18 published posts.
It’s 3 a.m. Your newborn suddenly whimpers, their little face scrunching, arms jerking, a soft cry escaping before they settle again. You’re hovering over the crib, heart in your throat, asking the question that’s kept countless new parents awake: Is my baby having a bad dream? Take a breath. It’s one of the most natural…
There’s a reason you woke up feeling a little embarrassed. Bathroom dreams are some of the most awkward, oddly intimate dreams we have — you’re searching desperately for a toilet that doesn’t exist, or you’ve found one with no door while strangers wander past, or everything’s overflowing and filthy and you just want to escape.…
It’s an oddly specific thing to dream about, isn’t it? Not a monster, not falling, not your teeth crumbling — just a mattress. Maybe you were buying one. Maybe you were lying on a lumpy, sagging old thing that wouldn’t let you get comfortable. Maybe it was pristine and white and impossibly soft, or stained…
You wake up with your tongue pressed against your teeth, checking. Counting them. Because in the dream they were crumbling — falling into your cupped hands like loose pebbles, or sliding out one by one while you tried to hold a conversation, or simply gone, leaving smooth gaps where molars used to be. Your heart…
Why You Keep Having the Same Dream Every Night: The Psychology of Recurring DreamsIt’s 3 a.m. again. You sit up in bed, heart pounding, and for a few seconds, the room feels unfamiliar. The dream is fading, but the feeling isn’t. You know this feeling. You know it because last night was the same. And…
You’re running. The terminal stretches longer than it should. Your bag won’t zip. Your boarding pass is missing. You can hear the final boarding call echoing through the speakers, and somewhere ahead of you, the gate is closing. You’re going to miss it. Then you wake up — heart pounding, sheets twisted, briefly convinced you’ve…
Some dreams leave you when you open your eyes. The dream of your dead mother is not one of them. You wake up, and for a second, she’s still there. You can almost smell her kitchen, hear her voice, feel her hand on your shoulder. Then reality returns, and you’re left holding something heavy —…
You wake up. Your heart is pounding, but you’re not quite afraid. There was a snake — but it wasn’t black, brown, or green like the snakes you fear in waking life. It was white. Pale, almost glowing, sometimes silver, sometimes the color of fresh milk. And now you can’t shake the feeling that the…
