From Caterpillar to Peacock Butterfly: Embracing Change and Growth
From Caterpillar to Peacock Butterfly: A Journey of Transformation and Courage
Why I Chose the Peacock Butterfly
When I look back on the last few years of my life, the word that rises above everything else is transition. That is why I chose the peacock butterfly.
In November 2024, when my retirement and pension representative first contacted me, I truly did not understand what any of it meant. In my mind, retirement wasn’t an option. I assumed I would work until I was 70 or 80 because I was the primary breadwinner in my family. Stopping simply didn’t feel possible.
Then, on February 25, 2025, I found myself abruptly retired.
What followed was not relief — it was disorientation. I remember walking on that first day thinking, I should be in my classroom right now. It felt deeply uncomfortable to go from being “Johnny-on-the-spot” every second of the day — constantly putting out fires, supporting staff, and responding to students — to a sudden stillness.
That space forced questions I had never allowed myself to ask:
What do I want to do?
Who am I when I’m not constantly needed?
What does meaningful work look like now?
I briefly considered writing a blog called My First 100 Days of Retirement. I thought about opening a Socratic school — inspired by the Socratic method, which emphasizes questioning rather than answering, group learning, dialogue, and curiosity. But schools require funding, and at that point my pension wasn’t even finalized. I was waiting for my military time to be credited, suspended in a strange in-between season.
That waiting brought reflection.
I began to notice how much of learning — and living — is tied to sensory experience, play, and struggle. I remembered a student I once loved watching at a birthday party. He was building a car ramp, getting frustrated, throwing the pieces down — but he always returned. That persistence mattered more than success. I also noticed a little girl eating cake, frosting in her hair, completely immersed in the sensory experience. I thought about how my own children never had moments like that.
Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to get dirty.
I was around painting and gardening, but I wasn’t allowed to participate. I didn’t learn how to paint until I was an adult when a principal — half joking, half challenging — told me I should paint my bathroom. I let that comment sit with me for six weeks before walking into Lowe’s, choosing my own paint, and doing it myself. That was the first time I learned through trial and error — the way children are meant to learn.
The same thing happened with gardening. My first real experience came while living in an apartment, digging into the ground without knowing how deep to go. A neighbor laughed and told me I didn’t have to dig to China. I didn’t know — because no one had ever let me get that close.
That restriction is a kind of bondage. When children aren’t allowed to get dirty, to struggle, or to experiment, they miss essential learning. Play is not optional — it is foundational.
Then I entered the life insurance and financial services world.
It felt like stepping into a colosseum with lions. I understood nothing. So I did what I have always believed in — I asked questions. I read concepts out loud. I asked for explanations in kindergarten terms. I asked for simple analogies. I refused “magic” explanations and demanded clarity. And slowly, understanding came.
Through that process, I passed my insurance producer exam. More importantly, I transformed.
At Equis Financial, I am no longer insignificant. I am not a number. What I do matters. I can educate, guide, and protect people. Just today, I worked with a Tier 1 teacher in Illinois who wanted to retire at 55. I was able to show her that doing so would reduce her pension by more than $14,000 annually. With clarity, she chose to stay and secure her full benefit. That matters.
Now, back to the peacock butterfly.
While attending Retirement Solutions University in Delray Beach, Florida, with my son, I noticed peacocks everywhere. For a time, I thought I wanted peacocks as my logo — symbols of confidence, beauty, and presence. Later, a dear church friend shared a video about butterflies, and one stood out: the peacock butterfly.
It carried both meanings — the boldness of the peacock and the transformation of the butterfly.
That is who I am now.
I was the caterpillar — busy, constrained, surviving within limits I didn’t even realize were there. Retirement cracked the cocoon. Education, questioning, and courage reshaped me. And now, I emerge different — not finished, but transformed.
The peacock butterfly represents transition, growth, courage, and visibility. It reminds me that transformation is not loss — it is becoming.
And that is why I chose it.
