My chapters of twentsomething brought the slow dissolution of a veil built from anxious combustions and deeply carved crevices of depression. What began as a slow dripping faucet of blissful naïveté became an avalanche of hard truths, leaving evidence of ripped holes in spirit and psyche in its wake.
The act of “growing up” is nothing more than a transgenerational social construct of what is to be expected at a certain age. Some reach this achievement point before they’re expected to. Many embrace this rite of passage without resistance. Others refuse to step into such a mature role.
I had a glimpse of this phenomenon leading up to my twenty-seventh birthday. It was a gentle blow of dandelion seeds release things that no longer served me.
But being the late bloomer that I am, I crossed this proverbial threshold shortly after my twenty-eighth birthday.
The passing of my mother marked the occasion - the one woman who represented 95% of my being transcended this plane. Early that rainy morning in November, the last of my veil fell at my feet. The essence of my soul was exposed to the world, and my existence came into question - mostly by me.
Surely, harm was on its way to devour this unsuspecting caterpillar…
However, as I stood at my most vulnerable, the growls of harm’s hunger were muffled by the breath of the Lord’s favor being spoken over me.
Unbeknownst to me, a chrysalis had formed. The solace I sought came to me before I could emerge from the clouds of grief.
The months and weeks after my mother’s passing brought about some serious building and reconstruction within my chrysalis, replacing combustion with capability, and filling the crevices with faith.
As a significant anniversary approaches, there’s movement from within. The next 10 chapters will bring you the story of a beautiful butterfly....