the baby comes.

When she's compelled to dive into the water, she remembers she's pregnant and no longer free to do exactly as she pleases. The urgency of the dive implies a need to protect her baby, describing how Tricia's beginning to feel the protective instinct that plays such a large part in motherhood. By diving into the deep water, it's as though Tricia is diving into amniotic fluid in order to connect with her baby. The dive also describes her preparing for rich new depths in her life; the water is clear and beautiful, indicating she's beginning to see herself clearly as a mother and that she's looking forward to the experience.

These positive feelings are juxtaposed with the image of ruins, symbols of Tricia's old self. She dives toward them like an archeologist on an underwater dig, suggesting an effort to reclaim, or at least preserve, the parts of herself that might get left behind. It's as if Tricia fears becoming a mother will somehow ruin her, and she wants to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening.

Sometimes I feel as if my old self is in
danger of slipping away.

I was standing on a frozen lake. I think it was in Vermont, and there was this really thin, frail girl in front of me who stepped on a weak spot in the ice and fell through. There were other people around, but because I was pregnant, they all rushed over to help me instead of her. I had to cry out, "WNo, no, I'm fine. Take care of her. She's in trouble."

Shawn, 32, midwife

During pregnancy, your life becomes so focused on preparing for your baby's arrival, it can feel as if you've ceased to exist as an individual and your sole purpose is to be a vessel for carrying your baby. Of course, this isn't the case. Just because you're having a child doesn't mean you're going to lose yourself altogether or no longer be who you were before. But the more we change and feel our lives changing, the more we need to be reassured we're still the same.

When Shawn became pregnant, as a midwife, she was familiar with the physical and emotional implications of childbirth, but still felt emotionally unprepared to step into the role of mother, especially since her pregnancy was unplanned. The setting of her dream-thin ice-conveys the feelings of danger, uncertainty, and loss of control surrounding pregnancy. It also suggests how water, an element necessary to create and sustain life, can just as easily cause life-threatening disasters.

In her dream, Shawn recognizes the frail girl who disappears through the ice as a stand-in for her pre-pregnant self, as though she was watching the person she's been up until now disappear and become frozen in time. It shocked her that no one seemed to care that this was happening, which made her feel helpless. As she directs the other people on the lake to the girl who fell through the ice, pregnant Shawn is telling them to rescue pre-pregnant Shawn. She knows the baby will change her life profoundly; still, she's asking the people around her to take care of the fragile parts of her and not just push her blindly along toward motherhood.

For Shawn, as for many of us, a major concern about letting go of her current identity is uncertainty about who she'll be once her baby's born. As she stands out there on the thin ice of pregnancy, she needs to know if mother and baby will glide through life effortlessly, or if they'll fall through into the freezing cold water. In this sense, the frail girl represents Shawn as a mother; since there's doubt about who that person will be, the image is frail and in need of aid.

The girl's frailty also describes Shawn's unborn baby-small and needy. Shawn's hoping for help taking care of her newborn because she's not sure she can do it on her own. Not wanting to let her baby or her old self slip away, she calls out to those around her to rescue them both.

Does becoming a mother mean I have to
become my mother?

I had this dream many times when I was pregnant. It was about this poem by D. H. Lawrence I read when I was eighteen. The poem was about love and even at eighteen it made me scared about being a mom. Lawrence talks about women spending their whole lives becoming desirable, or at least trying to. He describes how they do things, how they have hobbies and interests, and how these activities make them fascinating, desirable souls. Then you get to that place-you get a mate, you have a child, and the fragmentation begins to occur.

When I started having this dream, I saw myself fragmenting. I had achieved professional success and was about to marry a famous musician who loved me very much. But in my dreams, when I watched my life, all I saw were some pieces of me-my head, my hands-floating to my husband, and other pieces-my heart, my arms-floating to my child. There wasn't enough of me left to get up and make the world a better place. It made me feel like I was going to become a hausfrau in pajamas. I didn't want to turn into this little entity that wasn't viable in the world. I didn't want my husband to think of me only as a servant for him and the baby.

That was my recurring dream, and yet it's an everyday part of my consciousness. It reminds me of when I was thirteen, watching my mother in a housedress taking care of four children. Even then I wondered if she was happy. Now I recognize and respect how much she gave us. But she gave to a point where she was empty and I don't want that to happen to me.

Charlotte, 43, singer

Throughout your life, there have probably been many people you've looked to as role models as you've shaped your sense of who you are and who you'd like to be. They may include your best friend from childhood, a favorite teacher, an aunt with a fascinating hobby, a glamorous family friend, a career mentor, or any of a number of people in your life.

Now that you're pregnant, you may find yourself looking for an entirely new set of role models-women who have successfully integrated motherhood into their lives. You may find them among your friends, colleagues, relatives, or even people in the public eye. This process can be very subtle; you may not realize you're looking, but your antennae are up, especially if this will be your first child. But no matter how strong an influence these role models may be, when it comes to mothering, their influence cannot compare to that of one particular person-your own mother.

As we imagine ourselves as mothers, it's only natural to reflect upon who our own mother has been to us. We may conjure up images of her we react against and promise ourselves we'll never become, or we may think of her as an icon of perfection we fear we'll never achieve. Chances are, your perception of your mother falls somewhere between these two extremes, but whatever the case, that perception is essential in determining who you'll be as a parent.

