Perseverance

“Band aids don’t fix bullet holes”

- Taylor Swift, Bad Blood

A man once found an emperor moth struggling to emerge from its cocoon. For hours it pushed and fought against the tiny opening, but it seemed stuck. Wanting to help, the man carefully snipped the cocoon so the moth could get free more easily.

The moth emerged quickly, but something was wrong. Its body was swollen, and its wings were small and crumpled. The man waited, expecting the wings to expand, but they never did. The moth would never fly.

What the man did not realize was that the struggle itself was essential. By pressing against the cocoon, the moth forces life-giving fluid into its wings, strengthening them for flight. Without the struggle, it is doomed to remain earthbound.

The moth’s journey is short.  They spend 2-3 months as a caterpillar gathering energy for their journey before they spin the silken cocoon they will live in for the next 9 months. Dissolving into a gooey “mush”, they are unrecognizable until they reappear as a beautiful emperor moth, complete with wings.  After they emerge, they typically only live for 4-14 days.  Long enough to mate and lay eggs.  Starting the process again for the next generation. 

What does the moth’s journey have to do with bullet holes and band aids?  

As children, we are like the caterpillar.  Accumulating knowledge, experience, family history.... our story. “Food” for our long journey.  Along the way, we also acquire our “bullet holes”.  Loss, betrayal, abandonment, addiction, loneliness, fear.  Moments in our lives where the ability and willingness to move forward is challenged.  We gather the food and the bullet holes and stuff them inside where they become confused and jumbled.  Our own version of the “mush” inside the cocoon. 

We spend most of our lives protecting our “mush”.  When a new bullet hole comes along, we simply put a band aid over it, so the already accumulated mush won’t leak out.  “I’m fine,” we say.  All better in a few days.  Trapped in our cocoon, band aids firmly in place, we are not yet ready to emerge.  

Unlike the silk the moth uses, our cocoons are composed of habits, numbing strategies and walls.  Band aids that we think will keep us protected from the next bullet.  Believing our modified cocoon will keep us safe, but in truth, it keeps us trapped. It may protect us from new bullet holes, but our band aids also keep us from the struggle that strengthens us. Our cocoons become prisons.

When I was a teenager, I remember hearing about two people who suffered profound loss. One woman lost her daughter to illness. Out of her grief, she created a foundation that raised money for research, helping countless other families. Another person experienced a similar loss but never recovered. Their life spiraled into isolation and despair, and eventually, the weight of it overcame them.

I wondered then, and still wonder now, why some people rise from tragedy while others sink beneath it.  How some people grow wings while others remain tethered to the earth.

I don’t believe the answer is simple. But I do believe the struggle is necessary. Struggle can destroy us, yes. But if we allow it, it can also transform us, shaping us into people of depth, compassion, and resilience. Our wounds don’t disappear, but they do become part of our wings.  The perseverance required to keep pushing against our walls is what will eventually make them come tumbling down. 

And the band aids?  The quick fixes we seek to reassure the world that we are indeed, okay?  To reassure ourselves that we are still safely ensconced in our safe space.  They are like the kindness and good intentions of the man snipping the cocoon to let the moth out.   We believe that something external will come along to rescue us, when the truth remains that our wings will not gain strength without the internal struggle needed for growth.  

 Think of times when someone tried to rescue you from your pain too quickly, or when you tried to numb yourself from facing it. The relief may have been real, but it was temporary. Growth requires something more: perseverance, patience, and the willingness to face the discomfort of pressing against the walls of your own cocoon.

This is why band aids don’t fix bullet holes. A band aid can’t heal the wound that demands transformation. A shortcut, however well-intentioned, can rob us of the strength we gain by working through our own bullet holes.

The truth is, we may never fully understand why some struggles break one person and build another. But what we can know is this: every time we choose to stay with the process, to keep pressing against the cocoon, to tend to our wounds instead of covering them up, we strengthen our wings.

And when we finally emerge, whether we find our wings in midlife, in moments of authenticity, or in the wisdom of age, our learning, our strength, our perseverance ripples outward. Our wings become hope for others. Our healing becomes a gift to those around us.

Our struggles matter, not just for us, but for those who will come after us.

The next time you are tempted to cover your pain with a band aid, remember the moth. Remember that the struggle itself is part of your becoming. The cocoon is not a prison; it is a passage. The bullet holes are not your end; they are the beginning of a deeper healing.

You are incubating. You are transforming. And when you are ready, you will emerge.  Wings strong, colors vibrant, ready to fly.

Much love, 

Lisa

Lisa Hamil is a founding member and host for The SOS Collective, an online international women’s recovery and support group.  However, this blog and any classes or coaching offered by Lisa Hamil LLC are separate from and not affiliated in any way with The SOS Collective.