There’s an assumption of meaning with tattoos, that they represent a memory, a dream, or something else important to the person who chooses that image to permanently adorn their body. I could have chosen my butterflies because they represent transformation or strength or simple beauty. Their fragile wings or perfect symmetry might have been my reasoning. But my choices weren’t that profound. I just thought they were pretty. That might change this year.

“For the past few years instead of making resolutions I know I won’t keep, I’ve chosen a word for the year.”

For the past few years instead of making resolutions I know I won’t keep, I’ve chosen a word for the year. Just one simple word. My word for this year is “cocoon,” for many reasons. In 1981, Faith Popcorn used the term “cocooning” to describe “the need to protect oneself from the harsh, unpredictable realities of the outside world”. She used it when discussing how people were staying home more because they perceived the world as a dangerous place they needed to hide from. I understand how they felt.

Sometimes I think we’ve evolved into chaos, created lifestyles we can’t sustain that are only making us more miserable. I’m not cocooning to hide from the world. I’m doing it to help create a new world for myself. I’m not doing it because I think we’re all doomed. I’m doing it because I don’t want to feel that way. I want to feel hope again. I want to be motivated to contribute and the only way I can do that right now is to turn inwards, to treat my home and my skin as protective barriers while I regroup and assess my priorities. If it doesn’t help me to be at peace then it isn’t allowed in.

If I use the literal meaning of the word cocoon, a shell around myself while I’m transforming, I need to evaluate what I allow into my space, literally and figuratively. There isn’t much room in a cocoon, no room for the things that aren’t bringing contentment or joy to my life. I need to protect myself by setting boundaries with people who drain me. I need to treat my cocoon as a sacred space, one that’s calm and restorative. I get to choose what I allow in.

“There isn’t much room in a cocoon, no room for the things that aren’t bringing contentment or joy to my life.”

At the end of last year, I’d catch myself browsing vacation rental sites, dreaming of running away from home. It wasn’t my actual home or the other person in it, my husband, that I wanted to run away from. It was the pressures and expectations of everyone else. With help from my therapist, I realized what I was doing, dreaming of time away from stressful situations while also running away from my life in smaller ways.

Going out to eat several times a week wasn’t about the meal or celebrating any milestone. It was us trying to escape. Our subconscious was telling us if we weren’t home then people couldn’t want or expect things from us. Instead of setting boundaries, we could just tell them we weren’t home. It seemed easier than dealing with potential conflict.

Why was I spending hours every week hunting for places where we could find quiet and solitude when we had a home we loved? Why were we spending money running away several times a week for dinner instead of just telling people we were resting? By the time I realized what we were doing, I was already showing signs of burnout. I was avoiding people, not responding to texts or calls, dreading social interactions, and brushing people off.  My whole body ached, from my head to my feet, as if I were carrying boulders all day. My mood seemed to be getting worse and the current political environment sure wasn’t helping. All sure signs that I needed to build a protective barrier. 

“Why was I spending hours every week hunting for places where we could find quiet and solitude when we had a home we loved?”

I’ve also fallen victim to the art of distraction. It’s keeping me from my ultimate goal of having a home that is my sanctuary and writing out all the stories in my head. I know I’m doing it out of fear, mostly fear of the unknown. If I stop letting the outside world distract me then I no longer have an excuse, I have to do the hard work. I can’t hide from myself inside my cocoon. Like butterflies who build their wing strength by breaking out, I have to do it myself. Nobody can do it for me.

While cocooning I’m going to embrace nature; more real things, less artificial. More porch sitting. Less mindless scrolling. More walking on grass. Less walking on concrete. More watching birds. Less watching screens. I want to feel the changing of the seasons, flowing with the rhythm of each day. I want to notice sunrises and sunsets again, being in awe of their uniqueness even though they happen every day. 

As long as I can remember I’ve been afraid of the dark, the unseen threats lurking in it. Now I’m reminding myself each night that the dark isn’t necessarily scary. The dark inside my cocoon can mean peace, quiet, and rest. The scary things might be out in the dark, but I’m in the dark that’s restorative, a place without all the lights, noise, and busyness of the world we’ve created. “Going dark” means I will need to unplug from the things that want my quick attention, the things that clutter my brain without adding anything of value. 

“I’m reminding myself each night that the dark isn’t necessarily scary. The dark inside my cocoon can mean peace, quiet, and rest.”

My goals for this year are to continue decluttering my home by letting go of the things I no longer need, want, or like; to accept the darkness and quiet and let my thoughts run in those spaces; to trade the time I’ve been spending running away from my life for time spent writing and drawing; and to be more mindful of how I spend my time, money, and energy including supporting companies that care more about people and the planet than they do about huge profits. 

I expect the first few months of the year to be difficult for me. Creating a calm home where I set boundaries for myself and other people will feel very uncomfortable at first, but I know that progress never comes from a place of comfort. I need to remember the old Abraham Lincoln quote, “Discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most.” I want the world, including my world, to be a different place. I can’t achieve that if I am running away from it. I have to learn how to just be. Be comfortable in my home. Be comfortable in my relationships. Be comfortable in my own skin. The only way to get there is to keep going through the uncomfortable transitions.

“I want the world, including my world, to be a different place. I can’t achieve that if I am running away from it.”

Running and hiding from my life won’t help me in any way. I will intentionally create my cocoon, use it to protect myself, and by the end of the year emerge from it transformed. When that time comes, I think I’ll have a different answer when people ask me about my butterfly tattoos. I don’t know that answer yet, but I hope to be able to describe how this year has changed me, how I chose to protect myself from the things that don’t benefit my life, and how I had the strength to sit in my discomfort while changing how I live in this world, in my world.

Regina McKay is the wife of a firefighter, mother of five adult children, and passionate advocate of all things vintage, especially her pink bathtub. She works as an accountant but plans on using her experiences with mental health treatment to transition into a career in Criminal Justice/Mental Health reform. After hitting her rock bottom, she learned for her happiness didn’t come in a pill bottle. She now strives for contentment and appreciates moments of joy when they come.