The Cocoon Season No One Talks About

This weekend I listened to a podcast by a good friend and spiritual mentor, and she talked about something called the cocoon season.

And wow.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Because I think I've been in one.

And I think I've been trying really, really hard to get out of it.

We talk so much about becoming. About reinvention. About finding your purpose and starting the next chapter and finally stepping into who you are meant to be.

We love the butterfly.

But no one really talks about the cocoon.

That weird space where the life you had doesn't quite fit anymore, but you don't know what the next one looks like yet.

That's where I am.

The kids are grown now. They're off building their own lives.

For most of my adult life, I have been a mom first. And not just a mom, but a mom navigating disability and schools and medical appointments and IEPs and advocacy and all the things that came with raising two kids with Usher syndrome.

I built a career around much of it.

I went back to school. Got a Ph.D. Started organizations. Did research. Wrote books. Advocated. Worked with families. Tried to change systems.

And somewhere along the way, I got really, really good at being needed.

There was always a problem to solve.

Someone to take care of.

Something to fight for.

Something that needed to be done.

And now, for the first time in my adult life, there is space.

A lot of space.

I thought I wanted that.

Actually, I know I wanted it.

But I don't think I understood how uncomfortable it would be.

Because I keep wanting to fill it.

I keep asking myself:

What's next?

What should I do?

Where should I work?

What could I build?

Where can I make the biggest difference?

I've even found myself craving something big lately. Something national. Something hard and meaningful that I can throw myself into.

And I still think that may be coming.

But the podcast made me realize something.

I may be trying to skip a really important part.

The cocoon.

Maybe I don't need to know what comes next yet.

Ugh.

I don't particularly like that answer.

I like plans.

I like momentum.

I like knowing where I'm going.

And if there is a problem, I am very good at researching the heck out of it until I figure out what to do.

But maybe this isn't a problem to solve.

Maybe this is a season I'm supposed to actually experience.

Because for the first time, I get to ask a question that I haven't had the luxury of asking very often:

What do I want?

Not what do my kids need.

Not what does my family need.

Not what needs fixing.

Not where can I be useful.

Not what am I qualified to do.

What do I want?

And I don't completely know yet.

That's the uncomfortable part.

There are things I do know.

I know I want to be part of something bigger than myself.

I know I come alive around ideas and people and stories and advocacy and trying to make complicated systems more human.

I know I want meaningful work in my life.

I also know I don't want to spend the next chapter of my life taking care of everyone else while putting myself on hold.

I've done that.

I don't regret it.

But I don't want to keep doing it.

And maybe that's what the cocoon is.

It's not doing nothing.

It's letting yourself sit in the space between who you were and whoever you are becoming.

It's noticing what lights you up.

It's noticing what doesn't anymore.

It's trying things without requiring every single one of them to turn into your next career.

It's letting yourself change your mind.

It's taking a watercolor class just because you want to take a watercolor class.

It's embracing the "Over 50" hike without fear.

It's building Legos because you feel like it.

It's playing with the dogs in the middle of the day.

It's taking a nap and trying really hard not to feel guilty about it.

Honestly, some days the cocoon doesn't look very transformative at all.

Sometimes it looks like Legos and dog hair and an afternoon nap.

And maybe that's part of why it's so hard for me.

I'm used to being able to point to what I accomplished at the end of the day.

I'm learning that maybe not everything valuable has something to show for it.

Maybe rest doesn't have to earn its place.

Maybe play doesn't have to have a purpose.

Maybe I don't have to turn every interest into a project or every spark into a plan.

It's choosing something for yourself even when a more "important" opportunity comes along.

It's learning that your life doesn't have to be productive every minute to matter.

That last part is still very much a work in progress for me.

But I think I'm finally starting to understand something.

Maybe the goal isn't to get out of the cocoon as quickly as possible.

Maybe the cocoon is the work.

Maybe this strange, restless, exciting, lonely, beautiful in-between is where I'm supposed to be right now.

I don't know exactly what's next.

There. I said it.

And for someone who really likes to know what's next, that's a big deal.

I do know I'm starting to feel little sparks again.

Advocacy.

Writing.

Big conversations.

New people.

Watercolor.

Quiet mornings.

The ocean.

Things that make me curious.

Things that make me feel alive.

Being in the cocoon doesn't mean I'm withdrawing from the world or that I'm not looking for what's next. If anything, I feel more open to possibility than I have in a long time.

I want to meet interesting people. Have conversations I can't predict. Say yes to things that stretch me. I want to keep exploring what meaningful work might look like in this next chapter. And if the right opportunity showed up tomorrow, I'm absolutely open to it.

Maybe what I'm learning is that being open and being in a hurry aren't the same thing.

I don't have to turn every spark into a plan.

But I also don't have to sit still waiting for some magical moment when the cocoon is over.

I can notice the sparks.

Follow them.

See where they lead.

Because I have spent a lot of my life becoming who other people needed me to be.

Maybe this season is about finding out who I am when no one else gets to answer that question for me.

So I'm trying not to rush it.

I'm trying not to fill every empty space.

I'm trying not to force the answer.

I'm trying to trust the cocoon.

Even when it looks like I'm doing absolutely nothing.

And maybe, for now, that's enough.

Follow my friend and spiritual mentor Patricia Goddard and listen to her podcast about the Cocoon Season at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q64kpX9y54U