Life Lessons From A Butterfly
Whenever I see a butterfly flitting past my window, or following me for a little ways while I’m out walking, I’m filled with a burst of incredible joy. Most of the time, I simply run with it, allowing the joyous creature to lift my spirits, soaring to the treetops along with those colorful wings, needing no reason or purpose for the euphoria.
But as the analytical side of me kicks in, I have to ask what makes the butterfly flit through the treetops above my head with such joyful abandon. Then again, wouldn’t you be filled with joy after making the miraculous transition from a caterpillar crawling on ground, plants, and trees, to a winged one limited only by how far those wings might carry you? Wouldn’t you revel in the weight you shed after emerging from your homemade shell; after going from worm, to goo, to butterfly?
In a way, the butterfly has shed excess weight and earthly constraints during its transition until what’s left is an entirely new world; an expansive new life where the sky is literally the limit. How can a mere human possibly understand the joy of releasing anything that held them back from soaring as high as they wanted? The truth is, we can shed our own constraints, but like the butterfly, it involves what may, at times feel like trauma, upheaval, and intense pain.
Transformation Isn’t Without Pain
Often, the transition is brought about by circumstances, even if, like me, you take a few years to 
figure it out, clinging to your old ways like the lifeline they aren’t. Perhaps you become inured to life’s endless series of small traumas at a young age because your family taught you to only allow your strong exterior to show, hiding your fears, feelings, and broken parts behind masks and walls so no one could make the cracks in your foundation any larger.
One of the toughest, most painful things I ever experienced was allowing myself to turn to a puddle of goo behind those walls, and to let the walls dissolve into the goo, exposing the weak, broken creature who crouched beneath the surface. Devoid of protections decades, and even generations in the making, I lacked the courage or knowledge to be the imperfect person who was left when the walls and masks dissolved, leaving me naked, exposed, and terrified.
Yet somehow, like the butterfly, I emerged from the transformation taking tiny steps while the goo reformed and my wings dried. Old paradigms and rules no longer applied. I had to learn to love and accept myself, traumas and all. In some ways, it was like learning how to walk again after a major accident.
The first few steps hurt like hell, and I felt utterly unsupported. After awhile, I realized my raw, exposed self attracted people who were loving and compassionate, and ready to help me adjust to my new form. People who, themselves had weathered their own traumas, and transitioned into their own butterfly selves.
Taking the First Steps and Leaps Alone
Like the butterfly, I neither wanted nor needed help while I shed what no longer served me. I did, and still do need support while I learn, grow, and jettison everything I’d stashed away behind the now-dissolved walls. I may have ditched the protections in a few gigantic, and not always self-propelled leaps, but what I’d stashed behind those protections needed to be peeled away carefully, layer by layer. That process would have been impossible without the help of people who could understand, or at least empathize.
With each layer I peel away, my wings become stronger and brighter, and I soar higher. I am dragging less weight behind me so those wings don’t have to work so hard to keep me aloft. I’m learning I spent a large part of my lifetime telling myself stories built from lies, when I was meant to tell stories woven from my truths, not only to myself, but to anyone who cared to listen.
In another time, I might have been a bard, drifting from town to town weaving tales colored by my experiences, or from my observations of human nature. I’d have spent endless days unobtrusively watching and listening so I could add character and substance to my tales. Watching a butterfly might take up an entire afternoon as I tried to imagine myself making random spirals through the air, then tracing back to my stay in the chrysalis, and my tenure as a caterpillar crawling on a leaf, munching placidly with no idea what I was to become.
In my mind, I’d become one with the butterfly, perhaps weaving a tale to be told to a group of children about the wonder of growing up to spread my wings and fly. Through my words, their awe-filled faces would reflect their own imaginations whirling with possibilities as I painted a picture of freedom, and perhaps in some, a desire to be more than fate and current circumstances decreed.
Realizing Your Potential
The truth is, we are all caterpillars with the potential to become butterflies, but we have to be 
willing to take some gigantic leaps of faith, and more, to refuse to let faith and trauma define us. The choices I’ve made, and the transformations I’ve experienced are an option for anyone. Some may have less to shed before emerging, while others like me may have several generations worth. Quantity and depth don’t really matter. The first leap or ten are tough no matter what. It’s all about leaving your comfort zone, and most of us are hard-wired to stay there.
