The Rebirth of a Dreamer

Authors Note

This story contains themes of:

Emotional Abuse – Mention of past emotional manipulation and lack of support in relationships.

Sexual Assault – References to past sexual trauma.

Depression/Anxiety – Depiction of feelings of hopelessness, frustration, and emotional struggle.

Financial Struggles – References to debt, financial insecurity, and difficulty making ends meet.

Self-Harm (Implied) – Moments of self-destructive thoughts and behaviors (emotional distress that may be interpreted as emotional self-harm).

Family Conflict – Dysfunctional family relationships and unresolved issues.

Isolation – Feelings of loneliness and lack of meaningful social connections.

DECEMBER 19, 2024

Three hours. That’s how long Nyla had been staring at the cold glow of her screen. Tasks loomed large on her to-do list, all tethered to her dream life. Yet, she stayed still, bound by invisible chains of procrastination.

A sigh escaped her chapped lips as she rolled onto her side, pink satin sheets gliding against her skin. An unmanicured thumb swiped up again.

“Come with me to make a Christmas basket for my boy-,”

Next.

“Here’s everything on my Tokyo itinerary.”

Nyla perks up. I want to go to Tokyo, she thinks to herself. The thought reminds her of her unfinished vision board project. The one she said she’d complete days ago. Why hadn’t she finished again? Right, she’d been procrastinating. Again. Just as she had for the entirety of the past year. And the year before that. 

She could get up now. She could tackle her goals: improve her diet, stop doom-scrolling, and finally start her novel. She had the time, the ability. So why didn’t she?

“I’m so sick of seeing this,” Nyla muttered, tossing her phone onto the bed. “‘Christmas’ this, ‘Christmas’ that. What’s so good about Christmas anyway?”

Nyla used to love the holiday as a child. Despite not having much her family would always get together and do something. She’d spend hours in the kitchen with her grandmother baking cookies and taste testing food. Most Christmases were great. 

But those memories were also marred by arguments. They always came, like clockwork, usually right after dinner. There’d be about an hour gap and then–

“I’m sick of you always opening your mouth to pick on her!”

“And I’m sick of you always trying to defend her when she’s clearly in the wrong!”

“She’s a child!”

“She still needs to show more respect!”

“To who? To you? Look at how you treat her!”

But if you looked past those conversations, it really wasn’t so bad.

The rain pattered against the windows, pulling Nyla back to the present. It’s so quiet, she thought. The smooth, white ceiling stared back at her, a stark contrast to the textured ceilings of her childhood.

Her phone buzzed.

T-Mobile: IMPORTANT! We were unable to process your payment of $95.95…

Heat stung the corners of Nyla’s eyes. She clicks the phone off, but the screen stays lit. Frustration bubbles up as she clicks it again—nothing.

“This stupid old phone!” she yelled, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.

“‘2024 will be my year,’ my behind,” she muttered, burying her face in the pillow.

 Everything was different now. As it should be since she’s not a kid anymore.

This year had tested her, breaking her resolve piece by piece, until she wasn’t sure what was left to rebuild. When she can’t hold her breath anymore she turns her head.

“I wish that I could live my dream life like I’m supposed to. I should be in Tokyo right now recording content and eating ramen and drinking boba and shopping. Or I should at least be able to pay my stinkin’ bills.” 

Later in the day, Nyla finds herself leaning over a bowl of cinnamon oatmeal and TikTok. It’s her first meal of the day despite the late hour. She’d forgotten to eat. Again. Realistically, she remembered. She just didn’t want anything that she had and her bank account turned its nose up at her when she thought about ordering something. So she decided to anger-starve herself until she couldn’t take it anymore.

She hadn’t anticipated this at the beginning of 2024. She thought that this would definitely be the year that she finally had her big break. It was well deserved after years of struggle and trauma. She could do it. She knows she could. She just didn’t. 

“If another Christmas video comes up I’m going to scream.” 

Or cry. Probably both.

Nyla knew that turning her phone off would solve her problem. But then what would she do? Sit with herself? 

