We are a society obsessed with metamorphosis, before and after, caterpillar and butterfly. A lovely metaphor ignoring the often painful process of transformation. For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with our society’s fixation on the after without acknowledging the often uncomfortable decomposition of self required for our evolution.
We so rarely talk about the brutality of growth. By completely ignoring the messy, less poetic bits, we give the illusion that change is always easy, painless, even beautiful. In my own life, I have often felt ashamed of the unfiltered parts of my story, the parts where I was more anti-heroine than heroine. When everyone else reveals only the best parts of themselves, how can we ever feel compelled to share our own full stories?
We all know about caterpillars and butterflies, far fewer know what happens within the cocoon. How hidden behind silken walls, furry, fattened caterpillar bodies liquify, digesting themselves before becoming monarchs. A violent, hungry destruction in the name of rebirth. And while butterflies go through one harrowing transformation, as far as I can tell, there is no end point to our evolution.
No one’s story ends like a movie. After the lovers find their way back to one another, after years of working as a waitress before becoming a writer, after finally achieving sobriety, their struggles continue, some new, some old. Life goes on after the credits. Last year, I went into outpatient recovery for an eating disorder I battled for nearly fifteen years. It changed my life.
Three months in intensive outpatient therapy was brutal and painful. There were moments I was unsure I could survive it, but I have not relapsed since. It would be easier not to talk or write about the experience, to stand here a year later and to proclaim everything is well, but the truth is, there are still many days that I struggle. Commitment to long-term recovery is no cakewalk, pretending otherwise discredits the exertion it has taken to get to where I am today.
We are so uncomfortable in the dark, in meditating on the lessons learned from our pain. It has taken years to learn the value of acknowledging the inevitable heartache of change. In the Nature and Nurture Retreats I co-lead, we hold space for everyone to share the most tender, aching parts of themselves, the marrow within our stories we so rarely tell. There is freedom in speaking and writing our pain, in allowing others to bear witness to each iteration of self, our blooming, our molting, our rotting, our growth.
My hope for all of you in the midst of transformation, big or small, is for you to find the people who are deserving of hearing your story. It is worth telling, even when it is grimy and messy.
I loved reading this! The idea that we can embrace the messy parts of life is essential in a world that is so focused on only showing the picture perfect shiny parts. It's refreshingly real. The pressure we feel to only show the good parts, to only share the happy endings, makes it feel like we need permission to be imperfect. Reading other's stories of mess, change and process allows us to feel less alone and encourages us to be vulnerable and share our own. In that vulnerability we can find real connection and I find this very encouraging.
this was excellent. Thank you!