As a child, I experienced night terrors. My memory of them is cloudy, but according to my parents, I appeared possessed. Chatting gibberish with my eyes wide open, I’d dig at the carpet and dart down the stairs; a flash of orange in the over-sized fun-run t-shirt I used to sleep in. The fabric was soft, the lettering blue. I recall the feeling of it plastered to my skin with sweat.
In not-too-distant history, I’d have been burned at the stake. At the very least, prying neighbours would have summoned the priest, and doused me in holy water.
Luckily, this didn’t happen.
Instead, my family would barricade doorways and shepherd me from danger. They’d follow me carefully, guide me from a distance, and wait for my tearful return to reality. I’d speak of stables and rats and vivid details that must have been both amusing and chilling to hear.
Emerging from a terror was confronting. I’d find myself in the hallway, sobbing, my parents watching on with concern. How did I get there? Why was I even upset?
It’s not typically advised to wake a sleepwalker. Doing so can trigger a fight or flight response, and cause the walker significant stress. Understandably, neither of my parents wished to tend to a broken nose or a concussed eight-year-old at 2 am on a Tuesday.
The reason for night terrors is not completely understood. And, as with many childhood occurrences, eventually, they stopped.
But my connection to Dream Land has remained. Lately, it’s returned with a vengeance.
The last few weeks has brought with it significant stress. As a family, we’ve worried, rallied, and conquered. It’s not my story to tell, so for now, I’ll spare the details.
The headline, however, is that I believe I’ve coped pretty well. Starting a delightful new job, staying on top of my health management strategies, and showing up for my loved ones has grounded me through what could have been a turbulent time.
I’m feeling happy. I’m learning how to relax. I’m closer to contentment than I have been in years.
But for weeks now, every other night, I’ll wake in tears, or sweats, or utter panic. During the hours I should be resting, I’m running from violence, screaming in confrontation, or desperately saving a life. Sometimes I remember what happened, but mostly, I just remember how it felt: horrendous. Often, too traumatising to relay.
The story rarely reaches a conclusion, and so, I’m left with a racing heart and sense of dread.
Amy, I thought you said you were happy?
I am. I promise, I actually am. Life isn’t perfect, but overall, I’m chuffed with my lot.
It occurs to me that I may have been anxious after all. It occurs to me that if my conscious mind is the periscope poking above the waves, my sub-conscious mind must be the ginormous submarine below.
Perhaps during times of stress, we become so accustomed to holding it together during the day, we’re forced to face our anxieties at night. Maybe our sub-conscious mind sends us messages about how we’re really feeling. Prompts for action.
If this is true, how can I exorcise my bizarrely shitty dreams? And is change even possible?
Freud believed, and modern research has actually shown, that suppressing thoughts in our daily lives, or burying our problems can lead to fixations in our dreams.
Preventing it is simple: face your issues whilst awake.
Easy, right? Ha. If only.
However, there are genuinely doable things that can help. Journalling, writing lists, a quick chat with a friend. Researching your problem for a Substack post about dreams. Realising you possess more control than you first thought.
Whether it’s from hardcore ravers, entrepreneurial podcast preachers, or investment banking bros, we’ve all heard the following words:
I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
Ridiculous.
Sleep is a huge part of life. Sleeping is living. Dreaming is living.
If we’re achieving a modicum of balance, throughout our lifetime, we’ll sleep more than we’ll work. It helps us process emotions, consolidate memories, boost creativity, and improve cognitive function.
So, shouldn’t we hold our sleep experience to a higher standard?
I’ve applied a tremendous amount of energy to achieving calm in my daily life. I’m beginning to think I should be applying similar energy to my sleeping life, too.
Why not demand as much joy and purpose from my sub-conscious self as I do from my conscious self?
Science has shown that certain techniques can be applied to influence our dreams, and we can even use them to solve problems that seem impenetrable in our waking lives.
It is possible to shape our experiences in Dream Land. It is possible to maximise our sleeping lives. I find this fact incredibly empowering.
The great news is, the first steps apply to everyone:
Those worries that are plaguing you – talk about them whilst awake. Consider them, at least. Rationalise them, don’t bury them. Then, set intentions for delicious dreams. Sow the seeds. Whatever bangs your drum.
Tonight, you may find me floating off to the shores of Lake Garda, perched under a wisteria framed canopy.
You may find me paddling in warm, shallow waters, stracciatella gelato in hand.
Perhaps I’ll stroll through bluebell-lined forests, fella by my side, watching my sweet pup bound in the distance, as sunlight beams through overhead branches.
I could choose to set in motion effervescent dreams of nature, bowls of spaghetti, or oak-panelled bookshops crammed to the rafters.
I could choose something different entirely. I could travel back in time, and jam with Fleetwood Mac.
Either way, I’ll strive to sleep as fully as I live.
Try it, if you like.
I’d love to hear about the potential of your Dream Land.