Embracing the Chrysalis

A while ago, I wrote about how I placed people on pedestals and coped with their crashes from them. I thought that at least now, I had reached a time where I didn’t need to place people there anymore. Since then, I shifted to a place where I spent my childhood, a place I’d romanticized from the time I left as an idyllic summer afternoon, where you were so sure that you had enough daylight to keep playing until your heart’s content. This place, that I’ve visited a few times since then, has been frozen in mind as a midsummer day, with each return reinforcing that feeling rather than shattering it. I realize that while this wasn’t a person, having a place on a pedestal was an even safer option, because the odds of it screwing up were (hopefully) lower. 

We read about caterpillars retreating into their cocoons and emerging as butterflies. That transformation is so glorious and natural and all that we hope for. This is a natural process that has a clear beginning, middle and end. We know the charted-out life cycles of these creatures. What of ourselves? 

At twenty-one, I started my Masters in Applied Psychology – a course that was about unlearning and rediscovering ourselves. It was challenging with regard to the amount of self-work that went into creating mental health professionals. It had messy personal and collective struggles that none of us had anticipated. To deal with that onslaught of reflection, we retreated into our cocoons. We coped differently. Some of us dissected every aspect of ourselves and our pasts, others chose to shut it out altogether, some dipped in from time to time and so on. What mattered was that there was space for each approach. Even in the midst all our personal dramas, we were collectively building a space that accommodated all parts of ourselves and of each other. Today, I look back at that time and miss that space the most. 

The irony was that life afforded us that time (while we were removed from what felt like the rest of the world) to adapt however we chose. Reintegration was a challenge, because at the ripe age of twenty-three, we were expected to pay our dues by emerging as butterflies. 

The rude awakening was when we ran into our first crises at our respective places in the real world. There was no collective cocoon anymore. We had exhausted our subscriptions. We fumbled and fell and learnt more, without noticing the toll it took. We felt unsure, alone and terrified of being discovered as imposters. 

There’s a simple answer to this. What if humans didn’t have to transform into fully-put-together beings at the milestone ages of twenty, or twenty-five or thirty or ever? Our undue focus on the metamorphosis and the goal is such that we forget the most important factor that contributed to it. Before the butterfly emerged, there was a period of rest and change. During that time, the caterpillar shed its past self and prepared for the future. In the safety of its cocoon, it had time to heal and grow. What if we too shifted our focus to create more safe spaces such as mini cocoons, where people can enter, rest, recharge and exit at will? Currently, the burden of finding or creating such a space is on the individual. Maybe someday soon, the milestones won’t wear us down as much. Maybe rest and healing can be enough. 

As I spend time in this space, which is my equivalent of a personal cocoon, I’m resting, creating and exploring without the same pressure to perform. I’m strengthening this space with factors other than past memories – consciously channeling my desires and emotions into a space that accommodates all of me and enhances my growth. This collaboration feels like a triumph in itself, for I don’t expect to emerge complete – I feel whole right where and how I am – so different from what my twenty-one-year old self would have expected, yet every bit as satisfying.