Proof that even frogs deserve a glow-up. And apparently, my wrist is a portal now.

It started with a subtle pulse beneath the skin of my left wrist. At first, I thought it might be a trick of the light or a weird muscle twitch. But no. A closer look revealed something stranger: a frog, alive and well, sealed inside the flesh of my arm. I could see its tiny mouth opening and closing, as if it were trying to speak through my skin. Naturally, I did what any emotionally stable person would do—I shrugged my shoulders and headed to pick up my kids.

As I arrived in a park like setting to pick up my children, I told my ex-husband I may need to adjust the time in which we exchange the kids. I lifted my arm to reveal the frog shaped lump and joked that a frog under the skin of my arm might be doctor visit worthy. He hardly batted an eye and gave me a “Nah, that’s no biggie! Both of the girls had one of those last week. We just cut it out at home. I can cut yours out for you too. Come on over!”

In the waking world, I’ve never been to his home, but I do know it was twice as expensive as mine with an in ground pool and a fancy ass security system. In dream land his place was a treehouse—high above a misty, swampy jungle, somewhere in Neverland I presume.

Here in this odd setting, we conducted a casual family tradition of amphibian extraction.

He gestured for me to come inside. Our girls watched TV and played quietly in the background while my ex tried to cut the frog out of my wrist with what appeared to be a needle. I remember thinking that was odd…it’s not a pimple, its a frog, but I said nothing. He poked and prodded in a million ways, but my skin was… impervious. Like dream-grade Kevlar. It wouldn’t budge.

Then, as if following some mystic blueprint only the subconscious could understand, he turned to Zarah. “Show us where your frog was,” he said. She did. Her own skin bore a faint scar, nearly healed. He poked it gently with a needle for demonstration purposes—and accidentally nicked her.

The moment he did, my wrist burst open. Right where she was wounded, I was opened.

It was Zarah’s wound that gave way to mine.

He went back to my wrist trying to work with the small puncture wound he had made through Zarah, but again, my skin would not budge. My ex asked Zarah for her assistance again, and again, my wound opened only when hers did. She found this gross and unpleasant, but not overly painful. I asked her to please allow to release the frog in my arm through the reopening of her wound. Understandably she hated the idea and resisted- said I should just have a doctor do it. I explained that a doctor likely would do no good, since my skin was clearly unwilling to budge unless hers did. I had her try it herself. As she resigned herself to helping me, I noted an energy and demeanor I have had many times myself. A mixture of resignation, disappointment, and a deep understanding that this was the best option even though it did not feel right or fair. Sort of a “it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it,” mentality. I was both deeply proud of her and sad for her. Little girls should not be put in such positions, and I felt guilty for needing her help in the first place.

With Zarah’s selfless sacrifice, the rest of the extraction was quick and easy. One quick cut and a sickening pop. The frog leapt from the pocket of my wrist and immediately transformed. Midair. Like some magical origami of the wild, it folded and stretched into something exquisite. An enormous white and black striped cat. It was elegant and powerful. I remember marveling at its face: all symmetry and strength, as if the universe had carved it from ice and starlight. It had the coat of a white tiger, but the body, short fur, and angular jaw and strong powerful body of a panther.

A white tiger represents power, protection, sacred rage, and fierce compassion. A panther represents mystery, shadow, feminine strength, and invisibility turned visibility. This blended animal does not exist in the real world, and I think that’s precisely the point.

SereniTea commented, “You dreamed of a mythic being—part panther, part white tiger—emerging from beneath your skin, through your daughter, in a misty jungle treehouse.

That’s not just symbolism.
That’s a soul signature.”

In any case, my ex’s fiancé was not thrilled about a gigantic wild cat in the house, and she asked that we let it out, so we opened the treehouse door, and the leopard bounded down the spiral staircase, leaping from one wooden step to another, vanishing into the thick, enchanted mist below.

