Recognising mental health issues and then finding a counsellor sometimes isn’t an easy process. With this in mind, my website is designed to provide an understandable overview of the world of psychotherapy and counselling to help you take the first step towards a life of positive mental health. Thank You! Thank you for requesting copies of my Dream Guides. An email has now been sent to you with download links to your Dream Guides

When the chakras are out of balance, the liberating and manifesting currents of the life force are blocked, causing many symptoms and is the reason many of us become stuck in repetitive patterns of behaviour. In this workshop, we will learn how to balance the chakra system by working psychologically, physically and spiritually. Techniques will include massage (clothed), reflexology points, sound and breath work, Hatha yoga postures and others. Balancing the Chakras Workshop Balancing the Chakras This workshop is open to members of the public as well as interested professionals. When the chakras are out of balance, the liberating and manifesting currents of the life force are blocked, causing many symptoms and is the reason many of us become stuck in repetitive patterns of behaviour. In this workshop, we will learn how to balance the chakra system by working psychologically, physically and spiritually. Techniques will include massage (clothed), reflexology points, sound and breath work, Hatha yoga postures and others. £230 Price is per person for a 2-day workshop inclusive of course materials. Download Leaflet Register Interest

Recognising mental health issues and then finding a counsellor sometimes isn’t an easy process. With this in mind, my website is designed to provide an understandable overview of the world of psychotherapy and counselling to help you take the first step towards a life of positive mental health. Workshops Introduction I run a number of workshops for members of the public as well as for professional CPD. Please come back and check this page regularly to see what workshops are planned, or simply Contact Me for more information. Information about current workshops is provided below. Most workshops are held in Central or West London, but I’m happy to consider travelling to other locations on request. Workshops A Matter of Life and Death A two-day workshop for those working with dying, death, grief and bereavement. Our beliefs about death shape the way we live. To fear death is often to fear life; to live more fully, we must find a way to meet loss, love and endings with greater honesty and compassion. Through creative and experiential exercises, we will explore our own relationship with death and the losses we have lived through. Drawing on writers and teachers including Stephen Levine, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Rumi and others, we will ask how we can support others in their suffering while also tending to our own unfinished grief. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Workshop - A Matter of Life and Death Addictions A 2-day workshop, part-lecture and part-experiential, aimed at counsellors, psychotherapists, students of counselling and psychotherapy, life coaches, trainers, and members of the public. I have over 30 years’ experience in the field of addiction. This exciting workshop is designed to get to the root of the addiction and help the layperson understand their addiction and student and graduate counsellors and psychotherapists assist people suffering from this debilitating condition. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Balancing the Chakras A two-day workshop for members of the public and interested professionals exploring the psychological, emotional and spiritual dimensions of the chakra system. When the chakras are out of balance, the natural flow of life force can feel blocked, often manifesting as emotional, physical, or repetitive patterns of behaviour. Drawing on the work of Anodea Judith, Caroline Myss, Alexander Lowen and others, this workshop offers a practical and creative approach to chakra balancing. Through massage, sound, breathwork, targeted yoga postures and reflective exercises, we will explore how the chakra system can support greater self-awareness, vitality and inner balance. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Facilitation Skills A two-day experiential weekend for those drawn to facilitating a group of their own, or beginning to shape an end-of-diploma project. Facilitation is far more than keeping time and following an agenda. It means holding the purpose of the gathering while staying alive to what is unfolding in the room: the atmosphere, the silences, the different voices and whatever may be stirring beneath the words. We will explore how to shape an idea into a coherent workshop, how to weave in the transpersonal while remaining grounded and clinically useful, and how to hold a group without over-controlling it. We will look at openings and closing rituals, at making room for every voice, and at reading and responding to the energy of a group. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Gestalt and the Dreaming Body A two-day experiential workshop for counsellors, psychotherapists and student practitioners interested in working creatively with the body, dreams and lived experience. Drawing on Gestalt and process-oriented psychotherapy, this workshop explores the “dreaming body” as a source of meaning, imagination and psychological insight. We will work with sensation, movement, image, gesture and symptom as doorways into what the unconscious may be trying to express. Through practical exercises and guided exploration, participants will learn ways to listen more deeply to the body and to bring its hidden messages into therapeutic work. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Holding Difference A Workshop for Therapists A one-day staff development workshop exploring how therapists, trainers and facilitators can navigate difference in polarised times. We will look at what happens when dialogue becomes difficult, when certainty replaces curiosity, and when nuance begins to feel unsafe. Through reflection, discussion, and experiential exercises, we will explore how to stay grounded, thoughtful, and connected when working with sensitive socio-political themes, including race, decolonisation, Israel/Gaza, and other areas of conflict. The focus is on teaching stance, facilitation skills and the capacity to hold complexity without retreating into certainty or silence. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop Women and Weight In this 2-day workshop we will explore our unwanted excess weight and look at this from a different point-of-view. Is our weight a burden we’re forced to carry or does it hold a message from the unconscious that we need to hear? When we discuss our struggles with food and weight, we are talking not just about bodily urges but issues such as emotional appetites and wanting to be loved. Download Leaflet Date & Price Enquiry Book Workshop New Book In her first book, psychotherapist Lynn Somerfield explores the subtle processes through which change begins to take root in our lives. Through reflection and insight, she considers how moments of awareness, courage, and compassion can gradually shape meaningful personal transformation Explore the Book Workshop Date & Price Enquiry Form Please use the form below to enquire about forthcoming workshop dates and pricing. Which workshop(s) would you like date and pricing information for (select all that apply)?* A Matter of Life and Death Addictions Balancing the Chakras Facilitation Skills Gestalt and the Dreambody Holding Difference Women and Weight Please indicate which type of workshop attendee you are?* Private Attendee Professional Attendee First name* Last name* Email* Phone I consent to you processing the information I provide (which may include health information) for the purpose of responding to my enquiry * Please subscribe me to future communications and offers. Your personal details will remain confidential and will never be shared with any party outside me therapy practice Submit your Enquiry Workshop Booking Form Please use the form below to book your place on one or more of my workshops. Once I receive your booking form, I will get in touch with you to reconfirm workshop dates and locations and to request payment. Which workshop(s) would you like to book (select all that apply)?* A Matter of Life and Death Addictions Balancing the Chakras Facilitation Skills Gestalt and the Dreambody Holding Difference Women and Weight Please indicate which type of workshop attendee you are?* Private Attendee Professional Attendee First name* Last name* Email* Phone I understand that bookings cancelled within eight weeks of the workshop will be charged in full * I consent to you processing the information I provide (which may include health information) for the purpose of responding to my enquiry * Please subscribe me to future communications and offers. Your personal details will remain confidential and will never be shared with any party outside me therapy practice Submit your Booking

Power, identity and finding what fits Shoes are such ordinary objects that we rarely think much about them unless, of course, they're uncomfortable. Yet they are surprisingly rich in symbolism, especially in dreams. Shoes carry us through life. They protect our feet, help us stay balanced, and let us move from one place to another. They also tell others something about who we are, or who we would like them to think we are. Expensive shoes may convey wealth or status. Worn-out shoes might suggest hardship, long experience or simply a reluctance to throw away an old favourite. High heels can make us feel elegant, attractive or powerful, although they can make walking decidedly difficult. Our language is full of associations between shoes and identity. We talk about walking in someone else's shoes, finding our feet, following in another person's footsteps, or having big shoes to fill. So, what might it mean when shoes appear in our dreams? A dream about a powerful man and an extraordinary number of shoes I was in the home of an extremely wealthy and influential man. He reminded me of Logan Roy from the TV