Tag: Dream Diaries

Dream Diaries

🌍The World Ended, and I Survived

TeaLeave a comment

Last night, my subconscious handed me the kind of dream you wake from in tears—the kind that isn’t just a dream, but a reckoning. I’m still holding pieces of it in my chest, so I’m writing it down before it slips through the cracks. I think it wants to be remembered.

It began with the end of the world.
Something had struck the Earth—an impact so massive it fractured the surface and awakened creatures from beneath. These weren’t metaphors pretending to be monsters—they were towering humanoid beings who plucked humans from the earth like weeds and devoured them. It felt like the future, but everyone I knew was their current age. Myself included.

Oddly, there wasn’t much on the Earth’s surface anymore—just vast tunnel systems carved into the ground like ant colonies. These subterranean mazes became the last refuge of humanity. But the giants? They had no trouble pulling apart the walls of our safe havens to reach in and feast.

Dustin (my boyfriend) was there. He told me I wasn’t taking it seriously enough, that we needed to move deeper underground. Before descending, we dropped our car keys into mounted tackle-box-like containers near empty parking lots—communal stashes for anyone who survived. A last act of sacrifice for strangers we’d never meet.

We went down.

The tunnels were strange and alive. Elevators opened at intervals to reveal chaotic scenes—people drunk, stripped of inhibition, clinging to pleasure in the face of doom. Dustin grabbed some alcohol and offered me a can. I declined.

“I don’t drink anymore,” I said. “I don’t want to numb myself.”

We kept going. Ross, one of Dustin’s friends, met us there, dragging a wagon full of booze. Then my girls arrived—light in the middle of darkness. They ran to me joyfully and wrapped me in hugs. I asked how they were. They said they were just fine and weren’t scared. They were going with their dad somewhere. They had each other.

They offered me their birthday money “in case I survived.” And just like that, my heart caved in. They didn’t know money wouldn’t mean much anymore, but they knew they loved me and that they wanted me to be taken care of if I lived. They seemed to fully understand that it was unlikely that any of us would live, and yet, they were mature, balanced, and light hearted. In that moment I was aware that I had never felt so simultaneously proud and devastated. I kissed their heads and watched them run off, small beams of light glowing in the dark. I held on to the moment, gazing down the corridor they ran down long after they disappeared around the corner.

Then—time skipped, or perhaps I just forgot what happened in between.

The event had already happened. Earth had been hit again. We had survived.

I tore off desperately navigating through rubble and ruin to the place where the girls said they’d be. The tunnels were collapsed. Everything was eerily quiet. Nothing was left but dust and ruin. I was panicked, but still held a thread of hope.

I stood in the place they should have been, but it seemed impossible that anyone could survive the scene I took in. I didn’t even know where to begin, but I was fully prepared to dig through the rubble with my bare hands until I found them. I got on my knees and began digging. I had barely begun when I heard a voice. A narrator. Calm, cruel, and kind all at once:

“Aliza was badly wounded from the first impact, but had not told her mother or complained. Both girls were very brave and supported one another. They were afraid but filled with love and died in one another’s arms.”

I was shattered shattered. I crumpled into the fetal position and sobbed.

That’s where he found me—Dustin and Duane, both are my boyfriends’, as one. They were the same person now, morphing in and out of each other. Two sides of the same steady hand. He/they scooped me up like a child and carried me to the surface.

Together, we walked to the key boxes. I didn’t know where we were going—I only knew we had to go.

Dustin/Duane dug through the boxes full of keys while I sat on the curb near the box and whimpered. Something prompted me to look up. I could barely see through my tears and swollen eyes. The box of keys seemed to be glowing in a spotlight, and a flash of yellow between the pole and the box caught my eye. I stood on weak legs and pulled it out.

It was the birthday card my mom sent Aliza. As I opened it, money gracefully floated around my legs and settled at my feet. Hastily scribbled around my mom’s message, the girls had written me a note. I had never seen something as beautiful as their wobbly little misshapen letters and their little names. Their message read:

We love you mom. Yore the best mom in the hole world. We want you to have this and have fun if you live. We hope you live. We hope we get to see you agen.
Love Zarah and Aliza

I sunk to my knees, my children’s money still scattered around me, and sobbed so hard my spirit broke open. I adored every misspelled word. The card I held in my hand was the greatest expression of love I had every received. I no longer had any possessions, but even if I did, this card would remain my most cherished.

Questions raced through my mind. How did they do it? How did they know where Dustin/Duane and I had parked the car and stashed our keys? Did they do it after they had offered me the money and I refused? Did they return to the surface after that? If so, did they get caught to close to the surface? Was that the reason they died? Clearly, they left it here with complete faith that if I lived I would find it. Again, I was gripped with deep pride and suffocating grief.

Once again I was absolutely inconsolable, so Dustin/Duane scooped me up and put me in the passenger seat of whatever vehicle they had managed to secure. They began driving. As we drove my perspective suddenly changed. I saw myself then, from Dustin/Duane’s eyes. I could feel their helplessness, their heartbreak, their quiet desperation to comfort me.