The ones like me who ultimately leave experience an internal struggle between the safety and sameness of the comfort zone, and the rut that sameness creates. There’s a need for change, even if, at first, it seems like it’s only for the sake of change. In reality, there’s a need to grow beyond the walls that encase you, and to explore what’s outside those walls, even knowing you’ll get knocked down a few times in the process. What’s a little pain compared to being stuck in the same boring place for eternity? To being a caterpillar who never realizes its potential to be a butterfly?
Grateful for Opportunities to Transform
My gratitudes today are:
- I’m grateful for the transitions I’ve made, the people who support me, and the adventures yet to come.
- I’m grateful for the time I have to simply observe and reflect.
- I’m grateful for a world that continues to be filled with opportunities, if you know where to look, and how to sit quietly at times and watch the subtle changes.
- I’m grateful for an adventurous spirit that’s willing to put myself out there and take a few risks.
- I’m grateful for abundance; vulnerability, joy, transformation, growth, adventure, calculated risk, friendship, compassion, kindness, peace, balance, harmony, health, philanthropy, and prosperity.
Love and Light
About the Author
Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental 
health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.
If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author or in her new group, Putting Your Whole Heart Forward
I love pleasant surprises, even when they’re because I’d forgotten a task I’d completed myself. Sometimes it’s a household chore I couldn’t get off my mind despite the fact I’d knocked it off my list a day or two ago, others, it’s a blog post I forgot I wrote that’s sitting in my queue waiting to be edited, formatted, and scheduled. In part, I think it’s because I put tasks together, or see something onerous as a blessing in disguise.
the garage so I could finally stow the stack of boxes I’d left jumbled next to the freezer until I got around to moving the car so I could put them “upstairs”. I even got to sweep the bulk of the crap up off the floor, and scrub a couple of places which were sticky with substances I’d rather not identify.
Which brings up another “find”. While looking for the pump for my resistance ball so I could re-introduce weight work into my weekly routine, I bumped into a computer table I’d bought decades ago. Why I didn’t notice it when I temporarily moved my office to the dining room table is beyond me. I’d been using a marginally reasonable arrangement of the dining room table and 2 TV trays for months before I realized I had a better option. To date, my head and neck are thanking me for upgrading to something that puts monitors, keyboard, and mouse at a more comfortable height. While still imperfect, it’s better than the old arrangement, and for now, that’s good enough for me.
pulling up the last of the carpet in my bedroom, or moving large pieces of furniture, but even the small changes, like tacking pictures on the exposed wall board in my living room are making my environment and enforced isolation far more pleasant. I guess looking at the same 4 walls for months on end allows me to explore possibilities I hadn’t considered.
Occasionally, I’ll either ask for, or receive an offer of help which I’ve finally learned (after years of nagging from my daughter) to accept gracefully and gratefully. Many of those offers have come in the last few months, in part because like me, my friends are getting tired of their own projects and walls, and seek something different to break up the monotony.
I didn’t make good choices when it came to relationships and marriage. In fact, it got so bad, I removed myself from the pool entirely over 20 years ago, and am trying to figure out how to re-open that door nowadays. As such, I gave my daughters a pretty lousy example of what a healthy relationship should look like. My son-in-law’s parents didn’t do any better. So you’d think neither of them would have a clue what a good relationship looks like, much less, how to create one for themselves.
statistical superhighway. Perhaps I’m seeing an unlikely cross-section, but the marriages I see from my daughter’s generation; OK, mostly her friends, are some of the most strong, resilient, unwavering I’ve seen in decades. I’d even venture to say, they’ve restored my faith in the institution.
That’s not to say my daughter, and likely many of her friends didn’t kiss a few frogs, and suffer a bad relationship or two first. They had the good sense to learn and walk away. It only took me 11 years of marriage, and another 10 years beyond that to realize I was better, and deserved someone who loved me without conditions or expectations. I it took me a little longer to figure out it had to start with me.
approval or blessing any more, though one still asks on occasion. Perhaps watching me struggle, and keep falling down gave them the drive to make better lives for themselves than I made for me while they were growing up. I’m awfully proud of the changes they’ve made in outlook and expectations in spite of the examples I set.