series Succession, someone with enormous power who seemed able to get whatever he wanted. I noticed that boxes and boxes of shoes were being delivered into an adjoining room. There were shoes of every imaginable style, colour and size, all intended for this one man. I couldn't understand why he needed so many shoes. How many feet did he have? Then I noticed some women's shoes. They weren't mine, but they were lovely, and I was particularly attracted to a pair of pink high heels. I tried them on, but they were too big. And that was the dream. What interests me is the contrast between the powerful man, with his extraordinary shoe collection, and the woman who finds one beautiful pair she wants to wear, only to discover they don't fit. Before exploring the dream, though, let's consider some of the symbolism associated with shoes. Shoes and the paths we take Perhaps the most obvious association is with our journey through life. We need footwear suited to the terrain. Walking boots are rather more useful on a mountain than a pair of stilettos, however beautiful the latter might be. I have yet to meet anyone who considers stilettos suitable footwear for a lengthy hike. In dreams, comfortable, well-fitting shoes might suggest that we feel at ease with the direction our lives are taking. Shoes that pinch or rub could invite us to consider whether something about our circumstances no longer fits. Losing our shoes might leave us feeling vulnerable or unprepared, while finding a new pair could suggest a different direction. But symbols don't have fixed meanings. Someone who grew up wearing second-hand shoes that never fit properly might have very different associations than someone for whom shoes have always been a source of pleasure, beauty or self-expression. The dreamer's personal associations, feelings and circumstances that matter. Shoes in myth and fairy tales Shoes have appeared in myths, religious traditions and fairy tales for centuries. Perhaps the best-known example is Cinderella's glass slipper. The shoe identifies its rightful owner and becomes the means by which Cinderella moves from obscurity into recognition. Psychologically, we might wonder whether the slipper represents an identity finally being acknowledged. It fits her, and nobody else. There is also a sexual interpretation, with the foot entering the slipper suggesting the penis entering the vagina. From an alchemical perspective, this might be understood as a metaphor for the conjunctio, the union of masculine and feminine principles. Cinderella's marriage to the prince provides an outward image of this union, while psychologically the conjunctio suggests bringing masculine and feminine aspects together within ourselves. In Hans Christian Andersen's The Red Shoes, the symbolism is darker. A girl becomes obsessed with her beautiful red shoes and finds herself condemned to dance uncontrollably. What begins as pleasure becomes a compulsion that takes possession of her. Then there are Hermes' winged sandals, which let him travel between worlds and carry messages between gods and mortals. Shoes can also shape our relationship with the sacred, though removing them can carry symbolism. In the biblical story of Moses and the burning bush, Moses is told to remove his sandals because he is standing on holy ground. Traditionally, this is understood as an act of reverence and humility. Psychologically, we might also understand it as setting aside our usual defences and allowing ourselves to encounter something sacred without the protection of our everyday identity. Barefoot, we are more vulnerable, but also more directly connected to the ground beneath us. The powerful man Returning to the dream, the association with Logan Roy is particularly interesting. Here is a man accustomed to wielding enormous power, influencing others and getting what he wants, often with little regard for their feelings. From a Jungian perspective, he might represent an aspect of the animus, the masculine principle in a woman's psyche, or something belonging to the shadow: qualities we possess but prefer not to recognise as our own. Power is an interesting subject. We may be perfectly comfortable exercising authority in some circumstances while feeling distinctly uneasy about it in others. We might admire strength and decisiveness yet recoil from domination or control. I would want to explore the dreamer's relationship with her own authority. Does she find it difficult to say no, make demands or act without worrying about other people's reactions? Logan Roy certainly isn't a man who loses much sleep wondering whether everyone likes him. Jung suggested that dreams sometimes compensate for one-sided attitudes in our conscious lives. If someone is excessively accommodating, for example, a dream might introduce a forceful, even aggressive character who embodies qualities they find difficult to express. Might this woman need a little more Logan Roy in her life? Not the cruelty or manipulation, obviously, but perhaps some of his capacity to exercise authority without constantly seeking approval. Of course, the man might also represent the darker