Writing to you from the pupa state 🐛

Hi Reader!

A caterpillar sheds its skin many times throughout its life, building more of what it needs to become a butterfly with each molt. When it finally creates its chrysalis, it already has butterfly parts growing inside. Now it spends a few days to a few years dissolving the remaining caterpillar parts and completing its transformation into a totally new form.

As humans, we enter the pupa state when we're in the middle of a big transition and/or big grief. When parts of us are dissolving and we don't know what we're going to become.

I've been in one for over a year now. But this isn't my first chrysalis.

Seven years ago, my goldendoodle Kaia died of lymphoma at age 7. I experienced crushing grief, held on way too long, and blamed myself for so much. When my dog Kumba was first diagnosed with the same disease at age 5, it brought me right back to that intense pain.

He's been through two courses of chemo over the past year. In late June, the cancer came back. Last Tuesday, the vet told me to just make Kumba comfortable and track if he's still eating, going on walks, and doing things that normally make him happy. When he stops having good days, it's time to let him go.

I feel so many things. Heartbroken. Accepting. Exhausted. Angry.

Caterpillars are lucky. They get to disappear into their chrysalis and transform on biology's timeline. But when we're in the pupa state, we still have to make dinner for our kids, email people back, and get to appointments on time. We have to keep functioning while parts of us are dissolving. It's painful, dark, and uncomfortable.

Kaia showed me Kumba in a vision. She led me to him. I've asked myself so many times why she wanted me to have another dog who would die young of lymphoma. Part of the reason is this: Kumba needed me. And I had what he needed because of Kaia.

When Kaia got sick, I didn't have pet insurance. I wasn't able to get her chemo, but I wasn't willing to understand that that was the ONLY thing that would work against the lymphoma.

When Kumba got sick, I had pet insurance, which I bought when he was 8 weeks old, because of Kaia. I drove him over an hour each way to get chemo every other week. And thanked my guides and angels I could get him the chemo and get to be with him for a year longer than I would otherwise.

When Kaia's body started shutting down, I dragged her from one specialty vet to another, unwilling to let her go, even though it was clear she wasn't enjoying her life anymore.

Now my daughter Kiara and I track Kumba's condition on a whiteboard calendar, writing a bright red smile for the good days and a blue frown for the bad ones. When he stops having good days, we will let him go. Because I know how devastating it is for everyone when you hold on too long.

When Kaia died two months after her diagnosis, I cursed the universe for giving me the best dog in the world only to steal her from me at a young age.

Kumba has lived and thrived for over 15 months past diagnosis. And I've been grateful every single day that he's still been with me, wagging his tail through his chemo treatments, trying to nibble on strangers' hands, and curling up next to me on the couch.

At 6 years old, he's even younger than Kaia was when she died, but I have spent so much time noticing the joy he brings me that it feels like I've had more time with him.

Being in the chrysalis is HARD. It is the worst.

But this chrysalis doesn't feel quite as dark. Or maybe it's that I'm finally (almost) emerging from the same chrysalis I was in with Kaia. When Kaia got sick, I had caterpillar parts - putting my (now ex) husband's needs over my own, not prioritizing my creative work, clinging to Kaia because I didn't have unconditional love from myself.

But now, I feel my butterfly parts solidifying. I value my own happiness, give myself what I need, have a business that feeds my soul, and love myself more deeply than ever. Even though Kumba's illness is brutal, I know I'm going to be okay. Because I've created a life that supports me.

Writing this email, I'm realizing that it wasn't just Kaia's illness and death that prepared me for Kumba's lymphoma.

It was everything that happened afterward. My divorce, my move to Denver, and lots of other things that I can't fit into this email.

I'm seeing that when Kaia led me to Kumba in a vision, she wasn't just giving Kumba a chance at a longer life. When she put that white and red puppy in my arms, she knew that one day, it would lead to heartbreak. And to me knowing the true breadth and width of my own capacity to love - not just Kumba, but also myself.

If you're in your own pupa state, hit reply and send me a caterpillar emoji 🐛. It would be nice to know I have company in the chrysalis.

Thanks for reading and being on this journey with me. It means a lot. ❤️

Warmly,

Daniela