The Dream
I was a fly. I was flying, circling above the dinner table, unnoticed and silent. I could go anywhere. Then I noticed a cloud of mist following me. Insect Killer! I frantically flew to the next room, and the kitchen, and I darted in between the cupboard doors. I positioned myself in the dark corner, holding my breath. Then the cupboard slammed open. There it was. The Spray. Behind the spray, I saw my mother. Her eyes, emotionless. Searching.
I fell off the bed as I woke up from the dream. The heart racing. It was just a few days before I left my parents’ home for good. I was 23.
Wake Up to Sleep
In the summer of 2024, as I scrolled through my Instagram feed, I found a weekend workshop at the Buddhist Centre near my house called ‘Wake Up To Sleep’ by Charlie Morley. I knew nothing about his work and assumed that he would be teaching some sleep hygiene technique. Something I needed to learn to sleep better. While I was partially correct, the session was more about lucid dreaming and mindful living techniques. Most people in the workshop seemed to know what the term ‘Lucid Dreaming’ meant, and they were there to learn lucid dreaming. I was Google searching for the term “lucid dreaming” during the session break.
That weekend changed everything.
When Talking Therapy Wasn’t Enough
Earlier that year, I had ended a three-year relationship with my therapist. When I told her I was feeling better, I was lying. The truth was, I felt no better than when I’d started through the NHS. Three years of weekly sessions had made almost no difference. It wasn’t her fault. She was kind and compassionate. She was following the classic CBT technique. But I just couldn’t bear another hour of having to come up with something to say. It was excruciatingly boring. It was not working.
Breathwork and Yoga Nidra
At the Buddhist Centre, as I followed along with the breathwork and Yoga Nidra alongside 100 other participants, I started to feel better. I felt lighter. I liked the way the air entered through my nose, then into my body. The room was peaceful and silent.
I began daily practices of breathwork, Yoga Nidra, and dream recall. As with everything in my life, I had to try everything that was offered. I enrolled in Charlie’s online course and joined monthly Zoom dream circles.
Then in July 2025, as if all these were not enough, I joined a weeklong retreat to the Scottish island, Holy Isle.
Uncomfortable
Therapeutic work, I learned, is not pleasant. The retreat is not a relaxing holiday with spa treatments and massages. There is no distraction.
I sat and went deep down into my psyche. As I was told, I wrote down random words as they came to mind. These words were a true reflection of myself. The random words started to form sentences in my mind.
- I amplify my failures and mistakes.
- I downplay my achievements and success.
- I actively try to appear unimportant and uninteresting.
- I actively avoid people who show interest in me.
I stared at the paper that I had just written.
Why?
Why would anyone deliberately try to look unimportant and embrace failure?
There was a simple answer to it. It had always been my defence strategy against parents who consistently punished me for any moment of success or joy. They were happiest when I failed.
I handed my paper to the lady sitting next to me for discussion. The tears started pouring down. I buried my head in both hands. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t breathe.
Whilst people were queuing up for lunch after the session, I jetted off outside alone. I had to run. I had to clear my head. I didn’t bring any running gear to the retreat, so I just wore a T-shirt and pyjama trousers.
Holy Isle is a small island with a circular loop. The narrow footpath led me up to the top of the hill. When I reached the top, the lighthouse was in the distance. I was drenched with sweat, but at least I was breathless enough to feel like I had shed some dirt off my skin. My mouth was salty with tears and sweat.
There was no ferry back to the main island until the last day of the retreat. I stood there for a while until my thoughts calmed down.
Buried Inner Child
My parents were not very nice people. I can say this finally, as they have passed away. I do not mean to broadcast the ill feelings towards the deceased, as I had the final closure when they passed. I am at peace with them. Let them rest in peace.
During the three years with my therapist, I convinced myself that my little “so-called” inner child was dead. That child was clueless and helpless, crying in the dark corner of the closet. She spent hours daydreaming about imaginary “real” parents. I am not that child anymore. I am a resourceful adult with education and a career. I do not even need to mend the relationship with my parents. They are dead.
So, the idea of revisiting an inner child felt like ripping open an old wound and pouring alcohol on it.
Dreams, Shadow and Inner Child Work
Dreams don’t lie. Since I began recording them, I noticed a shocking pattern. My parents keep appearing in my dreams. Even worse, they are always hateful and violent. Shouting, spitting, smashing things, or even threatening to kill me or someone else. If you have ever seen Quentin Tarantino’s films, that’s the closest. You know what I mean.
It was pretty clear that I had some issues. And perhaps, working through these dreams might help me resolve my never-ending anxiety over everything in the world.
Anyways, I was back from that run. I reluctantly went back to the prayer room. I sat again for the session and wrote a letter to my younger self.
A Letter to My Younger Self (8 years old)
Hello, Hisayo-chan,
My name is Hisayo. I am the older version of you. I live in England – the country with Kings and Queens. Here, people drink tea with milk and sugar. Ludicrous, right? I have a house in London, with a little garden to grow flowers and vegetables. I have a cat named Ollie. He is black and white, just like your Pick. Ollie plays in the garden but is not as adventurous as Pick. He is always scared of the other cats from next door. I suppose it is good, as he won’t get in a fight like Pick does, right?
How are you? I hope you are feeling happy. But if not, don’t be afraid to show it. Shout. Cry. Throw a tantrum. It is okay to do all these things. That’s what children do. You don’t have to look OK all the time.
You are such a good child. You always jump up to help your Mama do the washing up, mopping the floor, and tidying up the laundry. You always shout out to say Mama’s food was delicious, even when it wasn’t. You know that your Papa would get drunk and become rude, so you always have to make your Mama happy.
Remember the time when your Grandma asked you to be kind to your Mama when she was mean to you? Well, your Grandma was wrong. It is not your responsibility to make your Mama happy. It never was.
Your Mama didn’t know how to raise a child. No one taught her what she was supposed to do. Your Papa is lonely. He gets angry and shouts because he drinks a lot of alcohol, and alcohol changes a human’s brain. You must understand this: this is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong.
Adults are selfish. We only care about ourselves. We don’t think about small people. We expect small children to carry all our emotional baggage. You will understand when you get to my age.
I am sorry that you were not given the childhood you deserved. But this is going to change now. Going forward, I am going to sit with you so that you can show me your schoolwork. Because I want to tell you how smart you are. I am going to give you a hug so that you know what love feels like.
I want you to know that I love you very much.
Lots of Love and Hugs,
Hisayo
The Ongoing Journey
This letter remains a work in progress. I edit and refine as I go.
My mother most definitely suffered from a psychiatric dysfunction although she was never diagnosed, nor did she receive any support. It was a doll’s house in a traditional Buddhist household and they avoided doctors and lawyers at all costs. Seeking professional help was frowned upon.
I continue my journey. But I am not that person who keeps up with journaling or meditation on a daily basis. But I try. The difference is that I am not in denial. I am not deserting myself in the dark.
And I say…
You are good. You are worthy. And none of it was your fault.
Running as Therapy
Running clears the mind and lifts the spirit. Running is often seen as a tool for mental health. But be very careful. Running does not make your problems go away. Running is never a substitute for therapeutic work.
Therapeutic work is not just about a therapist sitting on a big couch and listening to your story. There is no one-size-fits-all or cure-all therapy model. It is a continuous work, a journey with trial and error.
Don’t let running or any sports distract you from seeking help.
Let’s begin the healing from within.
Links:
Charlie Morley – Lucid Dreaming teacher
https://www.charliemorley.com/
Holy Isle – Centre for World Peace and Health
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