Defiant Wisdom

Category: Dreamwork

Narratives shaped by dreams — unpacking symbolism, subconscious patterns, emotional truth, and inner shifts through the dream state.

  • The Room Behind the Wallpaper

    The Room Behind the Wallpaper

    The Dream

    An old house—
    it was damp.

    Around the windows,
    the walls
    were soaking wet.

    Beneath the fabric wallpaper,
    I discovered
    a hidden room.

    Inside
    a writing desk—

    it was warm
    in there.

    Really warm.

    I suggested
    we should open it up
    to the rest of the house—

    let the heat
    out.

    The Meaning

    the damp house
    My psyche. It’s not unsafe, just a bit neglected.

    the windows
    Where light and truth should come in. But instead? Wet. Seeping.
    I’m checking the perimeters. Looking for where my boundaries let the weather in.

    the hidden room
    I peel back the wallpaper and find… A space I forgot I had.
    A room with purpose, solitude, warmth.
    A creative core.
    An inner writer.
    A part that doesn’t need fixing—it just needs revealing.

    the warmth
    This is the warmth of readiness, presence, creative potential. I’m not discovering anything bad—I’m discovering a solution.

    letting the heat out
    I’m finally ready to say, let this part of me affect the rest. Let this warmth inform the cold spaces. Let this creative core change the larger structure.

    What Lingers…

    What if the solution isn’t on the outside, but already glowing deep within?

    What if the warmth that’s been hidden is finally ready to lead?

    Marginalia

    By this time, events and dreams we’re coming thick and fast. I didn’t know why, exactly—but I felt clear: I needed to record everything. This dream felt like a nudge in that direction, opening a warm part of me I didn’t know was there.

  • Pedalling While They Take the Bus

    Pedalling While They Take the Bus

    The Dream

    I was meeting
    an old friend
    at the theatre.

    I was running late—
    finishing work.

    My mum—
    I’d asked her
    to join us.

    I tried
    to call my friend—
    my phone
    wouldn’t work.

    I tried
    to buy Mum a ticket—
    the website
    wouldn’t load.

    I finally got through
    to my friend.

    They were upset
    (understandably—
    I’m often late).

    I explained myself.
    They softened.

    Now I was
    so late
    I would miss
    the start.

    I put my mum
    on the bus.

    While I
    pedalled furiously
    on a bike.

    The Meaning

    relationship as performance
    I was invited and expected—but I arrived late, distracted by other things.

    mum
    History, tension, inherited patterns—yet I’m trying to integrate her into a present connection.

    fails
    It’s not that I don’t want to show up—it’s that my tools fail me at the exact moment I try. Even when I care, I mess it up.

    pedalling while mum takes the bus
    Still trying to fix, working harder than anyone—others calmly carried along.
    I’m exhausted. I’m earning my right to attend—and yet somehow, miss the mark.

    What Lingers…

    What if over-efforting is guilt dressed as love?

    What if showing up late doesn’t equal not deserving to show up at all.

    Marginalia

    At the time, guilt was running the show—researching ancestry while letting others down in the process. I was beginning an NHS assessment for ADHD, and my mum pushed back—questioning why I’d take this road so late in life—this dream holds all the tension of her approach.

    My dreams return to this dynamic again and again. In Walking Away with the Door Still Open, I refuse to wait.

    In Sunsets and Nervous Men, I finally reach for joy without needing to earn it.

  • Poppy Seeds in a Rush of Yes

    Poppy Seeds in a Rush of Yes

    The Dream

    I dropped everything
    I went
    to the garden centre
    I bought poppy seeds.

    I was
    so excited.

    The Meaning

    dropping everything
    Freedom. Urgency. Joy taking precedence.

    the garden centre
    The source of potential. A sanctum place of future beauty.

    poppy seeds
    Poppies symbolise: Sleep and dreams, remembrance (grief, history, ancestors), wild beauty and literal psychoactive transformation. I’m not planting daisies. I’m planting something deep, something ancient. And I’m thrilled at the idea of cultivating something that could change me.

    What Lingers…

    What if joy doesn’t need justification to be sacred?

    What if the deepest transformations begin with the tiniest seeds—planted in a rush of yes?

    Marginalia

    I’d written the story of my ancestry research: It Began with a Name. This is the dream I was rewarded with. Clearly, the ancestors are delighted with the progress I’ve made. There is celebration and the joy of planting something new, so unlike the heaviness of The Body in the Greenhouse.

