Don’t think death, think metamorphosis. For me, it isn’t just a clever turn of phrase; it’s a lifeline I’ve clung to. For years I felt like I was drowning. My job crumbled, a relationship ended, and the rug was pulled out from under my carefully constructed life. It felt like death – the death of my dreams, my security, my sense of self. The grief was suffocating, a heavy burden of regret and despair. I've spent weeks curled in a ball, convinced that this was it, the final chapter. But something shifted. A tiny spark, flickering in the darkness. It wasn’t a sudden epiphany, more like a slow, agonizing thawing. I started noticing small things: the way the sunlight slanted through my window in the mornings, the comforting weight of my blanket, the quiet strength in a single plant pushing through cracked pavement. These small beauties, previously overlooked in my self-imposed misery, began to whisper a different story. ## Get Rowan Brad Quni’s stories in your inbox Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer. Subscribe The “death” I had been mourning wasn’t an ending, but a shedding. Like a snake sloughing off its old skin, I was leaving behind the person I had been – the person defined by successes, relationships, material possessions. That person was gone, yes, but in his place was a space, a void ripe with possibility. The metamorphosis was slow, painful, and often messy. There were days I stumbled, days I wanted to retreat back to the familiar comfort of my grief. But I kept moving, inch by agonizing inch. I started volunteering, rediscovering a passion for writing I had neglected, and slowly, tentatively, began to rebuild my life, not on the foundations of what I had lost, but on the bedrock of what I had learned. This new life isn’t perfect. The scars remain, a reminder of the intensity of the experience. But they are also a testament to my resilience, a map charting the path I’ve traveled. The "death" was a necessary prelude to the metamorphosis, a crucible forging something stronger, more resilient, and ultimately, more authentic. And that, I realize now, is a gift. The gift of rebirth. The gift of becoming. 10 [](https://medium.com/m/signin?operation=register&redirect=https%3A%2F%2Fmedium.com%2F%40QNFO%2Fthe-gift-of-becoming-4a921c94c9ee&source=-----4a921c94c9ee---------------------list------------------) [ ](https://medium.com/tag/life?source=post_page-----4a921c94c9ee---------------------------------------)