When I thought I was in a butterfly cocoon...
When the idea for The Reclamation came to me, I knew it was time to leave everything behind. But there was also a part of me holding on for dear life.
This part of me has morphed my career over the last twenty-five years into what it is today: a smattering of experiences, skills, and knowledge that's made me capable of helping lots of people with lots of things. But the question I keep coming back to is: do I need to?
As I've sat here thinking about what an identity detox really means, I've been realizing how much I keep holding on to who I've always been. Not because I need her to come with me — but because what would I be without her? Who would I be without her? If I let go of every skill and every piece of knowledge I've stacked on top of itself for decades, what does that even mean? Am I going to float? Am I going to have to start from scratch? Or am I going to do what I've always done — take a sidestep and drag most of it with me, calling it new?
Seventeen years ago today, I started working full time for myself. It was the day I became fully unemployable. The day I knew I'd never look back and try to work for "the man" again. But what's crazy — I started that path from a place of "hurry up and figure it out" rather than "what would I actually like to be doing?" I moved from need, not desire. And I just kept going. Because I'm anything if not persistent. Everything is figureoutable, and I will figure it out every single time.
But I noticed something recently. I have never actually stopped to take a breath. Not really. As much as I've taken little bits of time to rethink things, all I've ever done is morph one thing into another and call it new. As a brand strategist, I've reset my own brand over and over — and I've even been told how powerful it's been to watch my constant shifting. Five years ago, I realized this is how I'm built. I'm built for transformation. For becoming. For unbecoming everything the world told me to be.
I'm not here to be like anyone else. But here's the paradox — I'm also exactly like you.
The Gift That Felt Like a Curse
As much as I've stacked skills and knowledge and experience on top of itself, I've realized that my real superpower has nothing to do with what I can do. It's what I can see.
I have this ability to see people for who they can be. The potential of who they really are. And for most of my life, it's felt like a curse — because I can see where someone could go, what's possible for them, the version of themselves they haven't met yet. I've spent years being friends with people's potential. Marrying someone's potential. Which, if I'm being honest, does everyone more of a disservice than any good at all.
It's helped me in big ways — seeing a client's potential and knowing I can take a risk with them. But there's this thing about the human experience: choice. Free will. At any moment, that person can turn around and walk the other direction. And I've watched it happen more times than I can count — someone walking away from all of their possibility because they wanted safety and security more than they wanted to grow.
And that's when this gift of mine morphs into judgment and hurt. When I can see what's possible and they choose not to see it for themselves.
I've come to realize that none of that has anything to do with me or my ability to help people. It's about letting go of what I think is best and trusting that I'm only here to follow what I know is good for me — not for anyone else. I'm only here to help people see if they're willing. To sit with them until they can see it for themselves. And if I have desires or judgments or requirements about what someone else should do? That's my own insecurity. My own trauma. My own pain. My own unwillingness to accept that I don't need to know everything, that I don't need to know for someone else.
I can just love them regardless of what they choose.
Shedding the Skin
I've been applying this to myself lately, because it feels like I'm birthing a dragon these days.
At first I thought it was a cocoon — a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly. But as I've sat with it longer, I've realized that what's inside me isn't soft wings. It's fire. It's a dragon. And I'm not becoming something delicate and new. I'm shedding old skin because I've been hiding who I really am for so long — people-pleasing, softening my directness, not saying the thing for fear of losing someone. Only to realize I've done nothing but sand myself down to the point of not knowing who I am anymore.
For most of my life, I've been very direct. Very matter-of-fact. And since stepping into healing my inner child, my true self, my wholeness, I've realized I don't have to weaponize that directness. I don't have to use my judgments like a hammer to tell people what I see. I can use my softness — my more loving qualities — to show them the same thing. I can be exactly as direct as I've always been, but through the filter of love instead of judgment. Acceptance instead of knowing what's best. Truly seeing someone for who they are instead of needing them to be something they're not.
This gift that felt like a curse? I'm more willing to step into it now. To see who someone is and who they can be while accepting who they choose to be. No fixing. No forcing. No hammering.
Slowing Down Into Myself
I've been sitting with myself a lot more lately. Slowing down. Trying to find my own way in a world that keeps telling me to fit in.
I've been creating connections with people who are truly themselves rather than people I need to fix. Stepping more into the muse I am instead of the hammer I learned how to be. Softening. Not pushing or forcing but allowing people to show me who they really are. Not reacting or being triggered by the things that normally would have made me feel like I was losing my mind — but sitting with the truth of things. Sitting with my body's reaction. Sitting with instead of reacting.
Allowing myself to just be.
And really understanding — finally — that I always know what's best for me. I always know what I need. But I've been overriding it for so long because I stopped believing myself. Because very few people understand what it feels like to have a dragon inside of them. Very few people understand the difference between becoming a butterfly and becoming a dragon.
As much as I know what's possible for myself, I'm also sitting in a space of allowing what's possible to be bigger than I could ever imagine.
I'm coming out of three years of darkness. Three years of feeling like I've been covered in a weighted blanket — not trusting myself, my intuition, or even God. And now I can see just how much I am divinely guided and supported and loved by things I cannot see, and by people I love who are here in this beautiful world.
I'm getting more connected to myself and my knowing. I'm getting more connected to my soul family. I'm getting more connected to the earth and its rhythms. I'm more connected to the power of the moon.
And on this day, where a full pink moon shines love on all of us — reminding us to release anything that no longer serves us and step more fully into the connectedness of everything — I'm also reminded that seventeen years ago, I was pushed off a cliff into the unknown. And knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have it any other way. This path has been full of joy and triumph, terror and pain. But every single step of it was taken to become the magnificent human I am today.
So I'll Ask You What I've Been Asking Myself
What do you need to release in order to step more fully into who you really are?
What do you need to be honest with yourself about?
What can you take more responsibility for?
How can you love yourself into this next phase without making yourself wrong or bad — without wishing you could change things or regretting what's already happened?
What would it look like to really trust that everything is working out for your highest good, and that there is so much beauty on the other side of whatever darkness you're sitting in?
These are the questions I sat with. And then I stopped sitting.
I'm not waiting for the answers to feel safe before I move. I'm not waiting for permission. I'm not waiting for everyone around me to understand. I lit the match. The old skin is burning. And the dragon is already here.
This is my reclamation. I'm not asking you to come with me — I'm telling you I'm going. And if something in you recognizes itself in these words, you already know what to do. You've known for a while.
I love you. Please forgive me. I'm sorry. Thank you.
xoxo
Melanie
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