Cocooned: Letting Go to Become

I’ve been sitting with a metaphor lately — one that first came to me during a meditation.
It’s the image of a caterpillar surrendering into a cocoon, dissolving completely, and emerging as something new. It struck me because it didn’t romanticize the transformation. It acknowledged the loss. The trust. The in-between.

And that’s exactly where I find myself.

For a long time, I’ve poured myself into a role that meant more to me than a job title. It was identity. Mission. Legacy.
It held my heart, my grit, my late nights and early mornings, my deep care for the people I served and the team I led.
It was never just work — it was purpose.

But somewhere along the way, the weight got heavier than the meaning.
The friction became louder than the fulfillment.
And I realized… what once gave me life was now asking to be let go.

That’s a terrifying thing — to lay down something you’ve built, defended, believed in, and sacrificed for.
Not because it didn’t matter, but because it mattered so much.
And yet, I know now: letting go isn’t quitting. It’s trusting the wisdom to stop when something inside says, there’s more for you than this.

The cocoon feels both sacred and strange.
This new opportunity I’m stepping into is quieter, simpler, less defined — but full of possibility.
And while I don’t yet know exactly what I’ll become on the other side, I know this much:

The version of me I had to be to survive in my old space —
the one who carried it all, held it together, fought to be seen —
she’s tired.

And she deserves to rest.
To lay down the armor.
To soften.
To become.

I’m not walking away because I failed.
I’m walking away because I finally believe I don’t have to prove anything anymore.
Because I trust that wings are forming, even now, in places I cannot yet see.

This is not the end.
It’s the becoming.