Dreams

Dreams reveals what we are going through

From my collection#picturestellastory..

I was in my parents house. The walls were made of thinly spread out twigs making everything visible from inside. There were not proper doors and windows. It was dark and stormy and I was alone in the room. Through the gaps in the wall I saw a tiger approaching, circling the house.

I ran around trying to close the windows and doors, rain and wind beat against my hands as they were broken. I felt exposed, unprotected and helpless by the impending danger of being attacked by the tiger. Just then I woke up with my heart pounding and panic. I was sweating, terrified, overcome by a sense of doom. It was a full blown anxiety attack.

I often had similar dreams during the time I was struggling with anxiety attacks. I did not tell anyone because afterwards it seemed stupid and nonsense.

What must have been the cause :

One night, when I was about nine years old I woke up to a commotion in our room. Those days children did not sleep in separate rooms; we all shared the same bed. The youngest slept beside our mother and the oldest lay at the far end, usually next to the wall so she wouldn’t fall off.

I saw my mother on her knees praying and pleading for her life, begging to stay alive so that she could spend rest of her days with my father. In the room elders had gathered with their kerosene lamps giving orange glow to the room and casting dark shadows on the walls. Outside, the crickets chirped loudly in the stillness of night. The faces around me looked somber and grave.

Seeing my mother desperate and all those men and women with their lanterns without even a hint of smile, fear overtook me. I began to howl in panic. These sweet elders - who had risen from their warm beds after a long days of work - tried to comfort and calm me.

Everyone in the village had their dinner before nightfall, usually between five and six in the evening. For the villagers, eight o’clock was considered very late. That night felt like midnight to me, though it could not have been so late. My father must have gone to each of the elders’ homes to invite them to pray for my mother.

It was a time without phones or electricity. People went from house to house to invite others for gatherings—whether for prayers, celebrations, or feasts. Kerosene lamps were essential to light up the dark nights. Everyone owned a flashlight; some were small, while others were two feet long and ran on four batteries, powerful enough to pierce the darkness ahead. After sunset, people rarely ventured out unless there was an urgent need.

After a cup of black tea and little chit chat the elders finally returned to their homes, slipping back in to their beds trying to catch whatever rest remained of the night. My mother seemed calm, and may father secured the door with a long bamboo pole a village contraption meant to keep us safe inside.

By morning, it was as if nothing had happened. My mother rose to do her usual chores and my father after his regular gardening work rode off to his office on his bicycle. My little sister and brother had no idea about the things that happened in the night.

My collection#picturestellastory.

In those days, villagers believed that nights were dangerous, a time when evil entities roamed. We often heard hushed conversations about unseen dangers hiding behind the house, under the thick bamboo groves, and around the large trees. Children were told to come home before sunset, for that was when the spirits began to wander. Even simple acts like whistling were forbidden, as people believed they attracted evil forces. Everyone was afraid of the dark.

As far as I know, my people did not know how to deal with death in a wholesome way. We were not allowed to go near a house where someone had died, nor were we permitted to talk or even hear much about it. Death was treated as a dark mystery, something forbidden to mention. People believed that if children went to such places or overheard conversations about death, fear would take hold of them.

They spoke of it as if it were a monster that could come and claim you at any time. I remember hearing whispers about those who suffered terribly from fear—sometimes even dying from it. No one ever sat with us to talk about what death truly meant or to help us understand it in a calm, rational way. Looking back, I believe this silence and secrecy seeded the anxiety attacks I experienced later in life.

Much later, I came across the most comforting explanation: when our bodies are destroyed, the spirit can no longer live there, so it leaves. That is death.

It was dusk, and night was approaching quickly. In the deepening twilight, someone built a large fire where a few neighbours gathered, to enjoy the warmth of the golden glow. The conversation began, as always, with ordinary matters, but soon it drifted toward something darker. This time, it was a story about a tiger attacking villagers at night. The tale sent my heart racing, my mind spinning with wild imaginings, and left my emotions flooded by irrational feelings of doom, anxiety, and fear.

I never shared my anxiety attacks with anyone; they always seemed too silly to speak of. I was afraid of what others might think of me, and once the episode passed, I felt no need to mention it.

Eventually, I started to fear the very feeling of fear itself. I became acutely aware of every sensation—of anxiety, of dread. Even when I felt warm or noticed my heart beating faster, my body shifted helplessly into a state of alert, ready to fight or flee.

From my collection#picturestellastory

What helped me

I prayed to God, asking for insight into the source of my anxiety attacks. It became clear to me that a lack of trust was at the heart of my struggle; I often felt unprotected and vulnerable to danger. I repented of my lack of trust, and gradually, the anxiety attacks grew rare.

Then I had one last dream—again I was in a room, just as before. Outside, it was dark and stormy, and the same tiger returned, threatening me. But this time, the room’s walls and windows were strong and intact. When the tiger tried to attack through the window, I was able to close it, shutting out the danger. I woke up at once, knowing deep down that I was free from the grip of fear and anxiety.

From then on, I began to live with surrender and trust. I kept my life in open hands, trusting God’s protection. I continued to pray, bringing the memories, sensations, and first episodes to God for healing—and, slowly but surely, the anxiety faded.

Later, I learned of other causes for anxiety attacks. One was a deficiency in vitamin B12, so I started supplementing with it. I stopped watching and listening to stories of sickness and tragedy for a time, realising they could trigger my anxiety.

At the first sign of an attack, I turned to deep breathing exercises, which helped me not to have full-blown episode.

But more than anything, confronting and healing the root cause is the essential first step to being free from anxiety attacks.

Please let me know your thoughts bellow.

Thank you for reading.

Do you want more out of your life? Read the following post