Like everyone, I have gone through many iterations. As a child, I was relatively happy. I remember thinking well of myself and feeling safe to move through my parts of the world. I remember the first time my perception of myself was challenged. And I remember the sudden shift into self-awareness that was forced on me by puberty.

Adolescence brought a host of new feelings and complications. Layers of sadness and self-esteem issues. Tangles I’m still working out to this day. I did not feel safe to move through my parts of the world. I was convinced I would be shunned by my peers if any part of my inner world leaked out.

College brought a new landscape and a new cast of characters into my life that did not know the previous iterations and did not mind the one I was currently operating as. It was lovely. It was terrifying. And it was full of self-reflection that led me to realize I’m pretty soft on the inside.

After college, that softness was pressed upon—my tender heart raked over the coals as the man I was convinced was my soulmate rejected me while proceeding to be a part of my daily life for far too long. I began referring to my heart as something made from butterfly wings. It was intricate and interesting, and so very fragile to the touch.

And as I’ve drifted from early adulthood into the weird, nebulous landscape of regular adulthood, I have found that I’m still very soft. I have always had a gritty edge when I’ve needed it. I’ve been told I can sometimes be scary. But for the most part, my butterfly heart has held, despite its fragility. And, on my best days, I can see the strength in that softness. I can see the beauty of tenderness and empathy. I can feel the expanse of my love for others and enjoy it.

But the world is full of sharp edges. Pain is a difficult beast. And fear is the darkness to which I often say, “Hello, old friend,” because my butterfly heart can’t help but quiver whenever things start to go wrong.

I spend a lot of time engaging with fantasy stories. From books to movies to TV shows to video games to Dungeons & Dragons, so much of my life is colored by great legends of heroes fighting monsters and slaying (or taming) dragons and razing evil empires to make space for a new way forward. And while I have either bore witness to or taken part in these various adventures, I keep hitting the wall of all that pain, all that trauma, all those sharp edges. Could I really survive, with my butterfly heart, in the face of a dragon?

I don’t know. But I’ve certainly had my fair share of the mundane dragons of regular life. Sometimes the temptation to galvanize those butterfly wings into something battle-ready is very strong. The temptation to callous over, to steel myself, to close the door and turn the lock and throw away the key. But part of being human is feeling, and sometimes feeling means facing fear.

I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to be calloused. I don’t want to give in to fear. I want my butterfly heart to fly freely, even when the sharp edges close in. I want to be brave.

Maybe softness is its own sort of strength. Maybe feeling doesn’t have to be scary. Maybe not caring, as I’ve often wished I could do, isn’t the answer. I don’t know, but I try to find courage in my faith. I try to find it from sharing with my friends. I try to find it in the late-night musings of my fear-addled brain that just wants so much to understand this iteration of myself. Is she too soft? Is she too scared? Should she become sharper than the edges that threaten her?

I don’t know, but I want to believe that whatever iteration I’m living in, it’s okay to hold on to certain parts of myself, even if those parts feel an awful lot like a butterfly’s wings.