Notes on a Butterfly

Notes on a Butterfly
Anonymous

The butterfly, a beautiful creature produced by metamorphosis, is a symbol that is closely associated with eating disorders and one that has long been meaningful to me personally, though I’ve never explored on paper, until now, the reasons for this. There is a butterfly in my window, a butterfly of gold and crystals; it is a gift from many years ago, a gift that, on a sunny day, reflects rainbows of light in every corner of my living room. I felt at some level that there was a destiny greater than an existence of anxiety, hunger and guilt. That somehow there was more for me even if I couldn’t, like a caterpillar, see further than my next meal. Reflecting upon the butterfly and its life cycle is something that I’ve found thought provoking and illuminating and would like to share with you now.

On The Butterfly Foundation website, a group that supports individuals with eating disorders, the story for this group’s choice of the butterfly as its symbol is included and it goes something like this: A man finds a butterfly cocoon and soon after a small opening appears. The man watches the butterfly struggle to force its body through the little hole. When the butterfly appears to stop making any progress, the man decides to help the butterfly by cutting the cocoon open. The butterfly emerges easily but, when it does, it has a swollen thorax, small shriveled wings and is incapable of flight. One learns that the butterfly needs to struggle on its own to develop properly; we all need struggles in our lives and struggles strengthen us into who we are.

I like this story because it underscores an important reality of recovery: it is yours. It is your decision to be well for yourself. It is your decision to hold on or let go. These are decisions that no one else can make for you. Recovery is not something that you can rush for yourself and perhaps, this is the hard part. Though I’ve know for many years that I’ve wanted to be well I still needed my eating disorder. The point when I wanted to be well and no longer needed the disorder collided, I began to be free.
The idea of metamorphosis, the radical transformation of the same living organism from one physical appearance into something completely different, is a helpful metaphor for the transformation of sickness to health. Please excuse some of the biological inaccuracies in the following, but bear with me. Consider the caterpillar. Its existence is confined to a plant, to a single leaf. The caterpillar moves slowly and carefully, only able to see what is immediately ahead: its next meal. Eating is its sole preoccupation and eating is a matter of life or death, of survival or of withering away, of never becoming what it can be.

The boundaries of the butterfly, in contrast, are seemingly limitless. It can take off and go as it pleases; it is not limited by this silly thing known as gravity. The butterfly sustains itself by freely choosing meals that appeal most to it and sure enough, they are also meals that provide the nourishment it needs to thrive. Nevertheless, there is in the life of a butterfly greater vulnerability than in that of a caterpillar. Just as you allow yourself to be exposed to so much more, to more ideas, feelings, experiences, this exposure renders you more vulnerable, to falls from greater heights. Perhaps this is why life in the cocoon is so seductive.

This time in the cocoon is also worth contemplation. Though the task of metamorphosis is one that can only be achieved by the butterfly itself, this process requires a special environment. In nature, the caterpillar seeks out a safe and sheltered place for the transformation to take place, often under the umbrella of a solid leaf. A safe and supportive place is, in turn, a prerequisite for recovery.
The existence of all creatures is finite. Butterflies are genetically timed to progress from caterpillar, to cocoon, to butterfly. For the individual who struggles to overcome an eating disorder, things are not so linear. In my recovery, many days, I’m soaring. But some days, or moments, I struggle and I think that if I were a butterfly, I’d go back into my cocoon. But the cocoon no longer fits. I cannot be contained by it.
To conclude, I would like to share a quote from Maya Angelou:“[w]e delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” This citation echoes a fear I’ve longed held throughout my illness: if I ever were to be well, I would disown or forget who I was when I was unwell. There is in me a need to keep the memory of my struggle alive. I need to remember my struggle and in my own way, honor it. I need to honor the part of me that fought the disorder all along because that part was me.