The Art of Embracing the Dark: The Story of the Moth and Butterfly
There are so many of us who grow up believing we are wrong when really we are just different. This story came from that place in me. The place that once thought I was a broken butterfly when I was actually a beautiful moth.
There once was a little moth
born with wings painted in the colors of a monarch’s dream.
She was softer. Dimmer.
A quiet echo of brightness.
And because she looked so much like the butterflies,
she believed she was one.
She tried to flutter like them.
She tried to shine like them.
She tried to belong to their golden daylight world.
But every time people saw the butterflies,
they laughed, they pointed with joy,
their faces opening like flowers in the sun.
And when they saw her,
their eyes changed.
They flinched.
They screamed.
They swatted her away as if she were a curse,
as if her very existence was something to fear.
One day a hand struck her from the sky,
and she tumbled to the earth
with a soundless cry and trembling wings,
crushed beneath the weight of rejection.
In the dust, she wept.
Her small voice cracked open, and she screamed into the night,
“Why does no one love me?
What have I done wrong?
Why am I such a horrible butterfly?”
Silence held her.
And then a gentle silver glow rose above her
as the moon bent low,
soft as a mother’s hand.
“My child,” the moon whispered,
“why do you cry so painfully?”
The moth trembled.
“Because I am a terrible butterfly.
Everyone hates me.
Everyone fears me.
I am wrong.
I am unlovable.”
The moon’s light turned tender.
“Oh sweet one,
you could never be a bad butterfly
because you were never a butterfly at all.”
The moth lifted her head, eyes wide.
“Never… a butterfly?”
“No,” the moon breathed,
“you are a moth.
A beautiful, wondrous moth.”
The moth’s heart fluttered.
“A moth… beautiful?
Then I am not broken?
Not wrong?”
“Never,” said the moon.
“You were simply seeking love in a world
that was never made for your wings.
Butterflies dance in daylight.
Their joy belongs to the sun.
They cannot see you,
not because they are cruel,
but because they were crafted for light.”
“And me?” the moth whispered.
The moon smiled.
“You, my child, were born for the night.
You belong to the quiet, sacred darkness.
To the mystery.
To the stars.
To the hidden beauty only revealed when the world sleeps.”
Are there places for moths?” she asked, hope trembling in her voice.
Oh yes,” said the moon.
“There are places where your dimness is brilliance.
Where your softness is power.
Where your presence is a lantern in the shadows.
You only need to look where others never think to search.”
The moth rose slowly,
her wings catching silver light,
glowing in a way no butterfly ever could.
And she understood.
She was never meant to shine like the sun.
She was meant to glow in the dark.
To belong to the night.
To be loved by the moon.
To be seen by those who dwell in the quiet places
where true beauty hides.
She was not less.
She was not wrong.
She was simply different.
A creature of the deepest night.
A child of darkness.
A beautiful moth.
So many of us spend years trying to become butterflies in a world that only celebrates one kind of beauty. We dim ourselves. We harden ourselves. We apologize for our softness. We call ourselves broken when really we are just born for a different kind of brilliance.
Some of us are daylight souls.
Some of us are moon children.
Neither is wrong.
But only one feels like home.
FROM ASHES TO WINGS
Rising from the ashes does not always look like becoming brighter. Sometimes it looks like becoming truer. Sometimes healing is not about changing who you are but finally understanding who you have always been.
You did not come this far to become someone else.
You rose so you could finally become yourself.
So I ask you now have you ever felt like a moth trying to survive in a butterfly world
Where do you feel most like yourself
In the sun or under the moon?
