Six Times the Same Floor

The dream that showed me it wasn’t dirt… it was family history waiting to be healed

This post is also available in Spanish. Read it here

A few days ago, I had a dream that still echoes inside me.

It wasn’t a confusing dream.
It wasn’t a symbolic dream that was hard to understand.
It was clear, structured, full of detail.

I dreamed I was in Venezuela.

I don’t remember seeing my husband Andrés, but I knew he was there.
And suddenly I arrived at an impressive place:
a beautiful, enormous, luminous penthouse.
It didn’t feel like an apartment.
It felt like a house in the sky.

That’s where I found my father.

My father passed away more than twenty years ago.
And yet in the dream, he looked exactly as I remember him.
Holding something very much his:
a small crossword puzzle booklet, the kind he always carried with him.

He was in one of the rooms.

And there was a young woman cleaning the floor.

She said something to my father like:
“Sir, please move over there, I need to clean here.”

My father walked to another area.
I followed him.

Then he said to me, slightly annoyed:

— I don’t know what’s wrong with that girl… she keeps moving me everywhere.

I went to speak with her.

And she told me something that, in that moment, sounded absurd:

— I have to clean this floor six times.

Six times.

I thought:
“She’s crazy… who cleans a floor six times?”

And I continued walking through the apartment.

🌟 The Walk

I entered the kitchen — because kitchens always draw me in — and thought:

“What a beautiful kitchen.”

Then I walked through the bedrooms.
There were three. I made a full circle around the apartment.

The floor was shining.

And there was one detail that struck me deeply:

I was walking in high heels.

Something I almost never wear.
And I could clearly hear the sound of my heels against that polished floor.

As if I were… secure in my place.
Standing firm — not as a girl, but as an adult woman.

🏠 The Apartment That Wasn’t Closed

I returned to where my father was.

And I asked:

— Dad, what about this apartment?

He said:

— Your mother, your sister, and your sister’s husband bought it.

I felt happy.

— How beautiful, Dad! And how much did it cost?

— Fifty-eight thousand, he said.

Then I asked something that became central to the entire dream:

— Have you signed it yet?

— No.

— And what are you waiting for?

— I don’t know.

At that moment my sister arrived.

I asked her, almost urgently:

— Did you sign the apartment?

— No, because I need to download an app on my phone…

— But why don’t you download it now? What do you need?
If you’re missing something, I’ll help you.

I felt an enormous need for it to be closed.
To be signed.
For that opportunity not to be lost.

And right at that moment…

My husband called me on the phone.
And I woke up.

🌳 What I Understood Later

At first, I didn’t understand anything.

Until, while speaking about the dream, someone told me something that pierced through me:

“That wasn’t cleaning a floor. That was cleaning the lineage.”

And everything clicked.

The young woman wasn’t cleaning dirt.
She was cleaning history.

Six times.
Not once.
Not twice.

As if there were ancient layers that needed to be healed one by one.

My father wasn’t buying an apartment.
He was showing me a process that was still unfinished.

My sister couldn’t sign.
It has always been that way — closing, deciding, concluding is hard for her.

And I…

I was the one insisting.
The one pushing for closure.
The one offering help.
The one walking firmly over a floor that was almost ready.

For the first time, I understood something very deep:

Maybe I didn’t come to this life only to live my story.
Maybe I came to close a family story.

🤍 Matías and the Mission

Since Matías arrived — and since he left —
I have often felt that my life has a dimension that is not only personal.

That there are pains that did not begin with me.
And healings that will not end with me.

That dream with my father left me with a very gentle certainty:

Not all of us come into this world to “be happy.”

Some of us come to bring order.
To close.
To cleanse.
To soften.

Not out of sacrifice.
But out of love.

✨ Closing

Today I write this dream because I know it isn’t only mine.

Maybe you, too, carry stories you don’t know the origin of.
Maybe you, too, push closures that no one else wants to make.
Maybe you, too, are cleaning something that didn’t start with you.

If that’s you, you are not alone.

There are souls who come to close cycles.
And that, too, is a very high form of love.