I tried for years to be a strong, self-sufficient island. I learned the hard way there were far too many things I couldn’t do alone, and doing without wasn’t a viable option either. Islands get battered by waves, winds, and storms just like communities, but have fewer resources to not only withstand the abuse, but to rebuild after the more damaging episodes.
Violence against cruelty and violence doesn’t work. Neither does passive resistance. The truth is, success lies in surprising your opponent whether it’s a football game, or a fight for justice and equality. It also depends on unity. Neither game can be won alone, and in fact, trying will only result in disaster for the one who attempts to take everyone and everything on without support.
weren’t about jumping out from behind a rock or tree, and bashing those in power down with the butt of a rifle. Instead, they carried information; they moved innocents out of harm’s way; they chipped away at the foundation of oppression, allowing it to self-destruct to the point where it could be taken down more easily. Why? Because it was a tactic those in power neither understood, nor expected.
I’ve taken that one on as one of my own purposes. I learned the hard way how to filter what I feel. It’s an imperfect science, but has given me a bit of respite in this chaos of energy and emotion. I’ve offered to help other Empaths and HSP’s learn to protect themselves whenever I can. Some accept, while others choose to figure it out themselves. I understand it’s a lesson they need to learn without outside interference.
passionate in their beliefs. In fact, it isn’t my job or my calling to change anyone’s mind. Instead, it’s to inspire those who are ready to take their place as part of the community of humanity; uplift and strengthen the ones who either falter, or think their gift is too small, or that they, themselves are unworthy.
I’m learning to be less concerned about whether anyone is listening to me, and more concerned about making my ripples. Eventually, they’ll join with other ripples, and together we’ll make waves. It doesn’t matter if none of us ever rise up to stand out in those waves, but that we took part in forming them. Many of us are happy to be an anonymous part of the whole anyway. I know I’m not comfortable with notoriety right now, though maybe that’ll come in time. Many share that with me too.
Last night, I finally pulled one of my resistance balls out of the closet, and crawled under the rolling computer desk (which I decided to move to the living room to free up my dining room table and two TV trays) to reach one of the ball pumps. While watching yet another sappy Hallmark movie, I pumped the ball up to something close to the proper level with the idea that a properly inflated ball would give me one less excuse to avoid weight work with what I keep telling myself are much too light free weights.
strength can wane in 6 months, I’m learning. So maybe more reps and less weight will be a good thing for the time being. It beats completely avoiding weight work for however long I deem the gym unsafe for the likes of me. In fact, I’m already envisioning adding the limited weight work I’m able to do with my existing equipment into my modified schedule. I can augment it with videos I’ve pinned on Amazon Prime to give me a decent, if not complete workout.
Sure, I could cut myself some slack claiming doing nothing is really rest, which is self-care and necessary due to the stress I’m feeling. But who am I kidding. The best thing to do for stress is move my body around more, and tick a few more things off my to do list. I don’t have to be Wonder Woman, nor my senior cat, Dylan who sleeps most of the day away. There’s a happy medium in there, and I intend to find it. I’ll start by putting weight work back into my weekly routine, and bringing my blog posts and memoir rewrite back up to speed, and on schedule again.
get stronger, more limber, and have better stamina. It takes time, and it takes consistently raising the bar as things become too easy. Mostly, it takes a willingness to expand your own horizons with no other motivation than a desire for self-improvement.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Life is a learning experience, and involves a lot of trial and error. Even with a manual, should one even exist, no one would get it right every single time. Sometimes you flub a step but don’t realize it until you get a little further in and discover something isn’t lining up right. Then you have to back up a few steps to figure out where you went wrong. I guarantee the next time you go through the process, you will make mistakes, but not in the same place because you learned what to watch out for the first time.
poor form to create conflict in someone else’s home or space, thereby tainting the energy with my discordant opinion. There’s a time and place to have certain conversations, and this was neither. I knew their beliefs were drastically different from mine, and could tell from their voice and posture their mind was closed and locked on the subjects raised. I’d have lost far more than I gained by trying to share the opposing viewpoints and research.