possibilities of power, its capacity to corrupt, intimidate and control. The dreamer's own associations would help us explore which possibilities were relevant. Why so many shoes? Then there's the extraordinary number of shoes, arriving in boxes, all different sizes, colours and styles. Shoes can represent different identities and roles. We dress for the circumstances, and our footwear may be part of the identity we want to present. In Jungian terms, this could relate to the persona, the face we show the world. But why would one man need so many different pairs, especially in sizes that couldn't all possibly fit him? Perhaps this is simply an image of excess, of accumulating far more than one person could ever need. I'd also want to ask the dreamer about her personal associations. Does she love shoes? Does she have too many? Has she recently argued about the number she owns? Dreams can turn an ordinary conversation from the previous day into something wonderfully extravagant. Or could the shoes represent the man's ability to adopt whatever identity suits the circumstances? He can present himself differently depending on whom he's dealing with. There's another possibility. Might the shoes represent other people's positions? Does he have the power to step into their lives, occupy their territory or influence the direction they take? And the shoes are being delivered to him. He doesn't even have to go out and choose them. I would be interested in how the dreamer felt about this extraordinary abundance. Was she impressed, envious, amused, or uncomfortable? Her response could tell us far more than any symbolism dictionary. The pink high heels Then the dreamer's attention shifts to the woman's shoes. They're beautiful, and she is particularly drawn to a pink pair of high heels. Pink might suggest femininity, pleasure, sexuality or playfulness. High heels can make us taller, change our posture and alter how we walk. They may give us confidence while simultaneously restricting our freedom of movement. The dreamer wants to wear them. But they're a size too large. We sometimes speak of having big shoes to fill when taking on a role previously occupied by someone else. Could these shoes represent some aspect of the dreamer she hasn't yet grown into? Or might they represent something attractive that simply isn't right for her? We can admire a way of being without wanting to adopt it ourselves. Something can be beautiful, desirable, even enviable, and still not fit. But perhaps she underestimates her own size, psychologically speaking. Might she have more capacity, authority or influence than she consciously recognises? I would want to know how she felt when she discovered the shoes were too big. Disappointed? Frustrated? Amused? Or did she simply put them down and move on? These feelings might take our exploration in quite different directions. What if everyone in the dream is an aspect of the dreamer? Gestalt offers another way of exploring dreams. In Gestalt dreamwork, developed by Fritz Perls, we can experiment with the idea that every person, object and element in a dream represents some aspect of ourselves. Rather than asking only what the powerful man symbolises, I might invite the dreamer to imagine being him. I could ask her to speak in the first person: I am powerful. I have connections everywhere. People bring me whatever I want. I have all these shoes because... Then I might invite her to become the boxes of shoes: We are arriving in enormous numbers. We come in different colours, styles and sizes. We are here because... And finally, the pink high heels: I am beautiful. I attract your attention. You want to wear me, but I'm too big for you because... The point is to allow the words to come spontaneously rather than work out what they ought to mean. The man might reveal an aspect of her that feels entitled to exercise authority. The shoes might represent roles she has occupied, or possibilities she hasn't yet considered. The pink high heels might say something about femininity, pleasure, or confidence. I might also invite the powerful man and the pink shoes to have a conversation. Would he dismiss them as frivolous? Might they challenge his authority? The most interesting material is often what surprises us, not what confirms an interpretation we've already decided on. Masculine and feminine power This dream may distinguish between masculine and feminine expressions of power. The man's power is associated with influence, control and perhaps intimidation. The pink shoes suggest something different: beauty, sexuality, pleasure or the power of being seen and desired. But is this a form of feminine power the dreamer actually wants? Or is she trying on an idea of femininity that doesn't quite belong to her? The pink high heels might represent a conventional expression of femininity, one associated with glamour, sexuality and the desire to be admired. There's nothing wrong with any of those things, but how much of what we consider feminine comes from our own nature, and how much from the expectations we've absorbed? As women, we may spend years trying to fit into an