Spiritual woman. Goddess. Queen. Mom. This one is for every mother who's ever been terrified while her child stood fearless. Let me tell you what I dreamed.
I dreamed my daughter and I were at a lake. A man on stage was warning that the waters of the world had been compromised. We were irritated at first — he talked too much. Then we started listening.
Then my daughter saw a snake coming up to the surface. She wasn't afraid. She put a water hose down its mouth and drowned it. She collected it and sealed it in a small clove zip-lock bag — the kind we buy in real life, because we eat cloves daily.
I asked if she was going to dispose of it. She said, "Yes ma'am."
Later, we were in a car with a huge Black man dressed in white. He was quiet. His presence was felt. He drove us to my mother's community — a gated place with red brick duplexes. At the corner of my eye, I saw a screen door with a frame whiter than white and glass blacker than black.
My daughter got out. She let the snake slide out of the bag. There was a baby ape there too. She said the baby ape would take care of it.
And then I screamed — because as soon as she let it out, the snake came alive.
Not just alive. Transformed. A hybrid. Poisonous snake body. Cobra head. Colors deep red, black, bright green, and white.
I screamed louder. "Why did you let this snake out at my mother's house?! Whyyy?! You could've released it at that other lake!"
She looked fearless. Overalls. Cute brown boots. Plaid shirt. Bandana. No fear anywhere.
She walked past the baby ape — who looked up at her with tenderness, like she was his — and opened the back door to get in beside me.
I kept screaming. "Hurry! The snake is coming! You're not scared? Lift your feet up! Both of them! Hurry! Unique! Unique!"
She moved nonchalantly. Looking straight at me. The snake moved fast.
She got in. Closed the door. I woke up.
Breathing hard. Shook to my nerves.
And before I even finished telling her the dream, I already knew what it meant.
It was about her power.
What This Dream Taught Me
I have been dreaming about snakes for weeks. Poisonous ones. Fast ones. Coming for me. And in every dream, I fought them — I killed them with my bare hands. I was the one who handled them.
But this time, my daughter handled it.
And when she released it, it came back bigger. Transformed. Rising with the colors of kundalini: red, black, green, white.
I realized something.
I am afraid of snakes. My daughter is not.
I fought the venom in dreams. My daughter handles it in broad daylight.
I needed the doors locked. My daughter walks into the danger calmly.
I am the one who taught her, but she is not carrying my fear.
That is not rejection. That is inheritance. She took everything I gave her and skipped the part I've been struggling with.
The phobia is mine. The power is hers. And the power is in the same bloodline.
Something that was asleep in my line is waking up in her. And I watched it happen in front of my mother's house.
For Every Mother Reading This
If you've ever watched your child do something you were afraid to do — and felt that strange mix of pride and terror — this message is for you.
You are not failing because they're not afraid.
You are succeeding because they don't have to be.
Every generation is supposed to hand down less fear. Less trauma. Less survival. And more power.
If your child walks fearless through something that terrified you, that's not a sign that something is wrong. That's the whole point.
Your healing is your own. Their power is theirs. And sometimes the child is the proof that the work is working.
Closing
I screamed while my daughter smiled.
I panicked while she moved nonchalantly.
I was terrified while she was calm.
And when I woke up, I already knew: it was about her power.
The snake came back to life. But it didn't come back for me.
It came back for her.
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