I Had a Dream That My Mother Removed My Toilet.

Unpacking trauma

I am the little cat cautiously peeking out from the corners of her new loving home after years of living in the pound.

Last night, I had a dream that my mother removed my toilet.

In the family house, we have 3 bathrooms: A half-bathroom for guests next to the living room, an ensuite bathroom in my Mother’s master bedroom upstairs, and a hallway bathroom for all remaining bedrooms.

After my brother “died”, I was the only one using the hallway bathroom during the times I lived at home. So that one was “mine”.

Over the years, my Mother took ownership of the first two bathrooms as her own. She evicted my Aunt from the half-bathroom downstairs because she was fucking it up. Oddly enough, my Mother’s solution was to force her to use her ensuite bathroom.

My Mother’s logic was that her sister wouldn’t have as much liberty to fuck up her bathroom if she was heavily monitored. So whenever my 69 year old Aunt needed to use the bathroom, she had to make a long, slow hike up 2 flights of stairs from her basement bedroom, to use the bathroom in my Mom’s bedroom.

My Mom claimed that her tactic worked, but I beg to differ. For a long time during my childhood—and as a short-lived punishment in my adulthood—I was forced to share a bathroom with my filthy Aunt, and it was one of the most horrifying experiences I’d ever had. Nobody has grown or changed since then, except for me.

So in my view, all the bathrooms were nasty except for mine.

To me, the dream was not symbolic. It was literal.

For the first two years I lived with my family from 2021, I woke up to yelling and screaming every Saturday morning, like clockwork. As sure as Sunrise, the sound of my Mom barking in her shrill tone clacked against my Aunt’s defensive explanations like an alarm bell. Then, as always, my Aunt would walk back downstairs loudly sobbing her guts out. Every time. Sometimes, I would meet her in the kitchen with tears streaming down her face.

I felt sorry for her, but nothing could be done. My Aunt had resigned herself to being a victim, a burden, and to living with a sister who she openly resented. She was too fearful of change to seek greener pastures for herself. In fact, she liked the naturesque view from the slit window in her shitty basement bedroom.

Eventually, the arguments became about my Aunt invading my Mother’s privacy because she wanted to use the bathroom. Ahh. I noticed that my Mom had gotten extra crafty by scapegoating my Aunt for a situation that she created herself. Typical.

After a distracting work week, Mom had a whole weekend to play with her demons. Making life a living hell for others was her favorite way to blow off steam.

Yes. Saturdays were terrible, and it all started in the bathroom.

I was down the hall, somewhat removed with my clean little hallway bathroom. A fat slab of my Mother’s rose quartz crystal sat by the sink, signifying a loving, protected space. But I always knew that it was only a matter of time before the tornado came to knock it all down.

So in that dream I had last night…