You Can't Have a Resurrection Without Dying a Little.

Or... Don't live your life as a beach jellyfish.

Change is hard. I know that's such a bloody cliche, but let's be real with each other. Change is as anxiety-inducing as that glass of red wine your tipsy dinner party guest just balanced on the arm of your white sofa. And the scariest part about change is that it hurts. You don’t know if you'll get a stubbed toe or a broken leg; that unknown is freaky.

I was terrified when I got pregnant with the magical fairy creature that is my daughter. Not about being a mother, no. About becoming a mother. Because to become a mother, you have to give birth, you have to push a seven-pound baby out of 'you know where,' and that's gotta hurt, right? Right. This was confirmed by my friend Maria, who suffered seventeen hours of labor, only to end up with an emergency C-Section, which kept her in bed for a week after.

So I decided. I decided right there and then, after my conversation with Maria, that I wouldn't have a seventeen-hour labor, and I would accept any pain medication they were offering, as long as it wasn't dangerous for my fairy. The unknown is just that, the unknown, so why not invent your own reality? If it turns out not to be true at least you haven't spent the previous nine months in a state of perpetual jelly-fish-like fear (I mean, I don't know if jelly-fish get frightened, but they certainly look like frightened feels - check out this photo from my walk on a chilly Scottish beach yesterday).

In my case, my story unfolded with a loud internal pop (I was sure I’d broken the baby), water gushing, and three hours and ten minutes, plus one magical epidural later, my fairy creature made her grand entrance. My first words after the birth were, "I could do that again." (Although my nurse did roll her eyes, so although I never found out, perhaps I was a tad over-confident.)

Not to say that my labor and delivery were pain-free. I do remember the contraction that set off alarm bells within my heaving chest. But who expects change to happen without accepting the inevitable challenges? You do? Oh, my lovely, lovely heroine. You can't have a resurrection without dying a little. Honestly, what wouldn’t I have gone through to hold my fairy in my arms? Absolutely anything. How badly do you want that change? If you want it badly enough, brace yourself and plan for the wild ride ahead.

This is the core theme of the Heroine's Journey. Once you leave the Ordinary World and get launched into the mucky middle of adult life, the series of deaths and resurrections begins. But that's only if you are prepared to go on the journey.

Life shouldn't only be a series of predictable re-runs. How many times can you watch "The One Where Ross and Rachel...You Know"? All the best things in my life have come from little deaths (get your mind out of the gutter; I'm not talking about the French version). My new life in America came from the death of my life in England. My discovery of who I am and who I want to be came from the death of my dreams of the stage. My soulmate emerged from the ashes of my first marriage. My writing career came from the death of my life as a business owner.

Here are my two cents (although, given inflation, we should probably upgrade that saying). Imagine life as a grand old wardrobe that’s filled with your favorite pilled wool sweaters and stretchy pajama bottoms. In the back of that wardrobe is the entrance to Narnia. It’s a door to unimaginable adventures and new beginnings that would lead directly to your extraordinary life. But here’s the kicker: to find that magical pathway to the life you were meant to lead, you've got to ditch those moth-eaten sweaters of comfort. Yes, I’m talking about all those 'safe choices' that snooze at the back of your closet!

Think of it this way: every fabulous phoenix (that’s you, by the way) must first sizzle into ashes before soaring from the flames. And yes, it’s messy and hot, and I can't believe it doesn't hurt. But what’s a little soot in your feathers when you can fly?

So the question becomes, what parts of your extraordinary life are you missing out on because you fear change? Or scared of the unknown? What journeys do you not even dare to consider because you imagine there is too much danger in the tangled trees of the path before you? Remember, you can't have a resurrection without dying a little. You can't bring a fairy creature into the world without back-breaking pain. So plan for the challenges, create your own reality to replace the unknown, and race into the forest holding your sword before you, ready to battle your shadows and emerge victorious on the other side.

JOURNAL PROMPT: Are there dreams you are ignoring because the changes required to get there seem too scary? Set a timer, and don't think. Just start writing. What are the dreams for your extraordinary life? After you finish, consider how you might have to die a little to let those dreams in. Would it be worth it? What might you expect to have to go through? Can you create a reality to battle the unknown?

Want to take this conversation further?

Every month at Heroine’s Salon, I feature 4 essays from women wrestling with questions like the ones in this post. We publish the essays, then gather live to discuss them—not workshop critique, but intellectual discourse about what these stories reveal.

If you’ve got 1,000 words burning a hole in your brain about this month’s theme, then submit below. Paid subscribers get $50 when selected. Everyone gets featured publication and a seat at the salon.

I’m looking for thinking, not conclusions. Complexity, not perfect answers.

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