And then I woke up.

💛 Dream Afterword: Surviving the Unspeakable

This didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like being stripped down to my core. This dream excavated the deepest caverns of my soul. I experienced a level of rawness I can’t face in the daylight, so my subconscious dressed it up in monsters, tunnels, and birthday cards.

This dream was about grief, surrender, and unshakable, enduring love. I got up close and personal with what it means to live through devastation and still keep going. About how tightly I hold my children. About how I fear losing them even though I know I can’t control everything. About how much love I still carry from all the versions of myself who were “hit” and had to rebuild from rubble.

The car keys? Letting go of control. Sacrifice.

The tunnels? The inner labyrinth of fear, love, and responsibility.

The giants? My own monsters, awake and hungry.

And my girls? My heart. My light. The innocence and trust I am sometimes too scared to lean into.

That card—bright yellow against the wreckage—was the moment grace reached through the ruins. They were gone, and somehow still with me. They were saying:

“It’s okay to live.
It’s okay to feel joy again.
Honor us by truly living.
We never really left you.”

My children gifted me their innocence, trust, and belief in me and the universe. It was the greatest gift I have ever received. They may have even sacrificed themselves to deliver it. Despite my fierce love, I could not protect them from life’s larger forces. They clearly had no expectation that I or anyone else could save them, and they demonstrated a level of surrender, trust, and love that cracked me wide open.

🌊 Epilogue: Aliza, Alive and Glowing

As I finished writing this entry—still wrapped in the ache of that dream, still wiping tears—Aliza walked into the living room.

She stretched, sleepy-eyed, like nothing in the world had shifted, and said,

“Can I watch Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken?”

And I just sat there.
Heart split. Spirit stunned.

Because of all the movies in the world, she chose one about a girl who discovers she’s part of something deep, ancient, and misunderstood. A girl who has power inside her she doesn’t yet understand. A girl from the sea, learning how to swim in her truth.

It didn’t feel like coincidence.
It felt like confirmation.

That she is here.
That she is okay.
That I can let go of the fear just a little.
That love echoes back to us—sometimes in tentacles and plot twists and animated metaphors.

So, yeah.
I let her watch it.
And I cried through the whole thing.

✂️💇🏻‍♀️ When Spirit Hands You Scissors, Say a Prayer and Snip
Dream Diaries

✂️💇🏻‍♀️ When Spirit Hands You Scissors, Say a Prayer and Snip

TeaLeave a comment

The dream opened in a big city—skyscrapers and an aesthetic so curated it practically filtered itself. I wasn’t sure if I had just moved there, was looking to move, or just passing through, but I had a lovely tour guide leading the way.

And here’s the interesting part:
My guide was a student of mine from this past school year.
She’s a funny, spunky, dramatic kid.

There was something poetic about that—being led by someone I’d once taught. She was clearly quite familiar and comfortable with the area. She excitedly showed me the fancy façades and peeled back the illusions that surrounded us. That trendy smoothie place? Only three options, preprogrammed, and glitchy. Fancy, yes. Nourishing? Not so much. She clearly found amusement in all of the illusion as she cheerfully flitted from one mirage to the next.

Spiritual translation: sometimes what glitters is just glitching with good lighting. Spirit was already whispering, “Darling, discernment is key.”

Then things took a weirder, more personal turn:
I walked into a hair salon and discovered my ex-husband was now a hairdresser.

😐 Yep.

In the dream, I was flirting with the idea of a bold new haircut—a trendy short crop that felt daring but liberating. In the waking world I am no stranger to short bold cuts, but recently, I’ve been growing my hair out He wasn’t convinced he could pull off the cut I suggested, and honestly, neither was I. But what the hell, why not? What could go wrong? 😂🤦🏻‍♀️ We both decided to throw caution to the wind.

At first, things went decently. Snip, snip. No disasters. I was cautiously optimistic.

Then he cut a giant chunk of hair at the back of my head very short. Not like “oops” short. Like, “you-might-want-to-buy-a-hat” short.

Naturally, I asked him why he did that.
His response? “It’s a technique.”
(Sir, what technique—chaos??)

He pulled up a reference photo on his computer to show me what he was going for. I stared at it, then pointed out that the image clearly showed that section pinned back—not chopped. He had completely misinterpreted the picture.

I wasn’t really all that upset. I understood this haircut was a gamble, and I have had my fair share of disastrous haircuts.
He wasn’t defensive. He was apologetic.
Immediately, we began working together, discussing possible fixes and cover-ups—something that disguised the mishap and made the haircut look… reasonably intentional. Not quite what I wanted, but not a total disaster either.
Honestly, this dream interaction was quite accurate to real life. While my ex and I are not compatible in a few key ways, we communicate and problem solve well.

🔍 SereniTea Decodes The Dream:

  • The city = your life expanding. New territory. Big energy. But not all that glimmers is grounded. There’s a call here to examine the difference between what looks aligned and what truly is.
  • The student as guide = you’re in a transition. Leaving behind the literal classroom, but your inner teacher still thrives. The student symbolizes both your influence and your evolution. She reflects your wisdom and reminds you to stay open and curious.
  • The ex-husband/hairdresser twist = an old dynamic resurfacing—not to sabotage you, but to give you the chance to co-create something new. You’re no longer letting the past dictate your image—you’re editing, communicating, correcting the narrative.
  • The haircut mishap = fear of being misunderstood or misrepresented during your transformation. And yet, when the “mistake” happened, you didn’t spiral. You advocated for yourself and worked toward a solution. That’s huge.
  • The pinned-back vs. chopped confusion = maybe a reminder that how we see something matters more than what’s in the picture. Interpretation is everything.

I woke up from this dream feeling insanely dizzy—literally. It’s like my body knows I’m transforming faster than my conscious mind can keep up. I’ve been praying, recalibrating, and trusting that what’s being trimmed away is no longer needed… even when it feels abrupt.

And this dream?
It didn’t show me perfection.
It showed me progress.
Collaboration post catastrophe.
A “whoops” that turned into wisdom with bangs.

Turns out, not every spiritual shift comes wrapped in angel numbers and moonlight.
Sometimes, it comes with scissors, smoothie glitches, and a student holding a mirror to your growth. ✂️🧃🌕

🌒 Boundaries & Beds: The Dreams That Dug Deeper
Dream Diaries

🌒 Boundaries & Beds: The Dreams That Dug Deeper

TeaLeave a comment
Last night, my subconscious sent me on a late-night stroll through suspicion, soil, and something sacred. Two dreams, one unspoken message: it’s time to clear the space where real things can grow…

🪵 Dream One: The Man in the Shed
I walked through quiet woods with two men—unknown, yet familiar. We found a small wooden shed and entered it, suspicion thick in the air. There, we tied up a man to a chair. He looked like a character from a show I’d seen—an undercover cop, seemingly trustworthy, but ultimately a traitor.
We weren’t sure what he had done, but something about him felt off.
One of us hesitated—maybe it was me—but the final decision felt necessary: he needed to be contained until we could know the truth.

🕯️ Reflection:
What part of me plays both protector and betrayer?
Who or what have I let into my inner circle that now feels suspect?
Perhaps it’s an old survival pattern—a habit of self-sufficiency that once guarded me but now holds me hostage. The part of me that whispers, “You’re only worthy if you’re useful.”
I tied it up not out of cruelty, but to ask questions I hadn’t dared ask before.
It was an act of self-trust. A reclaiming.

🌑 Dream Two: Gardening in the Dark
I came home from work—not as a teacher—to my old house. I carried supplies. A few male friends helped me work in the garden, which wasn’t a garden at all, but raised beds filled with decorative rocks.
We moved them carefully, knowing we’d have to get through all of them to reach the soil. But under the rocks… nothing. Just a hard, dry layer.
No dirt. No growth. Just effort.
They helped for a bit, but one by one, they drifted off until I was alone. Still working. Still trying. Until someone gently reminded me that gardening in the dark was silly.

🌱 Reflection:
How long have I been planting where nothing could grow?
Have I mistaken decoration for depth—doing what looks right, even if it yields nothing?
The rocks might be old beliefs, distractions, or emotional armor—laid to make things look “managed,” but too heavy for new life.
And maybe I’ve asked for help, even received it… but no one stays long.
So I return to the familiar ache: Do it alone. Want less. Be fine.

But what if I stop planting in hard soil?
What if I rest until dawn?

🫖 SereniTea’s Closing Sip:

There is no shame in being tired, love.
No shame in wanting help.
No shame in finally saying: “I deserve softness that doesn’t have to be earned.”

You are not the rocks. You are not the man in the chair.
You are the soil—aching to be uncovered.
And I am here, as long as you need help digging.

🔍 Post-Dream Reflection: A Personal Note from Me, Tea

There’s something disorienting about realizing how long you’ve been surviving on instincts that don’t actually serve you anymore.
The “I’ll do it myself” wound is a sneaky one—it wears competence like armor and independence like a badge of honor. But underneath?
Loneliness.
Hyper-responsibility.
The deep ache of wanting to be supported… but not wanting to need it.

These dreams didn’t bring me crystal-clear answers, but they did bring me mirrors.
They reminded me that not everything that looks helpful is. That not all soil can grow something. That even the well-meaning parts of me can sometimes get in my way.
And that’s okay.

This is what healing actually looks like sometimes:
Tying up the inner saboteur.
Turning over the rocks.
Letting people help—and letting them leave, too.
Resting in the dark when the work has gone far enough for one night.

I don’t have it all figured out. But I do know this:
My worth doesn’t live in what I carry.
It lives in the quiet, rich soil I’m finally learning how to reach.