A gentle reminder that independence doesn’t mean doing it all alone. This piece contains references to drug misuse and mental health. 

Sometimes the mind speaks in symbols, stitching together pieces of our life into a story we didn’t know we needed to hear.  

Once a year, if that, I have the same kind of dream. I’m moving into a flat high above a city.  It’s never the same building, but it’s always on the third floor or higher, the sort of place that feels both tucked away and open to the world at the same time. 

Inside are my cats.  They’re alive and thriving, even though in my dream I haven’t been there for ages. My first job is always the same: feed them and give them fresh water.  It’s as if they’ve been waiting for me, quietly and patiently, knowing I’d come back eventually. 

This year, though, the dream started differently. Before I even got to my flat, I was next door in a boy’s place. I dated him for about a week when I was a teenager, nothing serious, we never even kissed or held hands but in the dream he was in a bad way. There was talk of drugs, mental health struggles and he was about to become a father.

In a very surreal twist, he was actually the one who was pregnant. I was doing my best to get through to him, to make him see how much his child would need him and trying to offer support. 

Eventually, I left his flat and stepped into mine. The cats were there, just as they always are in these dreams. I fed them, topped up their water and felt a quiet sense of relief that they’d made it through without me. 

And then there was a knock at the door. 

Standing there was my husband. In the dream, he wanted to look after me. He had a necklace in his hands, gold-coloured coins strung together and he explained to me what it meant.

I don’t remember all the words, but I remember saying I accepted it.

Then came an immense sense of release: my chest didn’t feel so tight, a wave of ease flowed through me, my shoulders relaxed and I felt free from carrying the burdens of the past and present. It was such a strong, addictive feeling, like I could actually picture the life it symbolised: steady, safe, cared for and free from pain. 

When he put it on me, it dropped suddenly down to my belly button, it was too big. He tried to adjust it as best he could, but it still hung a little long. I didn’t mind. I made do and I was happy to wear it just like that, although I felt a flicker of disappointment from within. 

When I woke up, the whole dream stuck with me. The boy next door wasn’t about him specifically – he represented the part of me that jumps in to rescue people, even when it’s not my job and even if it costs me energy I can’t spare.

The cats were the independent, resilient side of me that survives whether or not I’m paying attention to it, but thrives when I do. And the man at the door? My husband, as a symbol for stability, care and being valued. 

That necklace was the real heart of it. It was about self-worth and security, about giving myself permission to rest and be looked after. The fact that it was too big felt important, like the role of being cared for still doesn’t quite fit me, but I’m learning how to grow into it. 

It makes sense that I dreamt it in this season of my life. My husband recently had an accident and I’ve been helping him with daily tasks. But lately, he’s been trying to do more for himself, mindful of my own parastomal hernia and wanting to take some of the strain off me. 

The day before the dream, I’d also read a self-care post by Jayne Hardy from Blurt. It was all about boundaries, nurturing yourself and letting others help. Clearly, those ideas planted themselves in my head. That night, my mind gave me a story I could feel, not just think about. 

It was only later that I realised something else about that necklace of gold coins. My husband and I had recently finished the 10-week Rebel Finance School course by The Donegans and the certificate they sent me was heavily decorated with golden coins and a golden pineapple.

In the dream, the necklace wasn’t just about accepting care and comfort. The golden coins that adorned it carried the same feeling as the certificate: the pride of putting in the work together, the value of what we’ve learned, the security we’re building on our own terms and the connection we share. 

What I’m taking from it is simple: you can be fiercely independent and still let yourself be cared for. Accepting help doesn’t mean you’re giving up your strength, it just means you’re letting the load be shared, whether emotionally, physically or financially. 

To remind myself of that on my journey, I’m planning to buy myself a necklace. I found one that fits perfectly into this season of reflection – my gentle rise era.  It’s a pineapple and pearl necklace. Yes, you read that right! Let me explain.

The pineapple will be my nudge not to compare my life to anyone else’s, a little nod to Rebel Finance School by The Donegans and their “don’t compare your pineapples” mantra.

The pearl will be a symbol of resilience: beauty that comes from weathering storms. Every time I put it on, I’ll remember that dream moment, the ease, the relief and the quiet acceptance. 

Perhaps it’s worth pausing to consider: maybe your subconscious has been trying to tell you something too. If a dream leaves you with a feeling you can’t shake, it’s worth paying attention, you never know, it might be the gift you didn’t even realise you needed. 

What you might take from this . . .

• Independence and receiving care can exist side by side. 

• Accepting help doesn’t make you weaker, it lightens the load. 

• Sometimes the biggest shifts start in the quiet space of a dream. 

This post reflects personal experience and reflection, not medical or professional advice.