Coming Home to Your Dreams: A Self-Caring Invitation to Remember. A Porch Light Reflection by Lori Carl Maloy

Sometimes self-care is simply turning toward what you once loved and saying, "I'm listening now."

Have you ever forgotten your dreams?

Not the fleeting ones while you sleep, but the deep ones—the longings that once tugged at your chest and whispered, “Maybe I could...” Those tender sparks of imagination or purpose that once made your heart light up?

If so, you're not alone.

For a long time, I lost mine, too.

Growing up and getting on with life can do that to us. Responsibilities increase. Hearts break.

We begin giving our attention and care to everything but ourselves.

My love of stories began early—tucked under covers as my mother read fairy tales aloud. Later, I climbed the steps of a mobile library at my consolidated school in a tiny Maine town and fell in love with pages full of magic and meaning. Eventually, I began writing my own stories and poems, crafting songs on the guitar, and pouring my heart into every corner of the creative world I could reach.

But then—heartache. Blockage. Silence.

For years, I couldn’t write a single creative word. Even journaling felt impossible. The part of me that once wrote freely curled inward and went quiet. I thought maybe this part of me was gone for good.

But dreams don’t die. They wait. They whisper. And sometimes, they need a little help waking back up.

For me, it started small. A lullaby for a grandchild. A sentence that wouldn’t leave me alone. A nudge from a persistent son who told me, “Just begin again.” And eventually, one sentence became a paragraph, and then a chapter, and before I knew it—I was writing again. Not because I had to, but because the stories in me had waited long enough.

My Invitation for you

If your own dreams have gone quiet, I want to offer you a tender truth:

You haven’t missed it. You are not too late. Your creative spark is not gone—it may simply be waiting for your attention.

And attention is a form of self-care.

Dreams are like seeds. They don’t demand. They wait. And the moment you lean in—just a little—they begin to stir.

So here’s my invitation:

• What did you once love that you’ve forgotten?

• What small creative act might feel like coming home?

• What dream could you write down—not the whole thing, just the start?

  
  

Let it be small. Let it be quiet. Let it be for you. Because honoring your inner longings is a way of tending your soul.

You don’t have to launch a book or a business. You don’t even have to share it.But you do get to say: “Hello again.”

Because the part of you that used to dream? She’s still there. And maybe she’s just waiting for the porch light to flicker back on.

A Quiet Next Step

If this reflection stirred something in you, write it down and answer this question in your personal journal:

What’s one dream you’d love to remember again?

Or if you're not ready yet—just whisper it to yourself. That counts too.

And if today is a day for rest instead of answers? That’s okay. Caring for your heart—especially the tender, creative parts—is part of the remembering.

“Your dream hasn’t left you, it's just waiting for you to turn toward it again.”

With hope and gentleness,

Lori Carol Maloy