Strange dreams

I had the strangest dreams last night – three of them. It’s not just the events in the dreams that are strange, but the fact that they have both literal and figurative interpretations.

In the first dream I received a text message from my therapist. It was casual, like we were in the middle of a conversation. In her message she said something like, “Do you need flowers or [can’t remember], chocolates or [can’t remember]…” Strange. The interwebs tells me that dreams of text messages signify telepathy and a desire to connect with the other person.  That’s true. They also mean I want to get to the point. That’s also true as I have a session today, and a lot to discuss, and I want to get into it, without my therapist phaffing about with a lot of chit chat. 😉

In the second dream (which occurred at the same time and place as the third dream), I dreamt that a friend of mine had to sell her home. Now the literal here is that this friend has recently separated from her husband and wants to keep the home, but doesn’t know yet if this will be possible. In the dream the buyers decided they didn’t want the house afterall, and then decided to move the land and house to another location. Apparently dreams of “disappearing” houses mean I’m not feeling grounded; that I’m feeling uprooted by something in my life. Yep, I am. Actually I’m going to start going to meditation this week in the hope it will help with the grounding. Here’s where this one gets a little complicated. The land the buyers were selling was shaped like a triangle (it isn’t, in real life). Apparently triangles symbolize my aspirations and potential, but also mind, body and spirit.  

In the third dream, another friend of mine (who already has five children of her own), gave birth to five more – quintuplets – as a surrogate mother. One of the real world connections here is that the friend in the second dream and the friend in the third have experienced a rift in their relationship. I think that’s why they both appeared, anyway. The interwebs says that dreams of birth suggest I might be “giving birth” to a new idea, or that there might be new beginnings. Seeing babies also signifies innocence and warmth, something in our own inner nature that is pure, vulnerable or helpless. As these were quintuplets, they were very small, which apparently symbolises my own helplessness and fears of showing my vulnerabilities or incompetence. That’s true, though I can’t pin down why I’d dream of this now.

If I’m to connect these dreams, and the symbolism in them, I come up with this: something about new beginnings in my life that are connected to my aspirations, but feeling vulnerable about this. I’m certainly afraid of failure, and consequently not feeling grounded (it’s almost like I feel controlled by other events). I’ve also recognised recently that my feelings about this are completely normal, and I’ve tried to be gentle on myself – how I’m feeling is just how I’m feeling. It doesn’t mean I’m useless or pathetic or worthless – it’s just how I feel in a given moment and it will, eventually, pass. There’s gotta be some progress in there somewhere, but I’m getting befuddled with all this overanalysis. 😉

One things for sure – the dreams were strange. I’m not stressed by them – just find them curious.

Scary Dream

I was woken last night by a scary dream. I know that nightmares and PTSD go hand in hand, but this wasn’t the usual triggery flashbacky hell. It scared me, though, and I can’t make sense of it, so I thought I’d post it here and see if any of you can make any sense of it.

In the dream, I was up in the hills with my mother. We were on trains and out in the bush and making tea and listening to news about some gangsters on the run. There were cats there, too – specifically a little ginger cat. It’s the third time this week I’ve dreamed about animals (once about elephants and twice now about cats).

Then my father appeared, out of nowhere, as often happens in dreams. He was upset because these mafia-type guys were coming to get him (not the ones we’d heard about on the news). They were big guys, taking him away somewhere, and he didn’t want to go. And I was fiddling with a little plastic something (not sure what it was, just remember the feel of the plastic).

What freaked me is that I was also a bit upset because my father was upset. Not so much in the dream where I was just telling him it would be ok, but when I woke up. The only thing I can possibly relate it to in the real world is the seemingly endless conversation I have with my mother about it being passed time Dad went into a nursing home. But I haven’t had that conversation for ages. What the…?

No one said dreams had to make any sense, but this one … weird.