    In waking life, I did go and buy poppy seeds. It seemed only fitting to add some to my herb garden. I didn’t press them neatly into the soil—I just threw them across the bed. Now I’ll wait, and see what rises next season.

  • What If Rest Feels Like Dying?

    What If Rest Feels Like Dying?

    The Dream

    Holiday—
    I didn’t want
    to do anything.

    I recognised
    I didn’t have
    long left.

    I felt
    desperate.

    It dawned on me…

    I might be
    depressed.

    The Meaning

    the holiday
    When rest is mistaken for disinterest.

    time running out
    Shouldn’t I be doing… all the things? This is the guilt of not conforming to toxic productivity.

    naming the depression
    Maybe what I’m calling depression… is not being anxious. Maybe what looks like laziness… holds weight.

    What Lingers…

    What if it’s not depression—just resting for the first time ever?

    What if doing nothing is how the deeper whispers finally get heard?

    Marginalia

    I’ve quit a mismatched school and am waiting for the new one to start. I’m supposed to be studying, but instead I’m ferociously digging into my ancestry, chasing a dream of The House That Contains Everything.

    Not having anything clear to do, for an overachiever, is akin to dying.
    An existential crisis wired in from the start: if you’re not achieving, not producing, you’re useless.

    The question rises: am I procrastinating? Does this research mean anything at all? Does it tie into a bigger picture perhaps?

    But the void doesn’t stay empty. It fills itself—
    not with herbal work,
    but with whispers.
    With intuition.
    With dreams.

    I’m listening. Remembering.
    Not doing. Not achieving.

  • What If Overflow Isn’t Failure?

    What If Overflow Isn’t Failure?

    The Dream

    I was outside,
    under a tarp.

    It was raining—
    relentlessly.

    A leak
    in the roof.

    I made something
    to drain the water away.

    The rain
    intensified.

    Eventually,
    the water was overflowing—

    even the drain
    I built
    couldn’t handle it.

    The Meaning

    the tarp
    Attempting to protect myself from being emotionally flooded. I hide under temporary protection but this is thin, makeshift and exposed.

    the leak
    The emotions are being managed. Even though they’re leaking through the tarp, I attempt to problem solve them away with structure and practicality.

    the overflow
    The feelings are too much. Even the systems in place to stop them from becoming overwhelming can’t cope.

    What Lingers…

    What if no structure can hold what needs to be felt?

    What if overflow isn’t failure, but the truth finally arriving?

    Marginalia

    It feels like a big responsibility, digging into ancestry that was meant to remain unknown. This dream carries the weight of that. I think of the rain as my Nan and Mum—both of whom either didn’t want, or don’t care, to dig up this past.

    But for me, even though it’s their story, it’s mine too.

    I’ve learned that simply giving these stories air makes them lighter. What was heavy in silence begins to lose its weight when spoken.

    And whatever their reasons for not looking, I want to say: it’s OK. I understand.

    You can read our story [here].

  • The House That Contains Everything

    The House That Contains Everything

    The Dream

    Eating food
    with a friend I volunteer with—

    the meal was amazing,
    complex,
    tasty.

    I needed to go shopping.

    Instead I
    showed my partner
    around the house
    we were living in.

    I’d finally decided
    I could face
    the huge task
    of renovating it—

    it was fucking massive.

    I’d already explored
    the newer parts—
    carpets, beds,
    salvageable things
    from the previous owner.

    I said it was all easy enough—
    except the freezing cold room
    next to the front door.

    It had bars
    on the inside.

    It felt haunted.

    We toured the old wing—
    cold rooms,
    ancient furniture.

    He pointed
    to a sloping wall.
    “Subsidence,” he said.

    I wanted to reuse
    the furniture.
    He wasn’t keen.

    The rooms were filled
    with character,
    creepy in places—

    four ebony heads,
    their eyes closed
    sat on one shelf.

    Black magician capes
    with crystal balls at the collar,
    displayed on mannequins.

    Shelves
    of black stone balls
    with white inscriptions.

    Sheds
    connected to bedrooms,
    stuffed with bikes
    and bits of metal.

    I met a friend
    celebrating their graduation,
    wondering whether
    to tell social media.

    I encouraged her.

    My partner
    chatted—
    with a woman concerned
    about her son
    working illegally.

    I said, flippantly,
    “It’s hard—
    but it’s time
    to let him go.”