image of femininity that doesn't entirely suit us. Perhaps these shoes were never really hers. Alternatively, they might represent qualities she has neglected or rejected, and which are now asking for attention. I also wonder whether she has become so accustomed to wearing sensible shoes, literally or metaphorically, that she has forgotten the pleasure of occasionally being a little frivolous. And why should authority and decisiveness belong to the masculine, while beauty and attractiveness belong to the feminine? Jung's ideas about masculine and feminine principles can be useful, provided we don't take them too literally. We all contain qualities traditionally associated with both, and individuation involves becoming more conscious of those aspects of ourselves we may have overlooked or rejected. Whose house is it, anyway? One final detail interests me. The dream takes place in the powerful man's home. If everything in the dream represents an aspect of the dreamer, the house might represent her psyche. Yet the man owns it, while she appears to be a visitor. Why does this powerful part of her feel so comfortable at home, while the part curious about the woman's shoes is merely visiting? Perhaps she is encountering a part of herself she doesn't yet know very well. I'd want to explore how the house felt. Was it welcoming or threatening? Did she feel entitled to be there, or did she feel like she didn't quite belong? The dream might concern her relationship with authority, different identities she has occupied, or possibilities she has yet to explore. I wouldn't want to settle on any one interpretation. Dreams resist our attempts to tidy them up, and I suspect that's often where their value lies. Some questions for your own dreams If shoes have appeared in your dreams, you might like to consider: What sort of shoes were they, and what associations do you have with them? Were they yours, or did they belong to someone else? Did they fit comfortably, or were they unsuitable in some way? Where were you going, and were the shoes appropriate for the journey? If the shoes could speak, what might they say? Are there roles or identities in your life that no longer fit, or others you haven't yet dared to try on? In these blogs, I share my thoughts on dreams and their symbolism. When I discuss a client’s dream, I put far more work into it than I wish to reveal here: time spent exploring their associations, memories, and feelings, through which the dream’s personal meaning emerges. My aim in this series is to help readers become curious about symbols and recognise their possibilities, while keeping the fuller exploration of a client’s inner life within therapy. The dream discussed in this article has been adapted for illustration and is not presented as an actual client account.

We seem to be living in increasingly polarised times. Some subjects can change a room's atmosphere almost instantly. Israel and Gaza. Russia and Ukraine. Gender. Race. Immigration. Politics. Religion. Sometimes it takes only a sentence — occasionally only a word — and people begin moving into opposing camps. And once that happens, curiosity tends to pack its bags and leave. We stop wondering about the person in front of us and start deciding what sort of person they are. I’ve thought about this a great deal as a psychotherapist, a group facilitator, and a human being. Earlier this year, I ran a workshop called Holding Difference: Facilitating Dialogue in Polarised Times. It grew out of a question that feels increasingly important: How do we remain in relationship with people whose views disturb us, challenge us, or occasionally make us want to run screaming from the room? Not how do we agree with them, persuade them, or abandon our own values in the interests of being terribly nice. How do we stay present enough for an actual conversation to still be possible? The temptation to divide the world Human beings are very good at dividing the world into opposites. Good and bad. Right and wrong. Victim and perpetrator. Enlightened and ignorant. Us and them. Splitting helps us manage emotional complexity by dividing people and situations into good or bad, right or wrong. It protects us from ambivalence — the harder truth that someone can be loving and hurtful, wise and foolish, admirable one moment and infuriating the next. It gives us certainty, but flattens reality. If I know I am right and you are wrong, I don’t have to entertain the irritating possibility that I may have missed something. Even better, I don’t have to look too closely at myself. Jung wrote about our tendency to project onto others what we cannot bear to recognise in ourselves. Whole groups — even whole nations — can carry another group’s projections. Then the person in front of us stops being a person and becomes a category. A Tory. A leftie. A Zionist. A trans activist. A TERF. A racist. A woke liberal. A boomer. A millennial. Choose your label. Once we’ve reduced someone to a single word, there’s little left to be curious about. Difference isn’t the problem I don’t think difference itself is dangerous. Actually, I think we need it. A room