Courage, stupidity and randomness

I don’t know if it was post-anaesthesia brain fuzz or the furriness of pain killers, but I contacted Nice Guy last week. Yea, I know. I can hear your collective gasp from here. Possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve done, but it’s done now. I told him I missed him, and that I liked him, and that I was hoping we could possibly may be catch up. He said yes. 🙂

I’m still not sure if this was courageous (or “ballsy” as my therapist called it) or just plain stupid. My therapist said it was incredibly “ballsy” and a good thing to do – she almost couldn’t believe I’d done it either. I’m not really sure what made me do it. I felt the weight of post-op depression starting to sink in, and the thought that I’m all alone in the world start to weigh me down, and figured if I don’t contact him I’ll just never know. He sent me a lovely return email saying lots of nice things that he didn’t have to say. Anyway, hopefully we’ll catch up a bit later this week. I’ll let you know how it goes.


I rarely dream about my therapist but I did this week. I dreamt that she’d sent me a text message cancelling my appointment because she was going out and wanted to wear an evening gown. I emailed her about the dream, and she emailed back:

The Wonder Therapist: “That’s me! Dressed for a day’s work.”



Speaking of a day’s work, I have a job interview this week. I’m excited, nervous, anxious, all the usual things. I’ve started preparing, though I’m not usually good at the early preparation… more of a last minute, fever pitch preparer. 😉 They sent me a document to read in preparation. Would you believe it’s a document on child abuse??? Ugh. That stuff used to be so easy for me to read. Now that I’m actually feeling my emotions I find it incredibly difficult. I’ll do my best to switch off so I don’t make an a$$ of myself in the interview!


In other news, I went to the symphony the other night. Possibly not the smartest thing I’ve done while recovering from surgery, but I really wanted to go, and couldn’t find anyone to take my ticket. I only stayed for the first half, but got to see and hear one of my favourite pieces. I was sitting up front so I got to see the pianist’s hands dancing effortlessly up and down the keyboard – it was brilliant.


The Easter I want

I dream of having a big family. Of everyone coming over for Easter lunch. It wouldn’t have to be Easter – it could be Christmas, or any other Holiday, or no holiday at all.

Me in the kitchen preparing food. We’d have appetisers (may be the little mushroom things, or perhaps the chicken and asparagus ones, or perhaps I’d try something new) and may be a roast for mains and something delicious for dessert (or a few somethings so everyone could choose their favourite, may be with that nice raspberry cake I make) and then lots of lovely fresh fruit and cheese. Oh, and wine, of course there’d be wine. A crisp white, probably from Margaret River or Marlborough – my favourite wine regions.

The house would be full of flowers, and the sun would stream in the French doors over the dining table. There’d be nice music playing in the background. Something upbeat but relaxing.

We’d all sit around the table and enjoy the fare. Everyone would be happy. No one would be snarky. No criticism veiled as compliments. No clearing of throats as a warning that someone’s getting angry to the point of exploding. No complaints about the food.

After lunch, the kids would all play outside in the last of the summer sun. Or perhaps they’d go to the park down the road; it’s lovely there. The adults would sit around the table, talking and laughing. Enjoying each other’s company. They’d say things like, “I’m sooo full, but I’ll just have one more…”

We’d spend a long afternoon like this. Perhaps lunch would roll into dinner, who knows? When everyone finally went home they’d be sated and happy, having enjoyed a long lazy day together in each other’s company.

The Easter I got

In a world first my father wishes me and my mother a Happy Easter. My mother, god knows why, says “Tsk, not now,” which sends my father into the throat clearing. Eventually there’s an exchange of Easter chocolate. I say chocolate, because for some reason we haven’t given anything even remotely resembling Easter for a long time. Even so, there’s usually a mountain of chocolate to share, though no one’s very interested anyway.

We spend the morning in silence. My mother does the crossword while my father reads the newspaper. I read my book, anxiety biting me in the gut in the hope that they won’t start going at it again. I read. I hope the guy I think I might be interested in will call like he said he would. He doesn’t.