    To my partner
    I said
    we’d need to sort the bathroom—
    tiny.

    He wanted
    to rent the old wing out.

    I wanted
    to keep parts of it—
    even if the stuff wasn’t mine,
    I liked their character.

    Then,
    I entered
    the new wing—

    rooms connected
    by ladders
    and slides,

    rooms linking into others
    in strange ways.

    The décor was simple—
    but the structure,

    it was wild.

    The Meaning

    the meal
    Connection. Nourishment. Shared appreciation for something complex.

    the house
    My entire psyche—and here? It’s sprawling. Too big to casually renovate.
    I’m living inside my own complexity, and for the first time, saying, yeah, I can handle this.

    partner as witness
    He’s not the fixer, I am.
    He observes, comments, critiques, offers strategies
    but I’m the one touring him.
    He sees flaws. I see potential.

    room with bars
    The reception room by the front door. Freezing cold and determined to keep everything in. The trauma vault.
    It’s cold, defensive, possibly haunted.
    And whilst it’s not fixed, it is acknowledged.

    the old wing
    Memory. Inheritance. My ancestral/psycho-spiritual archive.
    These are my dormant powers, forgotten stories, and unclaimed emotional objects.I want to keep them because they carry depth.

    bike rooms
    Junk drawers of the psyche. Unsorted, but not useless.

    slides, ladders.
    The newest part of myself. Not polished, but playful. This part is
    more connected, more dynamic and nonlinear.

    graduation
    Someone’s ready to share what they’ve accomplished and I encourage them
    I’m helping others to celebrate themselves.

    renting out the old wing
    I’m saying not everything needs to be useful. Some things are just part of who I am.

    What Lingers…

    What if shadow work isn’t about fixing, but finally deciding to live in every room?

    What if some things don’t need to be cleared out, just honoured as part of the architecture?

    Marginalia

    This dream holds more than I’ve even begun to unpack yet—but it was the catalyst.

    When I woke, I knew: those four heads were connected to my ancestors. I felt it in my gut. This was the moment I knew I needed to pick up my ancestral research again. Research that led me to finding out who those four heads belonged to.

    But it wasn’t until I shared the dream with a friend that something clicked. The room at the front of the house was Jimmy’s.

    Working more intuitively, I’ve learned to trust that kind of knowing. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten this far.

    And the more I trust, the more I find is revealed.

  • What If the Sea Takes It All?

    What If the Sea Takes It All?

    The Dream

    Staying
    in shared accommodation
    on holiday.

    I was in a rush
    to leave.

    I’d left it too late
    for my onward journey—
    it would be very late
    when I arrived.

    I worried
    about cleaning
    before I left.

    I relaxed
    it was okay—
    others were staying on.

    —

    At my next location,
    the weather
    was glorious.

    The sea
    was wild.

    I stood on the prom,
    confused
    at what I was looking at.

    Then I realised:

    the sea wall
    was made of glass,
    holding back the sea
    from consuming
    the land.

    My camera
    had fallen into the water
    somewhere—

    but it had been returned
    onto the top of the sea wall.

    I tried
    to take photos
    with it.

    I cleaned
    the wet lens.

    A sunburned ex-boyfriend
    stood nearby,
    chest on show,
    trying
    to flirt with me.

    I pondered
    the benefit
    of protecting the land.

    I understood
    it was inhabited—

    but isn’t it just evolution
    to let things
    change?

    The Meaning

    shared space
    Another borrowed place. I’m on the move—again. But this time? I’m not cleaning. I’m letting go.

    late arrival, wild sea
    The delay gives way to glory. It’s not just beautiful—it’s threatening to consume everything. The sea is vast, wild, and held back by something thin and artificial.

    glass sea wall
    This is a fragile defence against overwhelming emotions or truths. And I’m there trying to understand my role in the protection, or the surrender to the inevitable.

    the camera lost and returned
    I lost my tool for witnessing and the sea/my emotional unconscious gave it back. But it’s blurry, the lens is wet, my perspective needs cleaning.

    sunburned ex
    Here we go again! The ex representing past impulses—all while I’m mid-epiphany.

    the evolution question
    I’m questioning the validity of trying to protect anything at all. The land is meaningful, but is resistance to change even reasonable? This is my psyche trying to reconcile grief, detachment, collapse, and transformation.

    What Lingers…

    What if perspective doesn’t need replacing, only cleaning?

    What if evolution isn’t in protection, but in the willingness to let something go?

