The butterfly people are the ones waking up. Not perfect people. Not finished people. Not people who skipped the hard parts. They are the ones outgrowing old versions of themselves, learning to trust what lights them up, becoming softer and truer, and remembering they were made for more than survival. This is not a garden for perfect people. It is a garden for people becoming.

Sometimes the people who break us don’t become the heroes of our story. The healing does. What I thought was the end of love became the beginning of coming home to myself.