My earliest reading memory is one I will never forget: sitting on our family’s bright red couch reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. I remember my mother softly and intentionally reading each of the words, as if to make them dance around in the air as they slowly permeated my wandering mind. The brightly colored pages and variety of food items evoked some of my most primal emotions, those of curiosity and humanity. To see a creature, which at the time seemed mythical, have the same needs and same struggles as me, was truly an invaluable part of my early childhood. I have often struggled to grasp with my own body and my own relationships, but as long as the Very Hungry Caterpillar despairs for his next meal, I will always know that I am not alone. In effect, I could see myself in him. Inching along, not thriving, but simply surviving, content with the reality that life may never get better. And while that ideal is most certainly bleak and strays within the deepest realms of pessimism, I find it comforting knowing that even the most rudimentary of creatures must grapple with it as well. 

My little mind could not have possibly known it at the time, but The Very Hungry Caterpillar has come to exemplify many of the values which I hold dear today. Doing what is right not only for others, but for myself. Searching for my next meal, not a feast for others. Protecting my own mental and physical health even in spite of the unbearable pressures imposed upon me by other people is a skill I have had to learn, in several rather unfortunate ways. 

For much of my life, I have taken a protector role in my family, but specifically for my older brother. Growing up under a physically abusive father who was particularly harsh on his favorite son, my brother, I garnered a sense for danger and a vehement desire to protect Shane from it. I was already too feminine for my father, and he gave up on me. But my brother was a football player and thrower for track, and so every ounce of my father’s attention was dedicated to him. That is to say, any screw-up was hounded, brutally. And being on the lighter end of his abuse, I took it upon myself to throw my whole soul in between the two of them to prevent conflict. I got burned doing this. I became not a savior, but an instigator who could not keep himself to himself. He even coined a name for me during his ridicule: “extreme Will”, in reference to my fervor in protecting others in an occasionally dramatic way. And to no one’s surprise, my father and I slowly grew apart, until he effectively disowned me in the Spring of 2018, following my parents’ divorce. I bring this up because it taught me an important lesson, which the Caterpillar had taught me so many years ago, that I need to protect my interests first. I recognize that this seems like a selfish pursuit, but I have far too often pushed myself to limits which I cannot handle. And while I cannot imagine a world where I do not stand up for others, I know now that my mental and physical health is just as vital. Ironically, a main harbinger in that realization was the woman who read me The Very Hungry Caterpillar in the first place: my mom. 

As one can probably infer at this point, my mother is an integral part of my life, and acts as my rock both physically and emotionally. She was the first person, to my dismay and original disagreement, to force me to consider the effects of my choices on myself. She was the main reason why I was able to cope through the divorce/disownment, and to this day she remains my spiritual rock. I am eternally grateful for her presence, and I would do anything for her, the woman who introduced me to the Caterpillar. Ultimately, as long as the Caterpillar and my mom stay in my life to be my soulful guardians, I think I will be content, just living.