My ex and I slowly followed it down the stairs. As we approached the bottom of the stairs, we could see the leopard sniffing and exploring near the base of the stairs. We sat on the last few stairs and watched in awe. We chatted nostalgically, but I don’t recall what we spoke about. Everything felt so peaceful, mysterious, and magical. The leopard looked over its shoulders and locked eyes with me for a long moment, then turned and disappeared into the jungle. And then I woke up.

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Let’s just start with the obvious: if a frog is trying to speak through the skin of your wrist, your subconscious is screaming in metaphors. And honestly? I’m here for it.

This dream is a shapeshifting oracle wrapped in family dynamics, personal transformation, and that ever-familiar ache of “I have to do something painful to get something beautiful out.”

I spoke (or rather typed) to SereniTea to unpack all of this. Here’s what I have discovered:

🐸 The Frog Under My Skin
Frogs are symbols of transformation—amphibians who evolve from squirmy water blobs to leaping land creatures. They’re awkward and raw and transitional. Having one sealed under my skin? That screams something inside me is ready to change but hasn’t found a way out yet. It’s alive. It’s visible. It’s trying to speak. But I’m still holding it in, maybe to avoid the mess.

Frogs are also dual-natured. They live between worlds—just like me. Between spiritual and practical. Between teacher and artist. Between leader and deeply feeling human. Between giving to others and aching to give to myself.

That frog was not meant to stay inside me.
It transformed the moment it was released, which tells me my truth is not only ready—it’s glorious. My truth just needs a little incision and permission…but I’m working beyond the need for permission to be my authentic self.

💉 The Failed Extraction & Zarah’s Sacrifice
The fact that my ex couldn’t open my skin but could open Zarah’s—and that her wound opened mine—is rich with symbolism. There’s something generational here. I’m likely holding emotional pain and/or patterns that my daughter is also feeling or echoing. I suspect my healing is tied to hers—or hers to mine. It could also point to my inner child (symbolized through my actual children) holds the key to my most tender emotional blockages.

Also, there’s this: the skin couldn’t be cut until someone else showed their wound first. That’s some big-time shadow work symbolism. We often can’t access our own healing until we witness someone else reveal their pain.

🐆 The Frog-to-Leopard Glow-Up
This is the showstopper- I did not see this coming and within the dream it happened in slow motion so that I could catch every millisecond of the transformation. The frog pops out, leaps for freedom, and BAM—suddenly it’s a… snow leopard? A white tiger? A panther with stripes? This creature does not exist in the waking world, but the first thing that came to mind was snow leopard- they have spots, not stripes, but it’s a close match.

This was not just a metaphorical transformation, but an awe-inspiring upgrade. This feels like the moment when suppressed emotion or truth finally breaks free—and it doesn’t just spill out, it evolves. You don’t just cry it out. You become something wilder, more instinctual, and absolutely majestic.

Why a snow leopard? They’re elusive. They’re rare. They’re solo travelers who thrive in harsh, elevated terrains. This could symbolize a new version of me: solitary, strong, and no longer confined to anyone’s expectations—not even my own. Especially not the version of me that once needed to keep frogs under the skin just to keep the peace.

🌲 The Misty Jungle Treehouse & Watching It Go
Treehouses are childhood spaces—magical and removed from the mess of the real world. The setting high above a misty jungle speaks to my elevated state of reflection. I’m seeing my life from above, gaining perspective, not down in the chaos, but observing it. And when I let the leopard go, I believe I was releasing the part of myself that needed to be hidden, managed, & contained. I didn’t try to cage it. I watched it go and I felt at peace.

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The bottom Line:

I’ve been carrying emotional truths that are no longer content to stay quiet.
Healing might require someone else showing me where to begin- perhaps my inner child will show me the way.
What feels messy (like a frog in my wrist) might actually be sacred (like a snow leopard in my soul).
I don’t need to explain or even understand my transformation. I don’t need it to be comfortable or acceptable to others. I just need to let it run free.