As I’ve matured, I’ve become better at sensing when a person wants to hear my opinion, and when they don’t. To be honest, I’ve learned to err on the side of caution, and share only when I’m reasonably sure I’ll be well-received, which doesn’t mean agreed with. I actually enjoy talking to people with different viewpoints. It’s where I learn and grow. I appreciate people who can share their beliefs knowing on the surface they run contrary to mine. It doesn’t make either of us wrong, nor does it make us right. It simply means our experiences lead us to see things from a different point of view.
myself (and heaven knows I put up with inferior lighting for years because I lack the incentive and knowledge to fix it)? Do I miss struggling with a dishwasher that kept pulling away from the counter, or a faucet that leaked like a sieve?
I’m learning I have nothing to prove, even to myself. Sure, I’m capable of many things, but there are people in my community who can do a better job. There are things I’m better at, or in my friend with the broken shoulder’s case, unimpaired right now, and able to help. It isn’t doing it all myself that makes me stronger and more independent. It’s the give and take of helping each other even when the help isn’t essential, but simply makes life easier.
some areas, I’ve discovered many women who are deemed “intimidating”, are, in fact, some of the most guarded, and often broken of all. The strong, impermeable exterior they allow others to see hides a little girl who’s hiding in the closet with her teddy bear while the world outside her door is falling to pieces, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Her past efforts to ask for help were met with rebuffs at best, and often made her life more hellish than before.
heal my own wounds or exorcise my own demons, and went on to accept a long series of jobs where my gender required me to work harder and hide myself deeper just to stay afloat. Most lasted a year or less.
Too many of those intimidating women I knew were divorced or never married. Maybe they had a close circle of friends who got together after work, but more likely, they lost themselves in a crowd somewhere in what little free time they allowed themselves. In the long run, those crowds did them more harm than good, as the people around them judged others harshly in order to make themselves feel less invisible. Many hid their own pain by hurting others, but from a safe distance so as not to have their heart strings tugged by raw emotion that erupted before walls slammed back into place.
more sensitive to the ones who still live there. Sometimes I am, but there are plenty of times when I simply feel pushed away, and accept their nonacceptance. I may step back and recognize the reason behind the walls. I may even try to hang around and earn their trust. Most of the time, I’m ashamed to admit, I walk away, accepting the rebuff without question; without recognizing it as a cry for help.
I get constant status updates about my physical and mental state via my gut, my head, and my body. The ones best addressed as soon as the reminders arrive are those which involve absorbing other people’s energy and problems. When I fail to acknowledge and act on the first, more subtle reminders, the voices and physical effects become worse until I have no choice. I prefer to avoid having them reach such levels, but occasionally, I get so self-absorbed or otherwise focused I forget what will come from my lack of appropriate attention.
insidiousness are the core of their tool chests. Like a poisonous gas, they seep in beneath the defenses, and often choose Empaths whose compassion and natural willingness to help lend themselves to a Narcissists insatiable need for attention, adoration, and fulfillment.
Eventually, I take a good, hard look in the mirror and admit the person was remarkably skillful, but, as the song goes, I won’t get fooled again. It’s as if they left their mark in my guest book, and once they left, the ink started to simmer and boil. I realize in trusting them, I failed to engage my filters and shields, and have absorbed some of their discordant energy into my own field. Once I’ve finished beating myself up over allowing it in the first place, it’s time to engage my cleanup crew to remove the rotting, toxic carcass and allow my own energy to flow clean and clear once again.
learning. Nonetheless, each new experience; each new game I fall for teaches me how to avoid another kind of trap. In the meantime, I’ve learned to recognize the traps sooner than I used to, and I can tell when there’s a game being played whose rules are unfamiliar to me.
surprised to see how many considering the number of years I lived an almost hermit-like existence. It seems I emerged often enough to touch and be touched by more lives than I realized. A few have remained for decades, but other than immediate family, most came and went within a single decade—the majority of them, far less.
My family, on the other hand, are strangers now. I don’t know their kids, or relate to any of the journeys they’ve taken in their lives. There’s no common ground with which to even start a conversation. Though it’s sad, I don’t believe any of us are really lacking for each others’ absence. It’s simply become what is, and ultimately, what it was meant to be.
realize they were simply the vehicle through which I came back into the world, and were never meant to partner me through the entire journey. I was meant to break away and find my own path—a path far different than what they knew or understood. Perhaps I even saw it coming as a teenager, but wasn’t yet ready to set off on my own without the safety net of family, even if mine was fraught with holes and strife.
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