Someone very wise told me the story of the Lobster the other day, and it resonated in THAT way. The delightful metaphorical tidbit way- one that triggers a deep thinker’s rabbit hole journey fuelled by hyper-focus. 

Thoughts? There were a few, so if you fancy a little trip with me, read on…

Lobsters grow, and they outgrow their shell. The shell is rigid, and as the lobster’s body expands, the shell becomes a constricting cage, causing pressure and discomfort. 

So, our dear lobster undergoes a transformation, and the moulting process begins. There’s no tidy version of this. The shell cracks; they wriggle out, soft and defenceless, until a new shell forms and hardens around them. Scientists believe it is a painful process. 

But here’s the thing, that shell is armour. Protection. It’s the barrier that’s kept them alive. Molting is dangerous. Without a shell, they are vulnerable. During that time, they don’t go about their business. They don’t carry on as usual. They tuck themselves away, vanishing under rocks, into crevices, away from threat. 

This part gave me pause. 

Because when I’m in a season of change, a real one, the slow kind or the painful kind, I expect myself to keep going. To stay visible. To explain myself. To be productive while I’m vulnerable. I don’t always protect my energy. Sometimes, I wear a makeshift shell, one that camouflages perfectly into the background of the day-to-day. What can I say? I’m a work in progress. 

Maybe you’re in one of those chapters of your life story now; the soft, the in-between or uncertain. Maybe your old life got too tight. Or maybe your life cracked open, and now there’s space you don’t know how to fill. 

Just like the lobster, humans go it alone a lot of the time. I think we are conditioned to do this in many ways. Let’s be real; the solo journey is one we all undertake at some point: the dark night of the soul, the forty days in the desert. Our Eat Pray Love seasons. Our rediscovery or healing time. But we’re not wired to stay that way forever. 

We are wired for closeness. Evolution taught us that to survive, we need each other not just in joy but in fragility. So, while we might long for stillness and solitude, we’re not built to disappear completely or for all times of hardship. Which means our version of hiding can look a little different.

Dolphins are one of the most striking examples of this in the wild.

If a dolphin is injured, sick, and unable to swim or surface properly, others in the pod will surround it.

They take turns swimming beneath the dolphin, lifting it gently to the surface so it can breathe. They do this for hours, even days, whatever time is needed. They don’t abandon the slow or weak; they hold them up, literally, until they can manage on their own. 

How utterly heart sparkly is that? I loved Dolphins before, but now they hold a new kind of magic. 

Sometimes, we might need to trust someone to see us without our shells because being fragile is okay. Or perhaps being gentle with ourselves while our new shell grows is a kind act. 

To know when to reach for connection and when to let your nervous system be held by silence, earth, and time. The delicate space between being alone and feeling abandoned is nuanced. 

Because the truth is, our growth journeys aren’t the same. The shape of your becoming will be different from mine. Some of us need stillness. Some need movement. Some need to be held, while others need to disappear and come back only when the new shell is ready.

That paradox is where we live.

The dolphin lifts.

The meerkat watches.

The bear rests.

The gorilla stays close.

The elephant surrounds.

Isn’t that something? 

If our life, our experience, is getting uncomfortable, are we being called to grow? Nature tells us yes. 

What will this new version of us look like?

I must admit the idea of going and hiding under a rock appeals to my hermit side more than a little. What about you? 

“Connection with each other, while we walk our own path, is as important as our state of being… The two cannot be separated but must be parallel and singular. The paradox is the balance of the two.” – Vignettes of the Possibly Dying. 

PS- To P, thank you always for your wisdom, humour and warmth.