‘I’m a professional middle-aged woman in a stable marriage – but I’m horrified by my sleazy erotic dreams.’ BEL MOONEY explains what they REALLY mean

Dear Bel,

I feel ashamed writing this but you are somebody I feel I can confess to. I’m a professional woman of 50, in a stable marriage – and I can’t believe my dreams.

It’s as if I’m two people – the woman who goes off to an office looking smart and dealing competently with colleagues and problems, and the rather sleazy person with no control over what her innermost self feels and (presumably) wants.

In short, I have incredibly sexual dreams which shock me. In them I’m a creature who wants to be used and even abused, having sex with anybody. I’m horrified because it is the opposite of what I’m like, so it calls my whole life into question. How can you think you know yourself if you have disturbing dreams of having sex with women and men alike?

One daughter is still at home in the sixth form (the other’s at uni) and I wonder what my adored girls would think if they knew.

I brought both up to be independent with the feminist ideals I’ve always believed in, but I can’t square that with a dream self who is often abject.

I think my husband would be shocked too. Please don’t tell me I’m menopausal, as if that explains away everything. I’m bothered by this inner life I’ve never had before.

KATH

Bel Mooney replies: How interesting that you are so disturbed – even revolted – by what your dreams seem to be telling you.

Have you ever read Sigmund Freud on the subject? I hope not, because his theories won’t do much to make you feel any better about yourself.

In The Interpretation Of Dreams, Freud argued that they indicate an unconscious desire that remains unfulfilled in real life but can be satisfied within the dream state – in other words, an unconscious wish-fulfilment.

Modern sleep researchers generally disagree with Freud’s ideas, believing that dreams are largely a reflection of waking thoughts, memories, and emotions rather than hidden unconscious desires. But you won’t buy that at all, because your dreams have nothing to do with anything you recognise from real life – that’s why you find them so unsettling. Either way, this situation bothers you enough to make you write in.

Not to be flippant, but the only time in my life I had an erotic dream was way back when the Rolling Stones and I were young, and Keith Richards visited my dream world to have his wicked way with me. That was certainly wish-fulfilment.

The point is, that kind of dream has a recognisable connection with the person you know yourself to be (Lord, how I fancied Keef!) which means you can be rather sorry to wake up. But in your case, the unconscious – expressed in these sexual dreams – is deeply transgressive, therefore an entirely unacceptable, insulting version of yourself.

You ask me not to mention the menopause, but it’s inevitable. In your place I think I’d seize on all the inescapable changes in my body – and therefore personality – as a valid reason for the unconscious mind going into overdrive.

It could be that you feel guilty at a falling-off of sex within your marriage due to your hormones, and that this is an ‘explanation’ for the new, unwelcome dreamscape. It could be that you have become critical of – and fed up with – the highly sexualised culture we are living in, and your dreams express that revulsion by turning you into a victim. Or maybe you are secretly fascinated by things you overtly hate. Who knows?

It bothers me that you feel such shame – choosing to dwell on how shocked your family would be. You must rein this in before you work yourself up into an even worse state. The dreams are not ‘true’.

Nobody knows – after all, only I know your real name. They hurt nobody – and only upset you because you allow it. It would be better were you to tell yourself that this state is temporary, due to the menopause and not your ‘fault’. Don’t weaponise your dreams against yourself.

How can I stop feeling torn between my children and love life?

Dear Bel,

I’m a single mum of 41 with two wonderful children, aged five and seven, and if you’d asked me a couple of years ago whether I’d ever think about dating again, I’d have laughed. There’s no time.

Their dad has them every other weekend and pays maintenance, but I’m the one who remembers World Book Day costumes at the last minute, hunts for missing school shoes and sits through swimming lessons. Most evenings I fall into bed exhausted.

For a long time I was happy with that. Or maybe became used to putting myself at the bottom of the list. Then, almost a year ago, I met someone through mutual friends.

We got talking over a barbecue, discovered we’d both been through difficult divorces and exchanged numbers. It felt easy, which surprised me because I’d convinced myself I’d forgotten how to flirt or have an adult conversation.

Jon is kind and (more importantly) patient. He understands my children come first and has never complained when I’ve had to cancel because one of them was poorly or because my ex changed arrangements at the last minute. We’ve built our relationship around the small pockets of time that single parents seem to live on – coffee while the children are at school, the occasional meal when they’re with their dad, a walk on a Sunday afternoon.

