Until recently, I thought dream interpretation was for people with too much free time and not enough hobbies.

Like… sure, dreams are weird. Interesting even. But healing? Transformational? That sounded like a stretch.

Then two weeks ago, while assisting in a hypnotherapy training at the HCH Institute, I had an experience that changed my mind—and, unexpectedly, changed me.

The Woo I Didn’t See Coming

I’ve done a lot of healing work over the years—past life regressions, quantum journeys, soul retrievals, the works. But dream work? It always felt a bit too floaty. Esoteric. Woo with a capital W.

I somehow passed that module five years ago during training, but I never resonated with it. No prophetic dreams, no clear symbolism, no revelations. Just random sleep-noise.

So when Holly (Holly Holmes-Meredith, my mentor and hypnotherapy instructor) started leading us through a dreamwork induction, I thought I’d just sit through the motions.

What I didn’t expect was for a recurring dream I’d long buried to come flooding back.

The Dream That Haunted Me

The dream came after my mom passed, when I had been her primary caretaker.
In it, my mom is sick. Very sick.

Her limbs are falling off. Her organs are slipping out. Pus is seeping through her skin. There’s no part of her that’s whole.

But in the dream, I never stop trying. I’m frantically working to fix her—holding her together, patching her up, trying to get her well again.

And I’m failing. Over and over and over.

I wake from these dreams feeling heavy. Helpless. Like I’m drowning in futility.

Then the Dream Started Talking Back

In class, we were given a series of questions to explore our dreams more deeply:

• How does this overlay your waking life?
• What does your dream ego do? What does it avoid?

And something clicked.

This dream wasn’t just about my mom.

It was about me trying to fix my old life.

Everything in my life had been falling apart—but I was still there, desperately trying to glue it back together.

Even when it was clearly dead, I couldn’t let go.

Why? Because I was terrified.

Terrified of stepping into a new life I didn’t understand.

Terrified I didn’t have the mental framework or emotional bandwidth to imagine something different.

So I clung to the familiar—even if it was rotting.

From Dream to Deeper Work

During our partner session, my classmate guided me back into the dream—and then into the emotion underneath: terror.

Not sadness. Not grief. Terror.

And it felt familiar. Ancient.

So we followed it further—into a childhood regression.

I found myself as a little girl in preschool, lying awake during mandatory nap time, silently panicking for hours. My “entertainment” was… unconventional. I played with my boogers and created a little mural on the wall. Over time, the mural grew. Massive. Impressive, really.

Until one day the teacher noticed.

She screamed. Humiliated me. Shamed me so deeply that I dissociated.

And in that moment, I remembered the feeling:
“How could I have not seen this coming? How did I not know I was screwing it all up?”
That’s the same feeling I’d been carrying into adulthood: “I didn’t see the signs. I let everything rot. I failed.”

Reclaiming the Fragmented Self

My partner tried to offer healing words to my inner child—but I couldn’t hear them. I was frozen, dissociating again. So we called in my Higher Self.
The wiser, timeless, grounded part of me. She said:
“You did nothing wrong. The teacher was projecting her own shame. That moment wasn’t your fault.” And then she held little-me close. And I felt something return. Something I hadn’t known was missing. A soul fragment, back where it belonged.

The Final Message—from the Dream

We returned to the dream. My classmate asked me to speak with my mom.
“How can you help Elena let go?”
And my mom said something I’ll never forget:
“Elena sees her old life as disposable income, mastery, the power trip of being good at her job. But that life was built from not-enoughness. The new life? It’s built from being enough. From wholeness. From love.”

“This isn’t a funeral. It’s a celebration. You got what you came for. You healed.”
And suddenly—letting go wasn’t terrifying.

It was obvious. It was time.

The Dream Was Never About Her

It wasn’t about my mom.
It was about me.
Trying to revive what no longer serves.
Trying to fix what’s already dead.
When all I needed to do…
Was say thank you.
And let it go.
Even though I don’t know what this new life will look like,
I know it’s time.
And I know now—I’m ready.