The fear of failure haunted Nyla. But failure wasn’t her only shadow—fear of rejection loomed just as large, its whispers echoing in her mind. Fear of being seen and perceived for who she truly was. Fear of success, oddly enough, for what if she achieved her dreams only to find herself unfulfilled?

Above all, Nyla feared facing herself. Truly seeing the layers beneath the surface—the scars, the potential, the raw power waiting to be acknowledged.

She didn’t avoid these things because she was lazy, as some might assume. No, she avoided them because to confront them meant peeling back the distractions that kept her safe: the endless doom-scrolling, the ruminating on what she couldn’t change, the quick escapes into fantasies of someone else’s life.

On her best days, she showed up for herself—she painted her nails, cooked balanced meals, and worked toward her goals. But on days like this, when the weight of her world pressed heavily on her shoulders, it was easier to drown out the noise than to sit with the silence of her own truth.

To look in the mirror today meant seeing the potential she’d buried under fear, and the power of that truth was more terrifying than anything else.

Thankfully, there’s always tomorrow.

DECEMBER 20, 2024

Nyla wakes up at 8:47 a.m. despite not going to sleep until four. Usually she’d look at the time and go back to sleep. Not this today though. She had to pee badly. It was past the point of holding it so she stumbled out of bed. Light-headed and groggy she handles her business. 

Now would be the time that she would grab her phone and begin distracting herself with some form of escapism. However, Nyla instead decides to stretch out her sore muscles while following a YouTube video. She brushes her teeth when she finishes and then makes her tea– hibiscus since it's a Friday.

“What to do today,” she ponders aloud.

The skin under her eyes is dark. She should go back to sleep and try to make up for the hours spent behind a screen but she allows herself to fall into a state of flow and cleans her apartment instead.

“Good job Nyla, I’m proud of you!” She tells herself with a grin after she’s done.

She continues to do miniscule tasks throughout the day. It isn’t until she yawns that she decides to check the time. Her homescreen, an outdated picture of herself, reads 5:55 p.m. in white letters.

“Wow, it’s still early,” brown eyes flicker to the window. “It feels later but I guess it is about to be winter.”

The thought causes her to pause. Have I really wasted my year again? Her shoulders slump. She rises to her feet. Her eyes slowly take in her surroundings as she moves from the living room to her bedroom. 

Nyla’s emotions take their time to settle. They allow her to take everything in first. The old photos on the walls of people she’ll never talk to again. The unfinished art projects. Uncharged crystals. Untouched books. Then they snap. 

She tears the photos from the walls, her hands trembling with an energy she couldn’t name—anger, maybe, or hope disguised as frustration. Old art followed, her sketches and half-finished paintings crumpled into the trash alongside clothes that hung on her frame like whispers of someone she no longer wanted to be. She allows the feeling to help her push her bookshelves, bed, dresser, and desk around her room. 

She slips into her bed when she’s finished, curling herself in a ball. For the first few moments she’s still. Then a silent sob racks through her body. And another. And another. And another.

Nyla cries about the weight of her world. The past due bills that continue to gather interest. Debt she can only dream of getting paid off within two years. The lack of healthy foods in her fridge (or food at all for that matter). The lack of friends (because she tried to maintain one sided relationships with people who didn’t deserve her). Her terrible love life (probably passed down because of her father’s desire to treat the women in his life like crap). The unfinished book she’d been working on for two years. 

She digs a little deeper.

She cries about the first boy who took her against her will. Then the second and the third. She cries about never being chosen. About her mom not showing her the proper love and affection that kids need. She cries because she can’t get her younger siblings presents. Then she cries about not seeing them for Christmas at all.

She cries because her ancestors were slaves and they couldn’t celebrate the way they should’ve been able to. She cries because the women in her family have a history of abuse and rape. She cries because they shouldn’t have had to go through it. She cries and cries and cries until her tears run dry.

Then she cries a little more just in case.

“I just want to be free. Free from the financial stress, free from the shackles of the past, free from responsibility.”

She thinks of the twenty-some unanswered job applications.

“I want to be able to live and thrive by doing what makes me happy. I shouldn’t have to work for someone else just to make ends meet. I should be able to just be myself and show up authentically.”

