Your Fantasy Isn’t Telling You What to Do. It Might Be Telling You Something Else Entirely.

One of the most common questions I hear from clients is:

“What does this fantasy mean?”

Often, that question is followed by fear.

“Does it mean I secretly want to do this?”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

“Am I a bad person?”

For a long time, we’ve approached sexual fantasies as though they were blueprints for behaviour, as if the content of the fantasy tells us what a person wants to do in real life.

I have a different approach to understanding sexual fantasies. 

I often say that desire is a language. It communicates through symbols, metaphors and stories rather than literal instructions. If we only focus on the content of a fantasy, we may completely miss what it may be trying to communicate.

Perhaps the more interesting question is:

What psychological experience does this fantasy make possible?

Or even:

What impossible dilemma is this fantasy trying to solve?

A while ago, I worked with a client who carried a recurring fantasy of being hypnotised into lusting after women.

On the surface, it sounded like a fantasy about surrendering control. It would have been easy to conclude that this was simply a BDSM fantasy centred on power exchange or loss of control.

But as we became curious together, something much more interesting emerged.

He described himself as someone who deeply respected women. Growing up, he had received many messages—both explicit and implicit—that male sexuality was dangerous, predatory, or something that needed to be tightly controlled. He spoke about wanting, above all else, to be a good man. A safe man.

As we explored the fantasy, he had a profound insight.

The fantasy wasn’t really about hypnosis.

It wasn’t even about losing control.

It was about preserving the integrity of his values.

If someone else was controlling his desire, then the desire wasn’t truly his. He could experience intense sexual excitement without having to reconcile it with the part of himself that feared being disrespectful, predatory, or “too much.”

The fantasy wasn’t giving him permission to lose control.

It was giving him permission to remain a good man while still being a sexual one.

That is a very different story.

Another example is one of the most common fantasies reported across genders: group sex.

Many people assume that if someone fantasises about sex with multiple people, they must secretly want to pursue it in real life.

Sometimes they do.

Many times they don’t.

For one person, the fantasy may be about being intensely desired.

For another, it may be about becoming the centre of attention.

For someone else, it may be about the heightened sensory stimulation of multiple bodies, voices and touch.

The psychological experience is different, even if the fantasy looks similar.

This is why I don’t believe there is a universal dictionary of sexual fantasies.

The same fantasy can mean very different things to different people because fantasies don’t exist in isolation—they emerge from a person’s history, relationships, values, fears, longings and culture.

Rather than asking:

“What does this fantasy mean?”

I find it more helpful to ask:

• What experience becomes possible inside this fantasy?

• What part of me feels free/seen here?

• What tension is this fantasy helping me resolve?

• What kind of longing is finding expression through this story?

Sometimes a fantasy is about permission.

Sometimes it’s about trust.

Sometimes it’s about being chosen.

Sometimes it’s about freedom from responsibility.

Sometimes it’s about feeling powerful.

Sometimes it’s about finally resting.

And sometimes it’s about reconciling two parts of ourselves that have felt impossible to hold together.

This doesn’t mean that every fantasy has a hidden symbolic meaning, nor that every fantasy needs to be interpreted. But if you notice yourself feeling shame, fear, or judgment about a particular fantasy, approaching it with curiosity rather than self-criticism can often lead to meaningful and unexpected insights.

The next time you notice yourself judging one of your fantasies, pause before asking whether you would ever act on it.

Instead, you might ask yourself:

• Which parts of me disappear in this fantasy?

• What part of me finally gets to rest?

• What part of me finally feels seen?

• What part of me comes alive?

• What psychological experience becomes possible in this fantasy that feels difficult to access in my everyday life?

You might discover that your fantasy isn’t telling you what to do.

It might simply be showing you what your heart, mind, or nervous system has been longing to experience all along.