This is the most raw of what I’ve published so far. This is from 2019. I’ve felt on pretty solid ground for some time now; however, reading Stuck in the Goo transported me back to that painful time. You’ll hear it in my voice about midway through, when it obviously fills with emotion.
I was surprised to recognize that this is a description of (positive) disintegration that I reference so often. When I wrote this I hadn’t yet discovered the Theory of Positive Disintegration so didn’t know to call it that. I talk about this in several of my essays on StoicMom. If you’ve followed me for long and read much of my work, you’ll recognize this term.
Here I describe (what I didn’t know was) disintegration using the metaphor of a butterfly. It’s really a great metaphor, I think, to capture the experience. As you can imagine, things feel much better once you emerge from the goo (and can appreciate how important the goo was. )
Just a quick note to request your patience as I figure out naming conventions, the best way to organize the varied content types, and how to create better sound quality; I’m new to all of this. Again, modeling imperfection and vulnerability. ;)
Here’s the transcript of the reflection from 2019: Stuck in the Goo
I think I’m supposed to be in transformation. Or maybe it’s self-discovery? But I feel stuck in the chrysalis. I’ve been here way too long and it’s painful and confusing, and I feel impotent to complete the process. There are forces that are seemingly? beyond my control that are ensuring that the butterfly I’m meant to become never emerges.
I know there are things I’m supposed to be learning. Rewiring to happen, but it’s elusive. Sometimes I think I’m getting there, and the necessary practices are becoming habit, but then I slide back unable to sustain the effort of behavioral modification. My environment tests me daily, and I’m tired. So tired.
I used to think the aforementioned butterfly would be spectacular! That life on the other side would be that of a splendid, world-renowned guru of some sort demanding that I burst through in blinding brilliance, causing tsunamis of change. Now I’d be happy with just a touch of enlightenment, or even simple alignment between my heart and my outer world. A small, modest even blandly-colored butterfly. Even if I can’t fly, I just want to feel what it’s like to have wings and be whole.
It seems my reckless risk-taking and lack of boundaries over my lifetime has brought me to the loneliest place. The people I love most fiercely don’t care to see me. In fact, they wish I’d hush and pretend to be a caterpillar. I don’t think that’s possible is it? Does the goo ever reform in its previous state? Am I supposed to leave my caterpillar loved ones? That can’t be right. But it feels like it’s time to fly…or die.
I laugh ironically when I remember the time I believed they’d want to fly with me. I don’t make it look easy–it’s so messy and painful and unattractive. I am clearly missing something. Do I not deserve those wings? How cruel to see the stunning world of possibilities through a butterfly lens but from the vantage point of the chrysalis in which I’m trapped and gooey and wingless.
The answer is here somewhere in the goo with me. I can’t find it and I’ve been looking so long. I know this can’t go on forever. I’m not one to just give into the pain and accept that it will always be this way. But my liquefied cells don’t seem to know how to reorganize. Maybe my DNA is broken. I used to feel desperate. Now I just feel broken.
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