These are all words Nyla has said before. These are goals that she set out for but just couldn’t seem to accomplish. Why? Well, for starters she was looking in the wrong place. She looked to partying, drugs, sex, social media, clothes, and other material things to fulfill her emptiness. She tried the self help books but they didn’t work. She tried therapy and it was cool but it wasn’t working how she wanted it to.

She needs a mentor but they're expensive and the -$0.43 in her bank account disagrees with the purchase. Her tears refill and she cries herself to sleep.

For the next four days Nyla manages to resist doom scrolling by finishing her vision board for 2025. On the 21st, she wrote out everything her heart desired, no matter how big or small. She decided that it didn’t matter if her goals seemed realistic or attainable. All that mattered was that she wanted to achieve them. On the 22nd, she intentionally chose photos that matched each of her goals. Then on the 23rd she made a mini-board for each individual goal and drafted action plans for achieving them. 

By the 24th her room becomes a shrine for her vision. Motivational quotes, pictures of Tokyo and other locations she wants to travel to, and luxury lifestyle photos line her walls. Crystals decorate her shelves. Candles are used as spacers between books. Vanilla incense and lavender essential oil fragrant the space.

It’s perfect, she thinks.

Before she knew it it was–

CHRISTMAS 

It was approximately 9:32 a.m. when Nyla rolled out of bed. She didn’t bother checking the time, however, wanting to prolong the disappointment for as long as possible. She expected few “merry Christmases” and even fewer presents. After all, she wasn’t a kid anymore. The silence of her apartment confirmed that.

She hadn’t bothered with a tree. It’d be pointless anyway with no gifts to go under it. Her roommate had left to spend the holidays with family. Something Nyla wishes she did. Not that it’d make much of a difference. 

“Merry Christmas,” she tells her reflection when she brushes her teeth.

It’s only fair to say it to herself first. She goes back into her room and stares at the vision board on her wall. Her hand hovers over it. “Success,” it reads. But what does success even mean? Money? Love? Peace? 

She takes a marker and writes beneath it, ‘Fulfillment.’ This time, she’s going to get it.

After she’s stretched and put on her water for tea she decides to get the hard part of the day over with. Her new lockscreen greets her along with an unexpected surprise. 

Howard University: Dear Nyla Rayne, you will be receiving a refund for $5,585.50…

For the first time in weeks, she smiled—a genuine smile. She'd be able to pay her bills and send something to her brother and sister. She'd even be able to get the electric guitar on her vision board.

The day took an even more surprising turn when he reached out, asking to meet. He had been a case of unrequited love– despite her lack of confession. By the time Nyla was ready to speak up she was too late. He’d gotten a girlfriend and she wasn’t a homewrecker. Ever since then she’d resorted to rage journaling about it and crying herself to sleep because nobody ever made her feel as seen as he had.

By the afternoon Nyla is sitting in his passenger seat with a pounding heart.

“I’ve practiced this a hundred times,” he confessed. “But I don’t need to say it perfectly—I just need you.”

His words poured out—a heartfelt apology, an admission of past mistakes, and a promise to try again. Each sentence fills Nyla’s heart with more hope than she began her day with.

“I thought about you every single day,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “But I needed to become someone worthy of you. I can’t go back and change what I’ve done. I can’t unsay the things I’ve once said but I can do my best to make up for it. All I’m asking for is the chance to.”

Nyla hesitated but felt the truth in his words. “You were always worthy,” she admitted. “I’m willing to give you a chance.”

He handed her an envelope. Inside were two first-class tickets to Tokyo, departing in just a few days.

Nyla’s breath caught. Tears welled up—not of sadness, but of gratefulness.

She knew that there was more to discuss. Specific things that they did to hurt each other. Boundaries that would need to be set and catching up to be had. For now though, she wanted to be held in his arms. Just like she wished for in the past.

Oh how long it took for this to happen, Nyla reflects on her journey. She’d undergone repeated tower moments– ones she used to think would break her. She had to toss out everything she knew and have faith that she would do better. That things would work out for her. 

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind, “be careful what you wish for as it might not come the way you want.”

 Nyla smiled. You were right, Nana.