in which everybody agrees can be very comfortable, but it may not be particularly alive. It may simply mean that those who think differently have decided it is safer to keep quiet. The difficulty begins when difference becomes intolerable: when somebody has to be corrected, defeated, silenced or expelled from the conversation. I draw on Arnold Mindell’s World Work and Deep Democracy: the principle that all voices within a system matter, including minority and awkward voices, and the things everybody knows are in the room but nobody dares to say. They don’t disappear. They just retreat backstage and start plotting their return. This doesn’t mean every opinion is equally wise, factual or harmless. It means that refusing to engage with difficult material doesn’t make it go away. The roles we fall into When conversations heat up, people often occupy particular roles. Someone defends safety, another freedom; one speaks for justice, another compassion. Somebody gets angry, somebody goes silent, and often one poor soul tries desperately to calm everybody down. Mindell calls these roles timespirits, a term I rather like because it reminds us that they are temporary, not fixed identities. They belong to the moment and can move quickly around a group: today’s rebel may become tomorrow’s authority. Thinking of them this way makes it harder to turn one person into the problem and easier to stay curious about what the role may be expressing. What interests me is what sits underneath these positions. Sometimes it is a deeply held value, fear, an old wound, or personal history we know nothing about. A baffling position can make more sense when we understand what the person is trying to protect. So alongside What does this person believe?, I find these questions useful: What is this position protecting? What are its values and fears? I may not agree with the answer, but I may understand the person better. Rank enters the room too Difference doesn’t take place on a level playing field. Some of us enter a room with more social power, professional authority, confidence, money or psychological resilience than others. Some forms of rank are obvious; others are almost invisible to the person who has them. And rank moves around. I can have considerable authority in one setting and feel powerless in another. Most of us know both positions, although we tend to notice the second more readily. Becoming aware of rank isn’t about guilt. It is about noticing our effect on others. Someone with a great deal of rank can say something casually and it lands with enormous force. They may have forgotten it by lunchtime. The person on the receiving end may remember it ten years later. Staying in the room For me, holding difference is partly about resisting the urge to leave psychologically when things become uncomfortable. We can leave without moving an inch. We stop listening and start preparing our answer. We roll our eyes, retreat into silence, or become morally superior — which can feel extremely satisfying for a while. Or we talk only to people who already agree with us. Staying doesn’t mean submitting. Sometimes remaining in relationship means saying plainly: I disagree with you. What you’ve just said has had quite an impact on me. I can’t let that pass without challenging it. Holding difference isn’t about becoming so open-minded that our brains fall out. Some things are worth standing up for. But curiosity and challenge can exist in the same conversation. The lost art of not knowing Psychotherapy has taught me to be a little less frightened of not knowing. We spend much of our working lives listening to incomplete stories. A client tells us something, we form an idea, then another piece of information arrives and the picture changes. If we become too attached to our first interpretation, we are in trouble. The same applies outside the consulting room. There is a difference between having strong convictions and believing that we possess the whole truth. The latter leaves very little room for another person. Psychotherapy asks us to tolerate contradiction, something most of us naturally dislike. Two things can be true at once. Someone can have hurt us and still be more than the hurt they caused. We can disagree profoundly with somebody and still recognise their humanity. We can listen without agreeing. We can even discover that we were wrong. Painful, perhaps, but survivable. Repair matters more than getting it right Of course we are going to get some of this wrong. Anyone who has facilitated groups knows the moment when someone says something, another person reacts, the atmosphere shifts, and you realise something important has happened. Sometimes you catch it. Sometimes you realise what you should have said three hours later while making a cup of tea. This is one of the occupational hazards of being a psychotherapist. We are often astonishingly insightful retrospectively. Perfect communication isn’t the goal. What matters is whether we can recognise that something has gone wrong and find a way back. Can I say: I think I misunderstood you. I got defensive there. I hadn’t realised how that