The Visitor at the Foot of My Bed

Some dreams feel like messages.
Others feel like mirrors.
This one was both.

I offer this story, based on an actual dream, as part of the unfinished work of un-becoming — of waking, of healing, and of learning to trust the ground beneath me again.

Last night, I woke from a dream.
Nestled in my hotel bed.
But something was different.

It felt as if someone was in my room.

This happens sometimes when Spirit visits.
I can sense their presence — an eerie feeling of something unseen nearby.
While it’s usually benign, it can still be jarring.

Is that it?
Is a Spirit here?

A wave of terror washed over me as I felt someone stand up from the foot of the bed — the whole mattress shifting under the weight of a body.

Thoughts raced through my mind at warp speed.

“Didn’t I lock the door?”
“Didn’t I put the chain on?”
“How did I not hear this?”
“How did I let this happen?! My dad said this would happen.”
“I’ll fight with every ounce of me!”

I tried to see who was there, but my vision was blurry.
I could only make out a scattered, chaotic shadow pacing at my feet.

He felt like he was waiting — checking for something before making his move.

That’s when I realized:
I couldn’t move.
I was paralyzed by some unknown force.

Terror steeped every cell in my body.

I tried to yell, but no sound came out.

Inside, I was fighting with everything in me — to move, to scream, to kick, to call for help.
On the outside, I lay still. Silent.

The horrific realization that I was powerless to protect or defend myself felt like the weight of a thousand elephants stampeding through my soul.

This is it, I thought. I’m about to be—

And then…
I woke up.
Again.

But this time, I truly woke up.
In my hotel room.
Nestled safely in bed.
Alone.

Some dreams don’t end when we open our eyes.
Sometimes, the line between dream and memory blurs, showing us the places inside still asking for our attention — or mirroring phenomena like sleep paralysis, where fear and stillness collide.

They linger — asking quiet questions:
Where are we still frozen?
Where have we silenced our own cries for help?
Where are we still waiting for someone else to save us?

Maybe waking isn’t just about surviving the night.
Maybe it’s about reclaiming the parts of ourselves we were taught to hide.

Even now, I wonder:
What parts of us remain frozen in the dark corners of our lives?
In the deep caverns of our minds?What parts of us are still waiting to wake up fully, to find we are finally safe?

Author’s Note:

This story is based on a real dream experience.
If it stirred something in you — fear, memory, ache — you’re not alone.

We are all still waking, unfolding, and un-becoming together.