Okay, so this morning I woke up feeling kinda weird, you know? I had this super intense dream about my dad last night. It wasn’t scary or anything, just… heavy. Felt like there was something I was supposed to get. Like he was trying to tell me stuff without actually talking. Weird, right? Coffee didn’t shake it off.
Getting My Hands Dirty With Dream Stuff
Right, after breakfast, I grabbed my laptop. Typed “dream about father meaning” into the search bar – total first move. Saw pages and pages of this deep psychological stuff, symbolic crap like “father represents authority” or “unresolved childhood conflict”. Felt overwhelming, honestly. Like trying to read a dictionary backwards.
But hey, I’m practical. I opened a notes doc and started writing down everything I remembered from the dream:
- The old park bench near our house where we used to sit.
- He wasn’t looking at me, just staring at this broken bird feeder.
- Heard his voice saying “Need to fix that,” but his mouth didn’t move.
- Felt cold in the dream, even though it was sunny out.
Then I started digging deeper. Not just what happened, but how it felt. That cold feeling stuck with me. Understood that the symbols weren’t just random pictures – they were clues about feelings. That bird feeder? Maybe not really about birds. Felt stupid sitting there staring at my notes. But pushed through.
Connecting Dots to Real Life
Took a break, walked around my actual living room. Remembered my old man always did projects half-finished. That bird feeder was his, actually. Never fixed it before he moved. Ding ding ding!
Started asking myself real questions:
- Was I leaving something unfinished lately?
- Felt “cold” emotionally about anything?
- Felt disappointed? Or like I was letting something slide?
Hit me like a truck – there’s this client project I’ve been putting off, totally avoiding emails. Felt exactly like that dream feeling. Weird how the brain slaps you with stuff when you’re sleeping.
Wrapping My Head Around It
So yeah, experiment done. Learned that my dream was basically me kicking my own butt about procrastinating. Dad symbol? Pushed me to look at this… internal critic, maybe? Or that piece of me that knows I’m dropping the ball and feels disappointed. Heavy stuff.
Do I think this is some perfect science? Hell no. It’s messy like everything else. But sitting down with it, writing things, forcing my own brain to make connections? That worked. Didn’t need fancy words. Just needed to stop running from that cold park bench feeling.