This universal issue is played out in Charlotte's dream. Her sense of identity is shaken as she imagines that once she's caring for both her husband and her child, she'll be nothing but a slave to others' needs, as she perceives her own mother to have been. For Charlotte, the prospect of emulating her mother is a double-edged sword. She appreciates her mother's selflessness but fears that by following in her footsteps, she'll end up being defined solely by her role as a caretaker, and the identity she's taken a lifetime to form will disintegrate.

I worry that pregnancy and motherhood will
make me unrecognizable.

I dreamt my husband and I went to Arizona to pay a surprise visit to my karate master and his wife. I used to study martial arts, and he was a very important person in my life for many years. When we entered their studio, they had no idea who we were.

While we were there, a strange, older woman came in. Her face was covered with big, brown growths that were like moles, but really huge. One was sticking out of the middle of her forehead. She claimed to be visiting the karate master for treatments. He's a hypnotherapist, and he practices a lot of alternative medicine. Since he had no idea who we were, he was very dismissive of us and left to go off with her. We felt really bad because we had come all that way to see him. I was convinced he didn't recognize me because I was pregnant.

The situation was so bizarre and tense that we decided to leave right away. As we walked out the door, a man came rushing out, but it wasn't my karate master. He's short and French with a very thick accent; this person was a tall, lanky American guy. He said, "WDid you send us this postcard? We've been trying to figure out who this postcard is from."W He went on to explain that they were all losing their memories, but they didn't realize it until they received our postcard in the mail. When they couldn't remember who it was from, they discovered there was some kind of environmental crisis going on in the town that was making people lose their memories. Apparently that was also causing the growths on this woman.

Margo, 33, chiropractor

Part of the difficulty in adjusting to your new identity as a mother is that, during pregnancy, the changes in your body are so rapid and dramatic that some days when you look in the mirror, you may hardly recognize yourself. In our image-obsessed society, where people often believe you are what you look like, you may worry that others will forget the qualities they appreciated about you before, and only notice your belly announcing that you're expecting. And you may wonder whether you'll ever look or feel like your old self again.

Margo wasn't yet comfortable with the idea of herself as a pregnant woman, let alone as a mother, when she dreamt about visiting her karate instructor. Her visit is an attempt to gauge how much of her old self she's already shed in order to become a mother. When her karate instructor, once an important role model to Margo, fails to recognize her, her disappointment expresses her difficulty letting go of her old life and her old body so she can have a child.

Margo journeys to an important place from her past to confirm she's still the same. When that doesn't happen, her dream becomes a form of denial. Even though she's consciously aware she's changing physically and that she's adapting her life for a baby, she's not quite ready to accept this, so she projects all these changes onto to those around her. Her short, French karate instructor has morphed into a lanky American, but it's really Margo's body that's changed. She attributes his forgetfulness to an environmental crisis, when the real crisis facing Margo is one of her own identity. The woman with the growths echoes Margo's sense that her body feels foreign to her, and the treatment the woman receives suggests, on some level, Margo wants her body-and her sense of identity-to return to normal.

Sometimes I'm in awe of my new, pregnant self.

You know when you study the sea world and you see the layers of hierarchies of fish, with minnows at the top and these huge whales at the bottom? When I was pregnant, in my dreams I could see all of them in full detail. I don't know if the colors were anatomically correct, but they were gorgeous. I saw a school of sea horses swimming by a coral reef that actually appeared to be breathing, and brilliant tangerine-dusted stingrays hovering in the rocks. There was a pack of minnows rendered in such a pure shade of white, they seemed translucent. I felt like part of them. I couldn't see myself swimming among them, but I know I was there. I can recall the sense of myself blissfully moving through the water. I don't think I was any particular species of fish, and I don't mean this in an earth-mother kind of way, but I can barely put into words what it felt like to believe for a moment that I belonged to this whole subterranean world of nature.

Danielle, 29, librarian

Danielle's journey though the sea world is an apt metaphor for the mix of awe and uncertainty many of us experience when contemplating ourselves as mothers. She's exploring not only being a different person, but also having a profound new connection to nature. By immersing herself in the sea world, Danielle is reveling in her own power of creation and experiencing the potency of her changing self. The water imagery here symbolizes life, and the hierarchies of fish, the stages of her baby's development. Her swim through the hierarchies is a metaphor for her own evolution toward motherhood.

Danielle imagines pregnancy as the beginning of a positive new life, filled with optimism and the sense of being part of something larger than herself-the ongoing cycle of nature. At the same time, she's uncertain about where she belongs; she knows she's part of this subterranean world, but cannot picture herself among the brilliantly colored fish. On some level, Danielle feels once she becomes a mother, she will have changed so much it will seem as if she's entered a whole other world and become an entirely new kind of being.

Like Tricia's dive toward ancient ruins, Danielle's swim through the sea world describes the bond she's beginning to develop with her baby, an experience she perceives as vibrant and beautiful. For Danielle, becoming a mother is not the end of her old self but the beginning of an exciting new part of her life she's eager to explore.

From Dreaming for Two by Sindy Greenberg, Elyse Kroll, and Hillary Grill, M.S.W. by permission of Dutton, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © Sindy Greenberg, Elyse Kroll, and Hillary Grill, 2002. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

About the Author

Sindy Greenberg is a journalist who has written for The New York Times, The New York Observer, and Gourmet, among other publications. She lives in New York City.

Elyse Kroll is a New York City-based style writer, and was most recently a senior editor with Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia. She lives with her husband and son in New York City.

Hillary Grill, M.S.W., is a psychotherapist in private practice. She has been on-staff at the Mount Sinai Medical Center. Her practice is in New York City, where she lives with her husband and two daughters.