The butterfly: such a common symbol of transformation. All wiggly dark parts, all mysterious and hidden, erupting from its safe cocoon into the bright, winged world. Its wings like stained-glass windows. Its antennae cued in to the higher worlds. Transcending the limitations of its earlier form. The triumph of flight. The transformation inherent in every pore. What was closed, small, dark, and probably painful is now so very beautiful!
Phht. Hogwash.
It’s an insect. A gorgeous one, yes. A useful one, yes. But a guiding metaphor for grief? No.
No.
Now. I say this as someone who does, in fact, speak symbol. If you’ve ever talked to me for any amount of time, you know how I love metaphor. I can’t not speak in metaphor or story, when one presents itself. In fact, I learned some things about the evolution of the insect within the cocoon this week that have my mind and heart doing back-flips with metaphorical implications, not even to mention just the simple scientific coolness.
But it’s that common, expected, metaphor of the butterfly emerging from its cocoon that falls supremely flat when it’s shoved at you inside your grief.
Here’s why it doesn’t work:
- There’s that subtle implication that who you were Before grief happened in your life was somehow “less than” who you are now, or who you might become. Think caterpillar vs. butterfly: who gets all the press? Everyone wants the winged transformation, but no one wants the bug.
- Even well-meaning encouragement to become the butterfly! has its subtext: please become the butterfly already, because this whole cocoon thing has gone on too long. There is an impatience in those words, a desire to rush someone along and get back to the pretty parts of life. (there’s also the fact that not everyone needs cheerleading in their grief. They lost someone they love – that doesn’t mean they’ve lost their self-esteem, or their belief in themselves.)
- You can’t rush the cocoon. Have you ever opened up a chrysalis, wondering what’s inside? When exactly does the caterpillar become the butterfly? If you open up that chrysalis, you do not hasten the process of the becoming butterfly. What you do is destroy the darkness. You take away the environment within which deep, deep, change is happening. That cocoon is necessary. It is there for a reason. The changing heart, the changing life – they not only deserve a protected space, that protected space is required for whatever is to come
- The butterfly is not all that. Transformation is not the goal of grief. It may seem like the goal if you’re on the outside looking in, thinking the person you love really just needs to embrace their inner beauty and transform already. But the reality is, transformation is not required. Beauty happens, or doesn’t happen, life continues, life changes, but no outcome is required. Not everyone comes through their grief “even better than before.” The butterfly, or the beauty, or the next phase of life: none of these are an end goal. None of these are a final destination.
I talk about this quite a bit in my book, It’s OK That You’re Not OK – this idea that grief should transform you. That we expect grief to transform you. Some people do transform.
And. Plenty of people are not improved by grief. Some people die in their grief, or become smaller and harder in their grief.
I would guess that the vast majority of people don’t fall squarely into either camp: they are neither transformed nor destroyed.
They simply continue to be who they are, carrying their love with them, into whatever new world comes next.
The truth is, you can’t force a metaphor on anyone. A symbol is only a symbol if you choose it yourself; if it resonates and speaks to you. No one can decide for another what has true, deep meaning for them. Before you go encouraging the one you love to become the butterfly, take a moment to see if that symbol actually fits.
Ask. Wonder. Listen.
Grief support, true support, allows the person in pain to find their own way, in their own time, with respect for who they are, who they have been, and who they are as they become.
That’s the transformation. That’s the gift you can give someone in pain.
How about you? Does the image of the butterfly work for you? What other images have you been given in your grief? Let us know in the comments.
You always capture what I find to be true in my grief. You highlight the difference between what those on the outside want to see happen and the reality of what is happening to those of us suffering the devastating loss of a loved one. Losing my son is not some opportunity for me to become a better person (or a butterfly). It is a disaster and my goal now is to find a way to keep on living. That doesn’t make me better or stronger or more enlightened. In fact, I have been robbed of my lifelong dreams and nothing will ever be able to replace the magnificent person in my life who is gone.
Exactly. Suffering is suffering, and it needs to be acknowledged as such, not glorified into some false “oh how lucky you are to grow in this way.”
<3
Thank you for telling us, Megan. It’s such a relief to hear that we aren’t expected to come out of this reborn and shining, that we can take our time and that the outcome is as uncertain and as individual as our grief. It is such a burden to withstand the “How are you doing”-questions, knowing that one is of course expected to play along and pretend to be back on track after some months. I know they mean well, but it’s also a fact that most of these image-makers have no idea of the grief world.
I have become a shitter human being since losing my son. I can honestly say this because I am a paramedic and always travelled to natural disaster areas to help. After the tsunami in Japan I was one of the first people on the ground, and again in the Philippines after the super-typhoon, I was there. Then I was there for the moment my son took his last breath. Everything I ever knew vanished at this point and I could no longer bring myself to be there for others. I still manage to be a great paramedic but I can no longer bring myself to go on deployment out of country. I feel as though I have become colder, although everyone tells me I will somehow be a better person because of this. All I see is shitty-ness. I just keep becoming a lesser human.
Thank you. This reminds me of the way some people say “I just want to see you smile.” Really? Why? So YOU can feel better? I don’t want to smile. I don’t feel like smiling. And if you can’t get that, you aren’t my friend. A true friend would say “Please cry as much as you need to. You’ve lost the love of your life. You won’t ever be the same, and I don’t want you to try.”
It’s just a very difficult struggle. I think we shouldn’t judge ourselves by words like less than I was. This may be true for where we are in our struggles, but damned, the courage to go on from day to day after a major loss needs to be applauded. I’m 6 months out from losing my lifetime partner of 40 years. There has to be a metaphor that works for each of us in our struggles and while we might feel less than, our struggles and courage in survival say more.
Thank you for your Interpretation of the Butterfly and Cocoon.
Now i can see clearer, what griefing people need.
The cocoon ist the most important thing and nothing what should be destroyed with words or anything else.
Hopefully my work does help People here in Germany.
Your book is a very very good help for me and always a recommendation for my clients.
Excited to read your next book.
Greetings, Daniela