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Key points
- Houses can be symbols of the self, expressing concern about self-care.
- Dreaming of houses can remind a person of decisive times in their past and explain their present.
- A dream can be a warning, written in a code that our conscious self has to translate.
I dream of houses. All are versions of homes I’ve owned in the 52 years since my husband and I began our search for the American dream. We’ve found it—multiple times. To me, it’s not a single dream, but one worth regular updates. Some people remodel. We move. And I dream about it all.
The house I dream about most is our first one, which we bought in 1970, a redwood mid-century modern duplex. We initially lived in the top unit but eventually took over both levels. It was a fun house, but not overwhelmingly livable.
In my dreams, the house sits right on a lake, which is large and pristine. It is spacious and elegant, worthy of Frank Lloyd Wright. Inside are more bedrooms than we can handle, often oversized, usually unused, filled with extravagant furniture. Sometimes the basement, though, looks like a badly maintained motel, with rows of identical bedrooms with unmade beds and nasty bathrooms.
So, in my subconscious, it’s both grand architecture and a serious mess. Sounds like a great definition of my brain, asleep or awake. We moved out of that house 40 years ago, but it keeps coming back to me.
The other house I dream of is an early-1900s four-square built from a kit sold by Sears. I often dream that we sold it and moved to a lesser house in the same town. I wake up thinking, “I’m so glad we didn't sell that house.” But, of course, we did—we moved completely out of town. Decades ago. My subconscious seems confused.
These are the first two homes we owned, so why do I keep coming back to them?
The Psychological Meaning of Houses in Dreams
Psychologist Roni Beth Tower says that when she dreams about houses, her subconscious is “telling me something about my identity.” Tower, former president of the American Association for the Study of Mental Imagery and contributing editor to Imagination, Cognition, and Personality, writes:
Maybe I am at a point of transition, deciding whether to take on or abandon a significant role in the larger world. Perhaps I am longing to express a part of myself that has been neglected. Am I being nudged to look at how well I am caring for myself—physically, psychologically, socially, spiritually, or even financially?
Interpreting dreams is highly personal, she says. Each of us has our own symbols. But apparently many of us dream of houses.
Houses reflect and define us. We are where we live. Those among us privileged enough to have a choice will opt for a great location and enough space for us and our things. My husband and I have always chosen a house with a view, plenty of light, and architecture that sets it apart from the norm. I love houses. Like many of my friends, I spend an inordinate amount of time on house hunting sites.
But that’s when I’m awake. What happens when I’m sleeping? Why do I tour houses there?
Dreams That Reflect Our Former Selves
Sigmund Freud thought dreams were all about repressed thoughts and emotions. Carl Jung recommended bridging the gap between the conscious and subconscious through “active imagination,” or translating our dreams into meaningful images and digging into the emotions they evoke. Current theorists suggest dreams can be ways to process and discard the data we no longer need. Others say they can be warnings, our mind’s way of preparing for possible trouble.
So, my houses. What’s that all about? The houses I revisit are those where I spent my early married life, and symbolize who I was when I lived there—young, with delightful children still in the home, and the future stretching before me. So many options. So little age.
The '70s and '80s were a good time for me. I like going back to it, especially now, when the planet and our social fabric are in such peril. It was a time of choices that defined the life I live now. Were all those choices great? Heavens no, and as I sleep, I am trying to sort out all the options I had before me, assessing those I chose, looking for comfort in where I am, and laying out the challenges still ahead.
I find houses fascinating, but also a bit overwhelming. To my restless spirit and questioning mind, they have too many meanings. I am, in most things, in search of perfection. I’ve never found it. Apparently, I blame the houses.
Memory and Dreams
I’ve made many decades' worth of mistakes since I lived in those houses, as is inevitable in a life well-lived. If only I could go back and do everything right and still live the life of exploration and reinvention that’s important to my creative soul.
I want to be young again and make different mistakes. I want us, as humans, to have cared better for the home we share with Mother Earth.
The fact I dream of our first house as a perfect blend of everything is just how memory often works, emphasizing the wonders of the road not taken, leaving me to deal with the reality of the continued road construction that is my life. I remember the beauty and forget the flaws.
Dreams as Warnings
The unmade beds and dirty bathrooms that often show up are troubling, like a mess in my mind I’m trying to clean up. For the life of me, though, I’m not sure exactly which mess I am stressing about. There are many. Worry about the environment is at the front of my mind, so dirty rooms could translate to dirty air and water.
And the large, extravagant rooms in my dream homes? Oddly, since we seriously downsized to a condo—mid-century modern like that first house—I don't have those anymore. Maybe it was guilt for all the space I was taking up on the planet. Maybe it was stress over having to care for all that space. Maybe I am finally satisfied now and will stay put. Maybe everything will be all right.
Maybe.
Looking for an illustration for this, I went through old albums. I had only two shots of that first house, and it includes a pile of trash on the patio, so clearly I wasn't trying to posh it up for the photo. What’s more illuminating is what the albums do show: people. Our kids as they grew, my parents, my in-laws, siblings, and friends. Photo after photo of the people I love, the people who have provided the true meaning of my life. People I don't need to assess or redo. People have formed my life; the houses were mere backdrops.
If I miss any of my old houses, it’s because I miss the people I shared them with.
