Sharon Sharon Hypnosis

All nightmares are really good entry points into our shadow — into fear, guilt, shame, and the parts of us we want to hide away the most. They often bring up what we’re not yet ready to face in waking life. But they never lie.

Between the age of 4 to 8, I had many nightmares. Some faded with time. But one of them has stayed with me my whole life — every detail still alive in my memory.

In the dream, I come home from school. The moment I step into the stairwell, I already feel the tension in the air. Something's off, heavy. But I still have to go upstairs. I have nowhere else to go.

As I arrive at the door, it opens by itself. And from the hallway, a 2-meter-tall wooden figure appears. It’s rough, faceless, moving mechanically like a robot. And in the dream, I knew — it was my grandma.

I ran away immediately. But she said: “Don’t even try. I am the fastest robot on the planet.” Looking back now, it sounds absurd — funny, even. But for a 5-year-old, that was the most terrifying thing imaginable.

On my way downstairs, I met my father. I hoped for protection. But he just ran forward and disappeared, leaving me behind. In the final moments of the dream, the robot caught me by my clothes. I woke up frozen in fear.

Patterns that repeat

After that period, I had countless dreams of running away, being chased, hiding. Sometimes I could fly away. Sometimes I stumbled and fell in a garden. Once, a frog jumped out of my left hand, and a small bird came out of my right.

My unconscious was full of vivid symbols. It spoke in riddles. These dreams didn’t just confuse me — they stayed in my body, in my reactions, in my life patterns. I felt chased by invisible forces. I couldn’t explain why.

The moment it made sense

It was only years later, in a hypnosis session, that the meaning of this dream became clear — in a way that was literal, verbal, direct, and deeply emotional.

In the therapy session, I went back into the dream. But this time, I entered as the adult me — strong, grounded, and carrying the warmth and wisdom of a mother. I stood in front of the frightened child at the door. And I hugged her.

Then I turned to face the wooden robot grandma. And I realized: it’s just a robot. Mechanical. Empty. Unfeeling. It cannot hurt me unless I believe it holds power over me. What truly built the fear all those years was not the dream figure — but the silence, the inability to confront.

The deeper truth behind the fear

In real life, my grandmother was emotionally unavailable, often cold, suppressive, and highly critical. But I now see — she, too, was a broken soul. A woman with unhealed childhood trauma of her own.

Today, my grandma has become so old that she can barely walk. The wooden figure in the dream has nothing to do with her anymore. It was never about her, not really. It was about my own fear — fear of emotional coldness, of a polished façade, of a lack of empathy, of sharp criticism.

Looking at it now, I see how much fear came from giving these behaviors too much meaning. All those suppressed emotions, rigid rules, lack of warmth, and surface-level interaction — they no longer hurt me. Not when I stop giving them the power to define me.

What shadow healing can do

Shadow healing is not about blaming. It’s about seeing. Meeting the part of you that froze, ran, hid — and offering it safety, truth, and love. When that happens, something shifts. The fear no longer has to repeat itself through dreams, triggers, or relationships.

In that hypnotherapy session, I didn’t defeat the wooden figure. I didn’t need to. I simply saw the illusion for what it was. I reclaimed my voice. And I chose to stay with the child version of me who had once felt so alone.

The monsters we carry are never as big as the silence we wrap around them. And when you break that silence — gently, honestly, in a safe space — healing becomes natural.