You can’t become a butterfly as long as you’re holding onto the cocoon.  It’ll weigh you down and you’ll never fly.   If you still have to walk everywhere dragging your cocoon, it pretty much defeats the purpose of having wings.  All because you just can’t, or don’t want to, let go. 

My problem is, I like my cocoon.  When I’m with it, I feel safe and happy and we laugh together and I love that.  The best times in my life have been with my cocoon.  As much as it’s bruised me, it still gives me a comfort (no pun) that I’ve never felt anywhere else.  It’s not to say that I will never feel that again and not to say that I won’t ever feel anything better, but I still love my cocoon.  And it scares me to fly away.  Flying away means that it’ll never again hold me close and tell me it loves me.  And flying away means I’m giving up on my cocoon, when before I believed in it even when it didn’t believe in itself.  I’d be giving up on the idea that my cocoon could ever be exactly what I was looking for – and admitting that I was wrong when I truly believed that it was everything I needed.  Accepting that the best times in my life were a lie makes my heart hurt. 

Don’t get me wrong, my new destination could be way better and I could grow to love it even more.  But in my heart, I know that I’ll always miss my cocoon.  And in my heart, I’m sure there will be times that I will want to go back.  But I also know I can’t.  If I fly away to a new destination, there’s no room for my cocoon there.  I can’t take it with me.  My new destination looks nice, not perfect, but nice.  I’ve seen the brochures and I’m interested in taking a visit and exploring a little.  But even if it’s just for a visit, I’m still scared.