landed. Can we go back to it? Simple sentences. Not always simple to say. Repair usually requires us to give up something — pride, certainty, the need to be right, the wish to have the last word. Perhaps that is what holding difference asks of us: not to float serenely above conflict like some spiritually evolved being, but to stay present when difference appears and find our way back when things go wrong. A few questions to sit with Think of somebody whose views you find difficult. What happens inside you when they start speaking? Do you become angry, frightened, dismissive, superior or silent? What role do you take when conflict enters a room? What are you protecting? What might the other person be protecting? Where do you have rank, and where don’t you? And perhaps the hardest question: Can you remain curious about somebody while still holding firmly to what matters to you? We don’t have to resolve every tension or manufacture agreement where none exists. Sometimes it’s enough to leave a difficult conversation knowing a little more about the other person — and perhaps a little more about ourselves, too. For more information about workshops on this topic, contact lynn@lynnsomerfield.com

Climbing, slipping, and the struggle to get somewhere Staircases appear surprisingly often in dreams. We climb them, descend them, fall down them, discover hidden ones, find ourselves unable to reach the top, or, occasionally, arrive somewhere we never knew existed. A staircase takes us from one level to another. Perhaps that is why it lends itself so readily to dreams of change. We are no longer where we were, but we have not yet arrived at where we are going. Some time ago, I dreamed of a staircase. At the time, my husband was in hospital, and I was deeply unhappy with aspects of his care. I desperately tried to get information, answers, and sometimes just someone to listen. I called the GP. I contacted consultants. I spoke with specialist nurses. Then I called again. Each time, I hoped I might finally reach the person who could tell me what was happening or help move things forward. Each time, I seemed to end up back where I started. That's when I dreamed I was climbing a staircase. I knew there was something at the top that I needed to reach. I don't remember knowing exactly what it was, only that it mattered and that I needed to get there. I began climbing. But the stairs were incredibly slippery. I made my way up, only to lose my footing and slide back down. I started climbing again. Up I went. Down I slid. Again and again. Going up/going down We tend to associate upward movement with progress. We rise through the ranks. We aspire to greater things. We climb the ladder. We speak of being on the upswing, reaching the top, getting somewhere. In dreams, climbing can carry some of those associations. It may suggest ambition, growth, effort, greater awareness, or simply the attempt to move from where we are to where we need to be. But I think we need to be cautious about assuming that up is always good and down is always bad. Much depends upon the dream. Descending a staircase might lead us toward something buried, instinctive, or forgotten. In myth, descent into the underworld often marks the start of transformation. Hades takes Persephone into the underworld, where she becomes its queen. Inanna descends into her sister Ereshkigal's realm, surrendering her finery and power as she passes through its seven gates. Orpheus descends to find his beloved Eurydice, hoping to bring her back from the dead. Sometimes we need to go down before we can come back up again. My dream, though, was unmistakably about trying to ascend. I needed to go somewhere. The problem wasn’t that I wasn't trying hard enough. The problem was that I couldn't get any traction. When effort isn't enough Looking back, what was happening in my waking life seems almost blatantly obvious. I was doing everything I could think of. I was making phone calls, following up with people, asking questions, trying to understand what was happening, and trying to advocate for someone I loved when he was extremely vulnerable. Yet I kept slipping back to the beginning. The dream did not show me standing at the bottom of the stairs, doing nothing. Nor did it show me turning around to walk away. I kept climbing. When we struggle to get somewhere, it's easy to conclude we should simply try harder. Make another call. Send another email. Explain ourselves more clearly. Sometimes that is exactly what is needed. But sometimes the difficulty is not our lack of effort. Sometimes the surface itself is slippery. Something about that image remains with me. My feet could not find purchase. No matter how much energy I put into climbing, nothing beneath me was firm enough to support me. It captured something of the helplessness I felt at the time far better than I could have put into words. The staircase between worlds Staircases connect one level to another: downstairs and upstairs, below and above, earth and sky. Like ladders, mountains, and trees, they can become images of movement between states of consciousness. In the biblical story, Jacob’s