When I was a little girl, The Very Hungry Caterpillar was one of my favorite books. Eric Carle's colorful illustrations paint the story of a caterpillar from the egg stage through its metamorphosis into a butterfly. There isn't much of a plot to this tale-- an egg hatches into a caterpillar, that caterpillar, becomes hungry (very hungry, actually) and devours his way through a week of his life. This caterpillar starts small as each day its appetite grows, until suddenly a stomach ache prompts the caterpillar to recognize how fat it has become. The caterpillar's appetite sharply decreases and thus begins the cocoon phase. Although this is one of the least significant moments in the book, I find myself thinking of this imagery most often.
Much like our caterpillar friend, I have a bit of an insatiable appetite. I'm almost always hungry for more knowledge, more experiences, more growth, more challenges. I push myself beyond my own limits in the pursuit of growth, and sometimes forget to look in the mirror. Much like the caterpillar's stomachache, my stress begins to somaticize-- I'll get headaches, body aches, stomach pains, or a cold. I'll start to find it more difficult getting out of bed in the morning. Before I know it, full-blown anxiety and depression have crept their way back into my life.
This is where my beloved cocoon enters: my sweet chrysalis. In the process of change, this stage is where I find the most solace. It requires a stillness and withdrawal from the pressures of societal norms. It demands reflection and honesty. When I was younger, these moments of pause led to FOMO (fear of missing out) and a deep loneliness. As I've gotten older I've found that I cling to these times, desperate to maintain the peace that comes with fewer demands; protecting myself from my old ways but unwilling or unready to make sustainable changes.
Recently I found myself in the chrysalis stage. After a year of constant growth and excitement from starting my business to travelling internationally to getting married, I felt physically, mentally and emotionally paralyzed. I stopped making time for friends or creating art and started taking daily naps. My walks became less frequent, I wasn't making time for journaling or meditation, and generally felt bored. I caught onto these signs of burnout and gave myself permission to enter the cocoon. I intentionally slowed my pace and started feeling better. With permission to fail I suddenly had more time and energy. While the cocoon is safe, it's dark and stuffy. Slowly my dedication to myself built trust, eventually leading to me writing this post today. As my health improved, so did my restlessness. Even though it is scary, I'm ready to take on more risks and spread my wings.
Both fortunately and unfortunately I am not a bug. Creating change as a human being isn't anywhere near as straightforward as the lifecycle of a butterfly-- it's iterative. We get the opportunity to repeat this cycle, and therefore we can learn from our experiences. Maybe if the caterpillar knew eating one piece of chocolate cake, one ice cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon would give it a stomachache; it might choose to snack differently. If I want things to go differently this time around, it's my responsibility to tune into myself and honor my limitations.
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