Sometimes I remember dreams I had, and upon waking, I try to understand why my subconscious wants to tell me. Last night I dreamed about chicks.

My first thought was "yeah, it makes sense. I have seen chicks this weekend, discussed with my mom about chickens, so it computes". However, on a second, more thorough thought, I realised my dream wasn't about chickens, but about holding something fragile and breaking a shell too early.

I broke the shells. Some chicks survived, small and unsteady. Some did not. In the dream, I felt both an adult and a child, and I felt ashamed for acting too soon.

I put the surviving chicks under my arm, trying to keep them warm, and asked my mother to find a lamp to help warm them.

I woke up knowing the dream was about something real.

The Secret

Yesterday I told a new friend my secret. The one you all know about, but very few people in my real life get to know. I did not tell her by accident or to get attention. I told her because I thought she would only know the surface of me otherwise. I wanted her to know more than that and to get the full context for why I am the way I am.

She is an expat. We met at my kid's school. She had been alone with her son for two weeks, so we started spending more time together. Our coffee meetings lasted for hours while our kids played. We talked about real things like our struggles, our histories, and what shaped us.

When I woke up this morning, I thought about what the dream meant. I recognised the child in me. She is the part of me that learned early that being vulnerable can hurt. Opening up can feel dangerous. It can seem safer to stay closed.

I do not remember every moment that taught me this. Childhood does not give clear lessons. It gives patterns and slow understanding. I learned that being open can lead to pain, so I became careful. Over time, I became good at staying closed.

The problem is that staying closed can start to feel like self-protection. It can feel like wisdom. You carry it into adulthood, thinking you are careful, but really, you are still afraid of the same things you feared as a child.

The child does not go away when you grow up. She stays inside and reacts whenever you take a risk.

When I told my new friend the secret, the child in me braced. Too soon. Too much. You don't know her well enough. You've broken the shell.

The child in me became tense. It felt too soon, too much. I did not know her well enough. I had opened up before I was ready. Some things that open early don't make it, and that is true in dreams and in life.

Yet, some of the other chicks survived. And what did I do with the ones that survived? I didn't panic. I didn't abandon them out of guilt or shame. I held them against my body, in the warmest place I had, and I asked for help to keep them alive. I was imperfect, and then I was resourceful. I was afraid, and then I was tender.

I do not think the dream was a warning. I think it was my mind working through the difference between the old lesson that vulnerability is dangerous and what I now believe: sometimes being vulnerable is the only way to be real.

Choosing to Open

There is a version of this story where I regret telling her. In that version, my fear was right, the secret was not received well, and I closed up again, adding to my reasons for not trusting people.

But that is not what happened. Even if it had, my reason for telling her would still have been valid. I was not reckless or sharing out of anxiety. I chose to let her know me, not just on the surface, but fully.

That is not something a child does. It takes adult courage.

Sometimes you do not need to wait longer. Sometimes you have been waiting for the right person, and when they arrive, you open up.

What I Want to Remember

I want to remember that the chicks survived when I kept them warm. The warmth I gave was enough to help them at the start. Maybe I am one of the chicks, in fact, that, given enough warmth, can survive despite vulnerability.

I want to remember that the fear comes from the child I was. She needed it then and deserves kindness now, but she no longer decides everything.

I also want to remember my friend, sitting across from me in a country that is not hers, raising her son with quiet strength. She now knows something real about me, not just the surface.

And that feels to me like the right way to break open.