The Butterfly on my Shoulder

A reminder of what's on the other side of change

“I did something,” I texted my mom, hesitantly.

It was the middle of August, a week after my 40th birthday, and Noah (my husband) and I had just walked out of the tattoo parlor down the street from our apartment in Roma Norte, a hip neighborhood in Mexico City.

My shoulder throbbed but I was the proud new owner of my fourth tattoo, a gorgeous monarch butterfly, designed and poked painstakingly into my skin by El Chanok, one of Mexico’s most iconic tattoo artists.

My beautiful new tattoo, a monarca

“I just don’t get it, that tattoo thing,” my mom confessed to me later over the phone. “Why would you put yourself through pain like that?”

Good question.

I hate needles, but so far, each of my tattoos have been meaningful enough to drag me to a tattoo bed, from my playful kite to my feminine moon with the rosy cheeks.

As I turned 40, my beautiful monarch, or “monarca” in Spanish, (very) painfully landed on my shoulder blade to remind me of two things:

1. To always follow my heart back to Mexico

2. To keep embracing change

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Ah, change.

Like any human being, I’ve had my battles with the idea of change and with change itself, especially when my parents would announce we’d be moving — yet again— to another Mexican city while growing up.

All those times I had to start over and make new friends made me more resilient, no doubt, and as an adult, my identity became intertwined with change: In my corporate job, I was literally a “Change Management” consultant, and in my nomadic lifestyle, I changed where I lived like I change my socks.

Truthfully, over the years, I’ve grown to not just enjoy, but crave change, and yet recently, experiencing change threw me for a loop.

Our brains on change

A few weeks ago, Noah and I wrapped up our two-month adventure in Mexico City and returned to the lovely San Miguel de Allende, a city we’ve spent time in on and off for the last two years.

This time, we rented a lovely one-bedroom apartment in our favorite neighborhood full of buzzing markets with colorful stands and friendly neighbors, most of whom greet me with a warm “Buenos días” when I walk our pups.

Our home is stunning. As soon as you enter the door, your gaze gets lost among the intricate details of our stairway full of Mexican art, from Aztec-inspired masks, to colorful “Talavera” tile. Our domed ceilings are made of stunning red brick and our door opens up to a plant-filled terrace with breathtaking views of the city.

Our stunning stairway

Staying in this apartment is a privilege and yet, when we arrived, all I could find was the negative:

“There’s so much dust!"
”I hate the trash on the street.”
”The fireworks are so loud!”

And so on.

Last week, my husband, Noah, held up a loving mirror and asked me why I was so unhappy. “We’re in such a beautiful place!” he reminded me.

“I’m happy!” I retorted, eyebrows scrunched. He’d struck a nerve but I knew he was right: What was up with me? Why was I focused so much on the negative when so much positive surrounded us?

The next morning, I consulted my meditation teacher, the very wise, Jessica Phillips.

“It’s how our brain keeps us safe from change, our negativity bias,” she explained, stopping me in my tracks. Of course! I knew this from my coaching past, but we always need someone to remind us of what we already know.

I celebrated change and turning 40 with a butterfly tattoo, but still, my brain wasn’t a fan when change came a-knocking.

I nodded at Jessica, letting her wisdom sink in. This wise woman didn’t even know I had just moved, and yet she knew. My shoulders relaxed for the first time in days.

What awaits on the other side

Funny enough, during the few days when I was lost in the negative, I felt a sharp sting on my shoulder, right where my butterfly is perched, as if the tattoo artist were piercing me again with a needle. I cringed just as another sting traveled through my nerves. What was happening?

In truth, I have no clue (healing skin, maybe?) but I choose to believe that my wise monarch was trying to snap me to attention, to remind me that, this too, shall pass, and that change is cyclical.

Stepping into a new version of your life,
whether chosen or not,
will inevitably be challenging.

Our moods will swing and our chest will feel heavy
whenever our brain scans for danger
(mine did every morning for the first 3 weeks in my new bed).

But it’s temporary.

And it’s normal.

Your loving brain is trying to keep you safe.

Since Jessica imparted her simple and powerful wisdom, I’ve felt lighter, simply because now I know what’s up. I still notice the dust from the many construction projects in my building (beautiful art on the walls doesn’t just magically appear, apparently) and I still grumble at the garbage that blows with the breeze down my street, but it’s easier to let it go, now that I know why.

While we experience the painful parts of change, like adapting to the discomfort of a new job, adjusting to a new home, learning to live without someone we love, or whatever other newness that’s arrived (and it always will), we can simply nod, relax our shoulders, and treat ourselves with extra grace and kindness.

For any caterpillar, metamorphosing is a painful process. Thankfully, on the other side of pain and discomfort, is a beautiful butterfly.

Maybe it’s a monarch.

With love,

P.S. Speaking of monarch butterflies, did you know that their arrival in the mountains of Central Mexico (where they will hibernate for the winter) coincides with the Day of the Dead (o Día de Muertos), which begins today, November 1st? Sadly, monarchs are now considered an endangered species but here’s what we can all do to help.

P.P.S. Speaking of Day of the Dead, San Miguel de Allende has been colorfully gearing up for this very special two-day event, when we all celebrate the lives of those we’ve lost. I’m so excited to witness this event (I haven’t been in Mexico at this time of the year in 17+ years!), especially in San Miguel. Next week, I’ll have a special post covering these celebrations. Here’s a sneak peek: