The other night, my subconscious staged an intervention.
It didn’t show up with an inspirational speech or a giant flashing warning sign.
Nope.
It sent me a full-blown, horror-movie terrarium nightmare.

In my dream, I owned a series of tanks:

• One housed a frog that had straight-up mummified.
• One had leopard geckos living in a diseased pile of their own discarded, rotting tails.
• And one had a snake that was, without question, dead.

Naturally, dream-me looked at this little collection of biological carnage and thought,
“Wow, that’s gross. Should probably clean that up. But honestly? That sounds exhausting. So…not today.”

Later, dream me casually mentioned to dream husband that I’d let the terrariums get a little, uh, out of hand.

He just shrugged and said, “It’s okay. But maybe you don’t need any more frogs or snakes right now.”

And if that’s not a full metaphor for my life these days, I don’t know what is.

---

At first glance, it felt like just another “What the hell was that?” weird dream.
But the symbolism?
Not even subtle.

I’m not usually someone who reads too much into dreams. Most of the time, they’re just random brain static — too much caffeine, too little sleep, a weird cheese stick before bed. But this one?

It was a not-so-subtle invitation to slow down and look a little closer at the mess I’ve been trying not to see. A reminder that sometimes, even when we’re tired, we owe ourselves a little self-reflection.

And because I’m the kind of nerd who has an extremely active subconscious and a mild fascination with Jungian dream analysis, this isn’t exactly my first rodeo.

The frog?
Some part of me that needed emotional healing but got pushed to the side and left to dry up.

The geckos?
Pieces of myself I shed under pressure — defenses, dreams, maybe even old identities — now piled up into a sad, rotting mess because I never actually dealt with them.

The snake?
The transformation I desperately wanted… but that feels stalled, or abandoned altogether.

And me?
Standing there, fully aware it’s a disaster, knowing it smells terrible, and still saying,
“Yeah, uh, can’t deal with that right now. Sorry, future self.”

---

The truth is, I know this cycle well.
I don’t have a problem saying no to things I don’t want to do.
But the second something sparks excitement, meaning, or hope in me —
BAM. I’m adopting another emotional frog.

I say yes, even when I don’t have the time.
Yes, even when I don’t have the energy.
Yes, even when the entire infrastructure of my life is already held together with duct tape and stubbornness.

It’s not because I’m irresponsible.
It’s because sometimes, I just don’t want to miss out — on the fun, the opportunity, the chance to be part of something that matters.
And sometimes, honestly, it’s because I’m a tiny bit of a control freak who’s convinced no one else could possibly do it right.

---

But maybe my husband’s right.
Maybe I don’t need any new frogs right now.
Maybe I just need to deal with the mess I’ve already got —
with the old grief, the abandoned dreams, the exhausted parts of me that are still quietly rotting away while I pretend not to notice.

Maybe healing isn’t glamorous.
Maybe it’s just dragging out the rotting tails, one by one, without gagging.
Maybe it’s finally admitting that you can’t keep adding more life until you make space for it.

---

If you need me, I’ll be here.
Armed with a shovel, a trash bag, and maybe — someday — a new terrarium.
But not yet.
First, I have some cleaning to do.