ladder connects earth and heaven. Angels travel up and down it, moving between the human and divine realms. Houses in dreams often seem to offer a similar passage between different parts of ourselves. We discover rooms we didn't know were there. The attic may hold something waiting to be explored; the basement, something we have pushed out of sight. The staircase lets us move between them. But a staircase also demands effort. Unlike a lift or elevator, it does not carry us from one floor to another. We have to take the journey one step at a time. Perhaps this is why staircases are such apt images of psychological change. We may long for a revelation or a sudden breakthrough. More often, change happens by degrees — one step, then another. Sometimes, infuriatingly, it is followed by several steps backward. Sliding backwards Sliding down those stairs could easily be read as failure. I don't think it was. At times, we do everything we reasonably can and still cannot achieve the outcome we want. Illness teaches us this well, as do bureaucracies and large institutions. Some people we cannot make respond, some answers we cannot extract, and some timetables we cannot control. Something may matter enormously to us, yet we have very little power to change it. Wanting to reach the top of those stairs was not the same as being able to get there. Is there another staircase? Another aspect of the dream interests me now. I assumed I had to get up the staircase. Dream logic is like that. We rarely pause halfway through a dream and say, "Hang on a minute. Is there another staircase?" Yet waking life sometimes requires exactly that question. When one route repeatedly fails us, perseverance may be admirable. But persistence and repetition aren't quite the same. At some point, we may need to ask whether climbing the same slippery staircase is the best use of our energy. Is there another route? Is there someone who can help? Do I need better support? Am I trying to reach something I cannot yet reach? Or, most difficult of all, am I confronting something over which I simply do not have the control I desperately wish I had? None of those questions is easy when someone we love is ill. Love makes us want to act. To protect. To solve things. To get to the top of the stairs. Yet sometimes life asks us to discover the difference between what we can influence and what, painfully, we cannot. What kind of staircase are you climbing? Staircases can take many forms in dreams. A grand staircase may carry associations with status, ambition or arrival. A narrow staircase can feel claustrophobic or precarious. A staircase disappearing into darkness may lead towards something unknown or unconscious. Broken stairs may suggest no obvious route forward. An endless staircase can evoke exhaustion: always striving, never arriving. The spiral staircase is especially evocative. We circle around and seem to return to the same place, yet each turn brings us to a slightly different level. Psychotherapy can sometimes feel like that. We find ourselves revisiting an old wound or familiar pattern and wonder, Haven't I dealt with this already? Perhaps we have. But not from here. We are not quite the same person who encountered it last time. My slippery staircase was specific to one period of my life. Another dreamer's staircase would mean something different. That is why, as ever, the dreamer's own associations matter more than any dream dictionary ever could. Questions to reflect on If a staircase appears in one of your dreams, you might ask yourself: · Am I going up or down? · Where am I trying to get to, and what do I imagine is waiting there? · How do I feel about going there? · Is the staircase easy to climb, or am I struggling? · Am I climbing willingly, or because I feel I have to? · Where in my life do I feel I am making progress, and where do I keep losing ground? · And perhaps most importantly: is this the only staircase? Finding another route Dreams rarely solve our practical problems so readily. But this dream showed me, with startling clarity, how hard I was trying to get somewhere — and how exhausting it was to keep losing my footing. I stopped to consider all the medical professionals we had encountered since my husband’s diagnosis. One person stood out: a specialist nurse who had seemed genuinely empathetic. I found her email address and wrote to her. She replied within a day and asked us to come in for an urgent review. I had been trying to climb the wrong staircase. I needed another route — and this one led to an open door. —— In these blogs, I share my thoughts on dreams and their symbolism. When I discuss a client’s dream, I put far more work into it than I wish to reveal here: time spent exploring their associations, memories, and feelings, through which the dream’s personal meaning emerges. My aim in this series is to help readers become curious about symbols and recognise their possibilities, while keeping the fuller exploration of a client’s inner life within therapy. All client material is shared with explicit consent, and identifying details have been changed to protect confidentiality.