Right. So the other night, my body was tucked up in bed, warm, relaxed, dead to the world. Lovely stuff. But apparently, my brain decided that was far too boring and went, “Hey, let’s make this night absolutely unhinged.” Next thing I know, I’m in a full-blown crisis dream I’m late for school (despite not having attended one in years), panicking like I’ve just been told there’s no tea left in the house, running up and down stairs like I live in the bloody Eiffel Tower, and then legging it to the bus stop like it’s the final round of The Hunger Games: Public Transport Edition.

And here’s the kicker I wake up (Not peacefully) Oh no. I wake up with sore legs??? a pounding headache, and a deep, existential confusion like, “Did I just run a marathon… in my sleep?” Honestly, my calves felt like I’d wrestled a mountain goat. Barefoot. On gravel (okeh, now I am exaggerting a bit)

 Why do we dream?

who asked for this feature?

I’ve done my research (spiralled down Google rabbit hole). Some say dreaming is how we process emotions. Others reckon it’s memory consolidation, or the brain’s way of “tidying up”. Tidy up? Mate, my brain’s dreams are a cluttered charity shop with no manager. Freud thought dreams reveal our deepest desires, but unless my ultimate fantasy is missing buses and forgetting how to put socks on, I think Freud might’ve been off his trolley.

There’s also a theory that dreams help us practice survival skills. You know, like fighting off wild animals or escaping danger. Brilliant. So instead of preparing me to pay my bills or finish emails on time, my brain thinks the best use of REM sleep is rehearsing a dramatic sprint to an imaginary Year 9 history exam in a towel, with “one shoe”.

Helpful.

And don’t get me started on how vivid these dreams are. Hyperrealistic. Like my subconscious has a Netflix budget now. If my dream-self is going to suffer that much, I want dream compensation. I want dream-counselling. I want to speak to dream-HR. Because quite frankly, I did not sign up to go jogging through my memories at 3am while being yelled at by my imaginary form tutor.

So, in summary:

I fell asleep.

I woke up sore, disoriented, and 85% convinced I’d just been to war.

Dreams are weird. Science has some answers. But most of them sound made up by someone who never accidentally dreamt they were in Tesco “naked”.

so,

If anyone knows how to disable the “run for your life” mode in dreams, please do let me know. Until then, I’ll be waking up every morning needing a sports massage and questioning some of my life choices.

loads of luv

Hannah