May is one of those in-between months that feels like a cosmic exhale. It is not quite the sleepy stillness of early spring, and not yet the full-sprint energy of summer. It is the warm cup of tea between what was and what is about to be. A beautiful, awkward bridge month where the air smells like honeysuckle and change, and everyone seems to be wondering if it is time to leap—or nap. This is the sweet spot. The season of almost. And nothing says “almost” better than the metaphor of the butterfly. Nature’s most glamorous late bloomer. Nobody rushes a butterfly. No one knocks on the chrysalis and says, “Hey, hurry up in there.” We all instinctively understand that transformation takes time. It is messy, silent, and sacred. And yet, when it is our own metamorphosis on the line, we start tapping our toes like the caterpillar is taking too long. Sound familiar? If life has felt a little upside down lately, take heart. You might not be stuck. You might just be in the cocoon. Welcome to the chrysalis phase, where everything old dissolves and everything new has not quite arrived yet. This is the pause before the pivot, and it is sneakily powerful—even when it feels like nothing is happening. It is the sacred stillness between chapters, where the old identity begins to unravel thread by thread, and the new one is not yet fully formed. To the outside world, it may look like inertia. But beneath the surface? A quiet storm of transformation is underway. Cells are rearranging, truths are being rewritten, and the soul is quietly negotiating its next leap forward. This is not stalling—it is sacred preparation. A necessary breath before the exhale. A hush before the symphony begins. There is a special brand of exhaustion that comes with being on the cusp of change. Fatigue rolls in not because you are lazy, but because your soul is preparing for a rewrite. You may find yourself confused, isolated, or overwhelmed by sudden bursts of clarity that fade just as quickly. You may be evaluating friendships, goals, wardrobes, hair colors—anything that no longer fits the person quietly unfolding inside of you. This is not chaos. This is the wisdom of rest. The cocoon stage is not for action—it is for sacred surrender. It is a gentle invitation to stop grasping, stop pushing, stop trying to control the outcome with spreadsheets and spiritual to-do lists. This is not the time to hustle your way to healing. It is permission, full and loving permission, to stop trying to force things into bloom and to instead honor the stillness that knows what it is doing. Rest is not wasted time. It is not laziness, nor is it weakness. It is deep, cellular preparation. It is the recalibration of your entire being before the breakthrough arrives. It is the moment in the movie when the main character looks out the window, music rising, before everything begins to change. And even though the audience cannot see it yet—something within them already has. The cocoon is where the old self quietly dissolves to make space for something truer. It is not glamorous. It is not efficient. But it is where the real magic happens. In the soft dark. In the quiet wait. In the pause so potent, it becomes the very foundation of your next flight. Transformation does not happen in the light. It begins in the dark, far away from the sight of the world and so very far away from applause. It starts when we allow the discomfort to do its job. Growth is not a spa day. It is more like emotional composting. Everything you thought was falling apart is, in truth, breaking open. So if it has felt heavy lately, take a breath. That pressure might be the exact energy needed to mold you into something new. The alchemy of becoming is not glamorous. It is crying at strange commercials. It is rewriting your plans on the back of a grocery receipt. It is waking up one morning with the sudden urge to start a podcast, change careers, plant tomatoes, or raise mini-goats.  But then, something shifts. Suddenly, you notice you are not just thinking about change. You are feeling it. You catch yourself daydreaming. You pick up an old journal and write something bold in the margin. A new idea starts whispering to you at night, and it feels a little terrifying—but also wildly exciting. This is what it feels like to emerge. Emerging with wings is not a flawless process. Do not expect to soar straight away. Butterflies, even the most majestic ones, take a moment to dry off. You may stumble, just like a mini-goat. You may second-guess. But make no mistake—you are becoming. Every step, no matter how small, is sacred. As you step into this new chapter, be gentle with yourself. Let go of the idea that you must have it all figured out. You are allowed to evolve without explanation. You are allowed to shift your identity without holding a press conference. This version of you—the one guided by intuition and grounded in truth—is allowed to take up space. What feels expansive right now? What small, brave step is calling to you? Maybe it is signing up for that class on the care and feeding of mini-goats, or finally saying what you mean. Maybe it is deleting the app, the email, or the entire narrative you have been repeating for too long. Maybe it is releasing someone you thought was your friend. Whatever it is, follow it. Expansion rarely roars. It usually hums. To support this sacred shift, consider reaching for a few soul-nourishing tools. A sound bath, for example, can reset your nervous system like a lullaby for your cells. Solfeggio frequencies, especially those tuned to healing, are powerful allies when it comes to clearing old emotional debris. Music is not just entertainment—it is medicine. Or try a simple