When Dreams Speak: How I Found Out I Had Cancer From a Dream
The Dream That Changed Everything - And the Healing That Followed.
This story is for you all, but most importantly, my mom.
The one who reminded me that even in the unraveling, I could be held. Held through a season I didn’t even know how to name, and reminded me that I never have to walk alone.
I've always believed dreams carry messages - whispers from the other side of the veil. From God, our ancestors, guides, the ones who love us from beyond. They don’t always speak in words. Sometimes, they come in symbols, in feelings, songs, in flashes that only make sense once we have lived and experienced them.
They come at night when our ego sleeps, when our soul is free to roam where it belongs.
I once read that if you remember a dream, it’s because it carried a message you’re meant to know. That stayed with me. So, I started writing them down - even the strange ones, the emotional ones, the ones I did not yet understand. And it’s funny how, over time, you begin to connect the dots. Dreams speak in riddles - but truth is always hiding inside them.
Here is a story about a dream I was meant to remember, with deep truth. In December of 2022, I had a dream that would change my life. I was lying in a bed - with people surrounding me. And above, a woman - familiar but unplaceable - hovering over me like a guardian. She looked at me with the kind of love that makes you trust instantly. She leaned in and softly said, “You need to go to the doctor.”
I woke up with the words still echoing in my entire being. It felt too real to ignore. Too specific to brush off. It did not feel like a metaphor - it felt like a message.
I hadn’t been to a women’s wellness visit in several years - one of those appointments that many women quietly put off. The kind that reconnects us with our bodies and reminds us to take care of ourselves, even when life feels too full or too fragile. After the dream, I immediately scheduled the appointment for a few days later.
In January 2023, I went back in to the clinic. My results came back abnormal - there were precancerous cells. The doctors recommended surgery as soon as possible, explaining there was a high likelihood it was cancer. They didn't want to wait. By February, I was scheduled for surgery.
Going in, we didn’t know what stage of cancer it was. I didn’t know if it would be something small and treatable, or if my life was about to change completely. There were no answers yet. Just waiting. Just trust. But strangely, I had no fear. I felt held - by something bigger. Something unseen. It felt like I had been caught, just in time, by something divine. I walked into the unknown holding nothing but trust and faith - no guarantees, no promises, just an inner knowing that I would be okay.
Because I had listened. Because something in me had spoken. And I was no longer ignoring the voice within.
That season of my life - fresh out of a breakup, navigating loss, learning to begin again - could have taken me under. But instead, it called me deeper. Into myself. Into surrender. Into trust. I found strength not by pushing through - but by softening. By opening. By letting go.
There were tears, yes. Behind closed doors, there were moments where I broke open. But there was also a quiet smile I carried with me, because somewhere beneath the fear, I felt the universe holding me.
I kept all of this to myself at first - not out of secrecy, but out of care. I didn’t tell my mom about the dream or my original appointment I had quietly scheduled. I honestly believed it would be nothing. A routine check, a little peace of mind. I thought I’d go in, get it over with, and move on. There was no point in worrying her over something I was sure would come back clear.
But when the results showed precancerous cells and I was referred to an oncologist surgeon, the weight of it all became too real to carry alone. That was the moment I knew I had to tell her. It wasn’t a dramatic confession, but it was deeply vulnerable. A threshold I had to cross.
In telling her, something between us softened. We’ve always been close - woven into each other’s lives in that unspoken, sacred way that only mothers and daughters understand. But when it came to the heavier things, I had grown used to carrying the weight on my own. Not because she wasn’t there, but because I had convinced myself I could handle it. I was strong. I didn’t want to burden her. But the truth is, part of my healing has been learning that I don’t have to walk through it all alone. That allowing someone to hold space for you doesn’t make you weak - it makes you whole.
By confiding in her, a wall that had always quietly existed - made of love, protection, and unspoken worry, gently dissolved. In that sacred space, something deeper awakened: the understanding that connection, not silence, is what heals us. That moment became more than just personal healing - it felt like a break in a generational cycle. One that told women to carry everything silently. To be strong at all costs. To protect others at the expense of themselves. And for the first time, I chose a different way.
I’m sharing this now for the ones who have felt a nudge and brushed it off. For the ones who dream vividly and wonder if it means something. For the ones who have been taught to carry it all alone, quietly.
You are not imagining it. You're not too sensitive. You’re not too much. You are waking up. And your body, your dreams, your intuition - are always guiding you back to yourself.
Dreams aren’t always meant to be taken literally. Sometimes they’re metaphors, mirrors, or quiet nudges from the deeper parts of us. But every now and then, they offer something sacred - a whisper that invites us to pay attention, to pause, to reflect.
This isn’t about fear. it’s about becoming fluent in the language of your inner world. It’s about recognizing when something is asking to be looked at more closely. And it’s about remembering that you don’t have to figure it out all alone.
Because part of healing is not just listening to yourself - it’s allowing others to witness you, hold you, walk with you. That’s when everything begins to shift.
All My Love,
Erica