What My Recurring Dreams Taught Me About Control, Change, and Coming Home

Lately, my nights have been busier than my days.

In one dream, I’m back at CNN Headline News, a place that doesn’t even exist anymore, waiting to go on air for a royal wedding. I’m seated at a roundtable, ready to ask a question, when I suddenly wake up.

In another, I’m in a dark city where an explosion is about to happen. Sometimes it’s a bomb.

Last night, it was a “limited nuclear strike,” and someone on TV was assuring us everything would be fine. I knew it wasn’t true.

And then there are the hardest ones — the recurring dreams about my dogs. In those, Grizzly or Chuck slip away from me, and I’m frantically searching through streets, calling their names, trying to bring them home.

They all have one thing in common: I’m trying to hold on to what matters most: control, safety, purpose, love, and it keeps slipping away.

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The Message Beneath the Recurring Dreams Chaos

For most of my life, I sat behind a desk that gave me a sense of control. I could tell viewers what had happened, what it meant, and what came next. When breaking news hit, I had the microphone. The lights came on. I was the steady voice in the storm.

Then one day, the desk was gone. Those dreams, I’ve realized, aren’t just reruns from my subconscious. They’re my mind’s way of rehearsing what it means to stay steady without the set; to find calm when the red light isn’t on.

The newsroom dreams are about relevance, the part of me that still wants to be seen and trusted.

The “lost dogs” are about protection — the fear of losing what’s pure and loyal.

And the bomb dreams? They’re about the world itself — unpredictable, fragile — and my old instinct to help people understand it.

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Learning to Anchor Myself

Now, when I wake up from one of those dreams, I don’t try to analyze it right away. I just remind myself: “I’m safe. My mind was sorting files.”

Then I do something grounding — I pet my dogs, drink some water, or just sit still for a minute. It’s a small ritual, but it reminds me that steadiness isn’t something the world gives you; it’s something you build inside.

The truth is, we all lose things — jobs, roles, identities, people, routines — and our minds keep replaying those losses until we make peace with them. The recurring dreams aren’t punishment. They’re integration. They’re the psyche’s way of saying, “You’re almost ready for the next live shot.”

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Coming Home

If your own dreams have been chaotic lately, don’t panic. They might just be your inner producer running a rehearsal, testing whether you can stay calm, focused, and kind to yourself when everything around you feels uncertain.

For me, that’s what “steadiness in the chaos” really means. It’s not about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about knowing who you are, with or without the camera, the job title, or the safety net, and trusting that you can find your way home, even in the dark.