The problem is we’ve been together ten months and he’s only met the children once, by accident, outside a cafe. He’d like to get to know them properly now, which is reasonable. But every time he mentions it I feel my stomach tighten. I worry they’ll think I’m trying to give them a new dad. Then, that they’ll become attached to someone who might not be around for ever. What if our relationship doesn’t work out?

Or what if I’m hiding behind motherhood because it’s easier than admitting I’m frightened of letting someone into my life again? My friends say I deserve to be happy, but I feel torn between my kids and my love life. When I’m reading bedtime stories and one of the children curls up beside me for ‘just five more minutes, Mummy’, I wonder whether this period in life should belong entirely to them.

But what about me? Does being a parent mean giving up every part of yourself that existed before? I just wish I knew where the line is between protecting my children and protecting myself by taking a chance on being happy again.

RACHEL

Bel Mooney replies: It’s non-stop, isn’t it? Even though my children are adults now, I remember every detail of family life with an absentee husband (mine was a foreign reporter much of the time, then in London the rest).

Then there was the whole rigmarole of timetables, equipment and arrangements (like ferrying to play dates) for two children which mean you nod off at not long after 8pm once they are in bed and the last story has been read.

Motherhood can be exhausting and frustrating, as well as the most precious thing many of us have ever done in our lives. There’s no contradiction, just simultaneous truth.

But I bet all the older women readers who have brought up their own families will be urging you to remember that you have to have a life too.

It’s essential for all of us – at whatever age – to view our life as a series of stages. I’ve met successful women who even take the nanny on holiday and hand over every aspect of their children’s lives to other people.

I pitied them. Hold yourself remote from the little people you brought into the world and they will repay that emotional neglect in kind.

So I want to start here by reminding you that your role in your children’s lives is vital and irreplaceable. Never forget it.

The question of how to find the balance between that person and the woman who has her own emotional needs is very important. You need to be happy in order to be able to ensure your children are happy.

I reckon that’s a pretty simple equation, even though aspects of it are complicated. Your boyfriend Jon is best placed to understand completely, because he is a father.

So the crucial question here is – have you met his children? It’s odd that you don’t say. And if you haven’t met them yet, do you want to?

It seems to me that after nearly a year, you and Jon need to sort this situation out. It must be obvious to both of you that there need be no conflict between being a good parent and remembering that you are a complete person who will continue to have needs when the children have left home.

Therefore you need nurturing – and a good relationship is one good way to achieve that.

People tend to move too quickly in these situations, but I suspect you are a little too slow. At this age the children will soon accept that Mummy has a friend she likes spending time with – and that actually he’s quite fun. (It becomes much harder when they are older).

You need to relax – and meet each other’s children in an easygoing way, facilitating what could be a new and delightful stage in your lives. Don’t think of ending, but beginning.

And finally… The magic of pausing to find peace

How to achieve some inner peace? Stop the buzzing of an overactive mind? Rest weary limbs which have endured just a bit too much tedious activity (sorting out books and ironing, for example) in the last few days?

That was me when I went to my usual weekly gym session on Tuesday, huffing and puffing and moaning gently to Jenny (my personal trainer) because it had all got too much. Too much to do, too many chores.

As well as being a genius who can name every muscle, tendon and bone in the human body, Jenny has soul, and knows that you can’t exercise your body happily and usefully if you feel exhausted.

So she asked me how I find rest and peace – and I couldn’t answer because it’s been a while since I experienced either.

‘When you go home don’t go straight to your desk,’ she said, ‘but sit quietly and take deep breaths and just be.’

Who’d have thought I’d take orders from somebody just two years older than my son? But I did.

Instead of plunging into writing, I made a good mug of coffee and sat outside, looking at the trees. That’s all.

We don’t tend to think about stopping the rush and breathing. I realise a mother like Rachel (see today’s main letter) and a person in the middle of a hectic career might scoff at the thought. Who has time?

But honestly, if all of you will just make a conscious effort to stop and take deep, deep breaths, you’ll find the effect miraculous.

It’s vital to still your beating heart, slow the pulse, and quieten the whirling thoughts – and yes, counting breaths from the bottom of your lungs is one vital step towards achieving it.

I’m learning at last.

Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 9 Derry Street, London W8 5HY, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.