Six months ago, I was lost.
I was drowning. I was scared to face what was next.
Scared to listen to my truth.
I looked for signs. I asked my loved ones over and over again, but I knew in my heart, only I could answer the questions.
The night before my wedding celebration in Italy, my best friend handed me a present, a deck of cards. A form of tarot cards, but this deck was stunning. Line drawings of animals, Messengers from the Great Bear. That night, the ladies gathered in the upstairs living room of the old Tuscan villa. We laughed, drank wine, shared stories and pulled cards.
Now, I’d love to say what I pulled that night, but I have no fucking clue. But what I can say is I’ve pulled those cards out many times over the years when I’ve felt drawn to them.
In my despair earlier this year, I pulled them off my shelf and sat with them. I begged them for an answer. A sign. Some insight on what the flying fuck to do now that I was facing the life of a single mother. A life I told myself I’d never end up in. I was constantly battling myself in my head.
“Maybe it’s not that bad…it could be worse,” I thought over and over for so damn long.
So, while in one of my low lows, I sat with them. I put my hands on the deck until I felt pulled to one.
The Butterfly - Growth. Faith. Metamorphosis.
“symbolises a period of changes, personal growth and transformation…change can be uncomfortable and hard at times…trust that butterfly will bring pure joy and personal growth…know you hold the ability to step into this next chapter as your fully-realised self.”
I texted my friend who gifted me the cards.
“I pulled butterfly,” and went on explaining the card.
“I’m about to be a butterfly bitch,” I exclaimed, or something along those lines.
My metamorphosis. I’m in the dark inner stages of a cocoon, but there’s light ahead.
Then, it almost seemed comical. Impossible, because I was barely surviving the day.
Learning how to be a parent all over again. A different kind of parent. One where all the responsibilities are yours. No one to share them with. No one to give you a quick time out. No person to say, “gonna go for a walk, be back soon.”
I’m used to doing this alone. I live far, far away from family. From close friends. I’ve raised my babies with no village. His work often took him away for nights at a time. I’ve done this. I can do this. But doing it knowing that there would be nobody to step in anymore. Nobody to give me a second to breathe when I’m overstimulated from hearing Mama for the 300th time that day. Knowing there wouldn’t be anyone to talk to at the end of the night, and even though I thrive on my own, it scared me.
Those first few months were so damn lonely. I had my close circle, but at the end of the day, it’s just me tucking my babies in. It’s just me climbing into bed with a book or cleaning the kitchen for the fourth time that day.
When I pulled that card, I couldn’t see months down the road. I could only handle the next hour ahead. One day at a time, they all said. But slowly, as the days ticked into weeks, and the weeks into months, and I watched summer turn into autumn and autumn into winter, I’ve started to come out of that cocoon.
I’m floating.
I’ve dropped this huge weight. I feel the changes. So many changes. I feel like I’m levelling up to a better version of myself than ever existed.
I’m happy. I’m so damn happy, and it honestly surprises me. It’s scary knowing I haven’t felt this type of happiness in so long. Sometimes I ask my friends, where the f was I for so long? Numb? Going through the motions? Disassociating? I don’t know.
I found myself dancing and singing while cooking dinner the other day. I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life. This joy is infectious. My kids see it. They’re getting a better mother. A calm, light, happy household, and while it’s so easy to fall into intrusive thoughts like I’ve fucked up their lives, I know this is the better outcome.
A happier one.
I’m changing. I’m growing.
I’m about to be a fucking butterfly, and I feel it wholeheartedly.
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