Butterflies go through some real shit

"We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty." Maya Angelou

For the first time in decades, I am allowing myself to believe in signs from a greater Source.

In the past four months or so, I’ve experienced varying stages of crisis after leaving a relationship where I felt so much confusion, self-doubt, and anxiety that I became physically ill. I vomited multiple times a day, sometimes not even able keep water down. I lost 11lbs in a week, a total of 20lbs in three weeks. I felt like a shell of who I once was. My partner blamed every single external factor for my unavoidable breakdown, and refused to acknowledge that the relationship itself was the number one catalyst that led to my spiraling out.

I had no idea what was next for me. I felt more alone than I have ever in my life. I moved to a town where the only person and community I had was my ex and his friends. Two visits to the ER for suicidal ideation, and a week of sick leave later, as well as crashing out on social media for everyone shattered whatever was left ot me. I felt skinless and raw, in a state of hypervigilance and complete emotional dysregulation.

I remember how I found it amusing that my ex was absolutely terrified of butterflies, especially since every corner of my apartment happened to be thick with them. I have always been deeply fond of anything winged, any symbol of freedom, something that I was painfully longing for. Not long after our messy, tumultuous break up, I started noticing the emergence of butterflies.

The first one appeared just after teaching a two-and-a-half-hour class I barely mustered through without bursting into tears or vomiting. On my way out, tears finally running down my face, I noticed a golden glimmer on the sidewalk just a few feet beyond the exit. I picked it up, and it turned out to be a golden cutout of a butterfly. I put it in my purse. From there on out I started noticing them, especially in moments where I needed reassurance that I made the right choice or, when I needed some encouragement.

Last month I took a trip to visit friends that I haven’t seen in two years. On my way, I was having crying jags, and experiencing such intense anxiety that I had to pull over multiple times to vomit. I thought about turning around but I knew I would regret it. When I arrived, they insisted on taking me out to their favorite Mexican restaurant. I told them I wasn’t able to eat much recently, and I was also afraid I would spontaneously burst into tears. But we went anyway, and when our waitress took our order, I noticed she was wearing a butterfly hair clip. I told my friends that I had recently taken to seeing butterflies as signs, something to focus on to get my bearings again. From there on out, they pointed out every butterfly we came across. Books about butterflies, artwork, ceramics, even an advertisement for a butterfly exhibit. I allowed myself to believe that when I saw butterflies, I was in the right place at the right time. It meant I was going somewhere.

Shortly thereafter I visited my sister. I told her about the butterflies, and her eyes widened. “Wait, I have something for you,” she said and she ran upstairs. She brought back down a hoodie with a huge butterfly across the front. She said she bought if for me weeks before, having no idea about my recent association with butterflies. Later that evening, I went upstairs and saw that the door to the guest bedroom was covered in butterfly decals, and when I laid in bed I saw a sticker of a bird and a butterfly on the wall right next to me. The next morning, we went out for breakfast and our waitress happened to have butterflies tattooed all over the inside of her arm. Since then, the butterflies have guided me. Every time I feel lost, alone, and unsure of what to do next, a butterfly crosses my path.

I booked my first reiki session a week ago, and the first thing I saw when I walked in was a butterfly carved out of jasper. When I went downstairs for the session I saw a paper monarch butterfly hanging from the ceiling. During the session I had a vision of myself trying to climb out of a dark hole in the earth, and falling over and over again to the bottom. But after the last fall, a flutter of butterflies not only flew out of my mouth, they formed a new version of me, my higher self, one that I feel devastatingly distant from at the moment. She levitated, held up by the swarm of butterflies, and she glowed so bright it was difficult in her direction. She reached down trying to grab my hand, but I couldn’t let go of my tight grip for fear of falling. Eventually, she had to leave me there. Later, I saw that my legs were dangling out in space. There was no bottom. I was stuck in the in-between: I didn’t have the strength climb out, or the courage to let go. There was also no safe landing for me, just a boundless descent into oblivion.

I shared this with the reiki master who thoughtfully responded, “Sometimes we have to leave the older versions of us behind in order to become who we are supposed to be.”

Last week I went to a family reunion that I was very close to talking myself out of attending. When during my trip, butterflies flooded my periphery–butterfly earrings, sculptures, necklaces, paintings, fashion–I knew I was where I was supposed to be, and that I had made the right decision.

It may seem corny to believe in butterflies as signs, as beacons ushering me on the path to my highest self. But it’s what I choose to believe in order to climb out of this dark and lonesome place in between falling and flying. When I focus on the butterflies I am reminded that becoming is not an easy process, that metamorphosis and transformation require sacrifice and sometimes that sacrifice is the older version of ourselves, as well as thought patterns and behaviors we have outgrown, or need to outgrow.

I am still lost, broken, and fearful. But I also believe that this won’t last forever. I choose to believe that as distant as my higher self feels at the moment, that someday in the future I will have the strength and courage to let go of my grip and reach for her hand.