There’s no real “lunch” to speak of. Everyone has some sort of leftovers, sitting in separate areas of the “family” room (now there’s an oxymoron!) My father whinges while my mother tells me off for reading and then gets engrossed in the crossword again.

By 12.30pm I’m in the car on the way home, squinting through tears because my life is so screwed up.



I know this won’t be news to most of you, but… I live much of my life in fear.

Fear of noises.

Fear of smells.

Fear of people.

Fear of places.

Fear of situations.

Some days, even fear of my own shadow.

Some of these fears have a direct and obvious link to my past; others are more indirect.

I realised too that much of my healing – if not all of it – is about getting over these fears. Or at least learning to live with them so that I’m not paralysed by them all the time.

I could list for you a trillion times I’ve felt afraid – that familiar feeling of stomach flipping, heart beating faster, can’t get my breath, breaking out in a sweat. You know the feeling, I’m sure.

One particular situation is front of mind. For ages (years) I’ve loved photography, and wanted to do it. More. Properly. Better. But I’ve been too scared. Despite the fact that many of you have told me my photos are great, I never believed you. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true. I’m sorry. I thought you were just being polite – just like my friends in the real world who are not only being polite about the photos, but also only being friends with me out of pity, or obligation, or…I don’t know what. I didn’t believe that this photography thing was may be something I could do. Not until my therapist told me how good she thinks some of my photos are. So why did I believe her, and not you?  Well, I guess I trust that she doesn’t BS me. Not about stuff like that anyway.

So she convinced me to enrol in a photography short course. The first class was last night and I can’t tell you how afraid I was. Afraid of going, afraid of not going. Afraid of the people and looking like an idiot. Afraid of being the dumbest and most hopeless person there. Afraid of failure and not being any good at photography at all.  

On the way there I had to deal with my fears. With all these things as well as my fear of being late and

getting lost and

being trapped in the lift and

the crowds in the city and

a creepy man in dirty clothes standing outside his shop who I thought was going to grab me and

having to talk to people in the class who I was sure were thinking I’m an idiot and

not having a good enough camera (even though I do) and

not wearing nice enough clothes (even though I did) and

having to walk back to my car by myself after class (even though it was still light) and

and and and…you get the picture.

But I went to the class. To quote the cliché, I did “feel the fear and do it anyway.” I’m still afraid of all those things, but I went. I’m pleased I faced the fear, even though I know I’ll have to face it all again next week.

I guess this is why my therapist says I’m “gutsy”.


In other news my (half) brother-in-law had a stroke this morning. They are still testing but it sounds serious. I am freaking out. Selfishly I don’t think my freaking is for the bro-in-law (who I have only known for a few years and who gives me the creeps) but because I’m flashing straight back to when my father had his strokes last year. Please don’t worry, I’m ok. I have rested, refreshed and seem to be “back to a mild panic.”

Oh, and thanks to Wordle for helping me make this image.


I had a couple of weird dreams last week. Perhaps it was the build up of unreleased emotional “stuff” over life’s twists and turns, or perhaps it was the preservative laden soft drink I consumed with dinner? Who knows?

These are the first clearly recollectable dreams I’ve had in awhile. Here they are:

1. Mum and I in the car, on the way to a therapy session. Mum driving, but going the wrong way or getting lost, so that we would never make it to therapy.

2. I went to therapy, only my T wasn’t there or wouldn’t see me. Most of the dream was about the distress that this induced.

Hmmmm….. I think this is fairly obvious given what’s been going on for me, but I know there are those who say all the characters in your dreams are representations of yourself. If that’s the case:

1. Who the hell is driving the car if I am in the passenger seat? Or is this code for my own resistance to therapy??

2. If I’m not there with me, then, umm…. emperor’s new clothes? Fear of not finding the “me” I’ve lost?

What the … ?