    Marginalia

    This dream feels like a continuation of the questioning in This Path Used To Be Shared—how I’ve held space, even lineage, with others.

    But now, there’s a shift: I’m no longer trying to disappear like The Considerate Ghost. I’m ready to move on. Ready to pass the baton of “impact” to someone else.

    And maybe for the first time, I’m starting to believe that what I’m passing on doesn’t need to be sanitised.

    Of all my dreams, this one’s questions linger the most in waking life:

    Do I maintain the status quo, or let everything be washed away in the current of natural evolution?

    And when it comes to energetic lineage—

    Isn’t there a difference between burying something and letting it be washed away?

    One is shame.
    The other is surrender.

  • How to Start a Fever

    How to Start a Fever

    The Dream

    Someone was unwell.

    I asked them
    if they had a fever.

    They said no.

    I explained to them
    how to initiate
    a fever response.

    The Meaning

    the fever

    In this dream, I’m the initiator of transformation. I see someone stuck in subtle sickness, and I don’t offer comfort. I offer fire.

    the explanation
    I’m not healing them—I’m showing them how to activate their own process of confrontation and repair.

    What Lingers…

    What if healing doesn’t begin with soothing, but with setting something alight?

    What if the role isn’t to cure—but to show where the fire needs to start?

    Marginalia

    Sometimes illness just simmers—never bad enough to demand serious attention, but never well enough to ignore. Like the body got stuck midway through its healing arc.

    That’s what this dream feels like. A bringing-to-the-surface. A necessary pressure. Not just the physical kind, like walking away from a school that was never right—but also the deeper kind: stories long buried, now asking to be voiced.

  • The Body in the Greenhouse

    The Body in the Greenhouse

    The Dream

    I and a friend
    had escaped
    from where we lived.

    We told the police
    there was a body
    buried
    in my greenhouse.

    The victim
    was our flatmate’s.

    For some reason,
    I felt
    I had something
    to do with it.

    The Meaning

    the greenhouse
    The greenhouse is typically a space of growth, cultivation, healing. Something has been hidden under my growth work.

    the flatmate
    The flatmate is another version or aspect of me.

    the escape
    I’m finally telling someone about something long buried.

    responsibility
    The subconscious asks: “What have you tolerated too long? What have you known and stayed quiet about?”

    What Lingers…

    What if growth has been quietly wrapping itself around what was never meant to stay?

    What if unearthing isn’t destruction, but the first honest act of healing?

    Marginalia

    I’d recently rekindled my ancestry research after dreaming about my great-grandmother, Cleopatra. But by this point, I’d shelved it again—worried I was just procrastinating with side quests.

    Then came this dream.

    Literal bodies, buried beneath the space where we grow our nourishment.

    A week later, I dreamt of The House That Contains Everything.

    Another nudge.

    There’s more to know.

  • No Car, Still Loved

    No Car, Still Loved

    The Dream

    A passionate embrace.

    His mum entered.

    She could see
    the love.

    She approved.

    —

    In the city,
    attending
    an event.

    I had
    free parking.

    When I went
    to collect my car,
    it was already
    on a transporter
    in the distance.

    —

    I visited
    an apartment.

    We’d gathered brochures
    from the event.

    A couple of us
    headed home
    together.

    The Meaning

    romantic intensity
    Embodied desire without shame.  I’m not asking for permission.

    his mother
    This is my psyche healing around the idea that passion and approval can coexist. No shame. Just recognition.

    car towing
    Someone has moved the goalposts. Autonomy interrupted.

    returning home
    Even though my vehicle has been taken away, I’m still returning with insight of my experiences and I have companions for the journey.

    What Lingers…

    What if passion didn’t need permission to be real, or witnessed to be valid?

    What if the return home was the proof—that something meaningful happened, even if the space couldn’t hold it?

    Marginalia

    At the time of this dream, I’d recently left a school that hadn’t worked out for me. The dream reflects the sense of losing a vehicle that I believed would take me where I wanted to go.

    Still, despite that loss, I felt I had something to carry forward from the experience. Like most things that don’t go as planned, there were lessons I could take with me on the journey ahead.

    There’s a strange exposure in dreaming of someone who isn’t your partner—like your subconscious got caught with its hand in the sweetie jar. But I don’t think the dream was about them, exactly. They were a stand-in. A symbol of the passion I’m finally letting myself feel for the path I’m on. It’s a theme I explore again in Walking Away With The Door Still Open.