Moth to Flame

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to have favorites.⁠ But…

If you know me you know I’m a big believer that death is transformation- but in no way does that minimize or lessen the pain of the loss of what once was. I’m also a big proponent as death as a metaphor- death of a past version of self, death of a limiting story, death of what we need to let go of in order to transform.⁠

I’m well aware of and welcoming of my mortality, but at the time of writing this, I’ve been dealing with a physical issue that caused my nervous system to go haywire and essentially shut down most of my basic functioning, leaving me incapacitated. These past few weeks housed the first time that I had a moment where I legitimately wondered “could this be it?”.⁠

⁠Fortunately, it wasn’t, and I am very much still here-healing and recovering- but very much here. That moment made me abundantly aware with crystal clarity that I am absolutely not ready to go anywhere anytime soon. Similar to the times I’ve had the honor of sitting vigil as a death doula, coming out of this situation has made me overwhelmingly aware of how much life I am surrounded by every single moment. And it is absolutely gorgeous. ⁠

⁠It’s also clear to me that yes, something in me did die these past weeks. It was the death of an old story. It was the death of versions of self that I no longer am, lifestyles and identity markers that I had been clinging to that no longer hold true. I adore some of the parts that died, and I’m oscillating between grief and deep, deep gratitude for having been that person and who that person is shaping into today. I’m not sure if I’m out of the cocoon quite yet, but my wings are fully formed and itching to fly.⁠