I had a dream recently that stayed with me like sea salt on skin. It was set in Monaco. I had actually planned a trip there once, years ago, but never made it—I had a panic attack that day and couldn’t leave the house. So it’s funny that now, in the dream, Monaco returned like a healed version of a wound.
I think I was there with my mother. We were on some kind of tour, standing on stairs above the city with a view of beaches and houses below. Everything looked beautiful, radiant. She wanted us to follow the group, but I told her, “No, we don’t have to. I do this all the time—we can just go wherever, as long as we’re back on time for the bus.“
And I ran. Wind in my hair, laughter bursting out of me. I had on this beautiful dress, and it was the kind of joy you feel in your bones. Pure. Free. Feminine.
Then it happened—my eyes met with a guy from a passing family. I smiled at him through my hair, playful. He wore a pink t-shirt. That felt important. He came up to me, started hugging me, asking for my name, my number. I liked him, but I also felt pressure with my mom watching, so I tried to wriggle away. He kept asking until I gave in. I asked a woman nearby for a pen and paper and wrote my number and name down. When I handed it to him, he looked like I’d just given him a treasure.
We walked down toward the beach. The sand was light, warm, the kind that slips between your toes and makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be okay. And it was full of crabs. So many, hiding, snapping. One of them hurt my right arm. A guy nearby told me, “You have to stomp on them first.” I didn’t want to—I was scared. I was jumping around, trying to avoid them.
Then a boy hopped onto what looked like sand stairs—the beach itself had transformed into a staircase, surreal and strange—and showed us how to escape—just jump-jump-jump. I told my mother, “See? We just jump!” And we did. We made it out.
There was a little store with sandals. Size 39, white, beautiful. I tried them, but they didn’t fit. They looked like they would—but they didn’t.
Back at the restaurant, my mother tried to buy all the lollipops. She told me to be quiet when the staff asked what I do. But I answered anyway.
Then—my phone buzzed. A message from the guy. His name was Martin. Full of stars and kindness. I smiled.
| Symbol | Generic Meaning |
|---|---|
| Monaco | Glamour, transformation of past trauma, reclaiming beauty and joy |
| Mother | Inner critic, family pressure, control, duty |
| Running with Wind in Hair | Freedom, joy, embracing the feminine, releasing shame |
| Pink T-shirt Man | Emotional availability, safe masculine energy, affection |
| Crabs | Hidden emotional threats, workplace or social stress, passive aggression |
| Right Arm Hurt | Wounded ability to act or express, fear of asserting oneself |
| Jumping Boy | Inner child, intuition, playful wisdom |
| Size 39 Sandals | Roles or expectations that look right but don’t fit your truth |
| Lollipops | Sweetness, indulgence, distractions or manipulations |
| Stars in Text | Hope, magic, divine timing, alignment |
Real-Life Reflection
This dream hit hard. I’m in a phase of change, shedding old roles that hurt or limit me. The crabs in the sand—maybe those are my anxieties, the pressure from people who try to get under my skin. I don’t want to stomp on anything or anyone, but maybe I need to start standing my ground. Maybe the little boy in the dream was my intuition, showing me a path that’s not forceful—but playful, light, and free.
The shoes not fitting? I’ve been trying to squeeze into something that isn’t made for me. Pretending it works. But it doesn’t.
I’ve also been thinking lately that I want love again. Real love. The kind that feels kind, exciting, mutual. That dream was a reminder—I’m allowed to want that. I don’t have to keep surrounding myself with people who’ve settled for less.
I’m learning to be patient, to trust that what’s meant for me will find me. And until then, I keep jumping. Joyfully. Powerfully. In dresses. Because I can.
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