…Reflecting on butterflies, dragonflies and transformations by Stacey James McAdoo…
While floating the river, an orange butterfly (my son’s favorite color and my daughter’s favorite creature) decided to join us for the ride. About halfway down the river it landed on my hand. It was a pulse of life I had never known before. Soon afterwards, a second orange butterfly joined us for the remainder of the trip and they continuously danced around me. Yet, just as significant was the dragonfly that claimed its spot at the front of our float. It sat steady and unmoving for nearly the entire ride. In that moment, I saw it as a silent, ancestral nod…a guardian watching over and protecting us. What’s funny is that during our inaugural Juneteenth in da Rock Summit, I verbalized for the first time that I live in a perpetual state of “both/and”: I am the butterfly, learning to untangle my wings, and I am the dragonfly, anchored by the wisdom of those who came before me, watching over my journey/metamorphosis with steady, quiet courage.
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For nearly two years, I have been waiting in the wings…taking an intentional pause…finding sanctuary at my mother’s house while learning how to stand again in the wake of Norel’s death and the sudden unraveling of my family life where my own home began to feel like it was closing in and suffocating me. In my biweekly group session, I shared how being at my mother’s house felt like a wide, expansive stretch, while my own home felt like my arms were being forced against my ribs, pinned to my body with no room to move. A former hospice social worker in the group offered a simple, courageous suggestion: Change a room.
I took that advice to heart. I began a weekend refresh of my living room, moving out the uncurated Norel memorials and replacing them with an orange accent wall. It was an exciting, beautiful act of reclamation and a literal shifting of the light. That wall now holds the memory of Norel, not as a weight to carry, but as a warmth to walk into. One transformation sparked another; the den followed, and I just finished building a zen patio. Now when I walk into the front door or out the back door, I can finally open my arms wide again and take deep breaths where I inhale love, peace and ease.
Shortly after my latest promotion, my new supervisor sent me a “raise and release” butterfly kit as a reminder that we are always in a state of becoming …or as my mentor Marie Parker would always say, “We are never in the land of the done.”
Watching them, I was reminded of Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly which is a meditation on the journey from the caterpillar’s struggle to the butterfly’s light. It was a delicate, messy pursuit that mirrored my own fragile growth. This journey is for me, but it is also for my daughter. On my recent 50th birthday trip to Hilton Head Island, I found a butterfly candle, crafted by a local artisan, to bring home to Jamee as a small, flickering flame to honor our shared survival.
My relationship with the dragonfly has been a long, evolving journey. As a child, they were sources of terror because there were always so many swarming around our home. But life has a way of turning fear into an invitation. In Hilton Head, I molded a dragonfly out of sand, decorating it with orange glass and shells to honor Norel, and tucked in two purple rhinestones…a nod to my Jamee, so she is never forgotten.
This is the heart of Still Standing: The Practice. It is the intentional acknowledgment that we can be both the person who has known the devastation of a house that felt too small, and the person who has the courage to build a zen patio and watch the light hit an orange wall.
The butterflies and dragonflies were my teachers, showing me that transformation is a constant state of being. When I reflect on my life, I’ve noticed that I’ve spent so much of it waiting for this or that “caterpillar” phase to end, fearing the “swarm,” and forgetting that I was designed for flight.
My journey is not about arriving at a place where the weight is gone; it is about cultivating the capacity to hold it differently. I am still standing…not because I have forgotten the past, but because I have finally given myself enough room to breathe, to create, and to keep dancing in the light. Whether I am releasing a butterfly into the air or carrying a dragonfly made of sand and shells, I am practicing the art of living wide open.
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Stacey McAdoo, the 2019 Arkansas Teacher of the Year, has dedicated over twenty years to advocating for traditionally underrepresented students and educators. Her relationship-based approach to education is featured in the award-winning Arkansas PBS docuseries Closing the Opportunity Gap and her specialized course, Coaching Self-Expression: Go-In Poet.
As the founder of the Writeous Poets (a spoken word and youth advocacy collective) and an expert professional development facilitator, Stacey designs transformative sessions centered on arts integration, equity, and empowerment. She currently serves as a professor at Reach University and the national Managing Director of Learning & Development for Teach Plus. Additionally, she is the host of the A Mile In My Shoes: The Walk & Talk Podcast and the founder of Still Standing: The Practice, a community for resilient women who, to the world’s astonishment and surprise, continue to stand and thrive despite life’s most unimaginable challenges.
Still Stacey 