Sharing a beautiful story

A few weeks ago, I was on a walk listening to "Grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he's deep sea fishing" by Lana Del Rey. As she sang, "God if you're near me, send me three white butterflies," a white butterfly appeared. Goosebumps all over. I immediately took a photo. I saw it exactly at a moment when I needed comfort. At the time, I chose to believe it was a sign from God. Not because I was certain it was. But because it comforted me to believe that it might be. Then, last night, I dreamt of two more butterflies. Now there are three. And then something else happened. Earlier today, I went to see a healer. I told her, "there's something I want to tell you about butterflies." Before I could even explain, she smiled and said, "that's strange. I saw three white butterflies this week", and showed me a photo. I felt a rush of excitement and disbelief. I immediately told her the whole story; the song, the butterfly that appeared at that exact lyric, and the dream of two more butterflies last night. As I shared it, she said she got goosebumps. It was one of those moments that felt too strange, too perfectly timed, to simply brush past. My entire life, OCD has convinced me that peace exists somewhere on the other side of certainty. Nicknamed the "doubting disease", it makes you doubt everything. Who you are. What you love What you believe in. Your values. Your intentions. Even the things that matter most to you. At its core, OCD is fear. Fear disguised as safety. Fear disguised as resposibility. Fear disguised as a need to know. It told me that if I could just think a little harder, analyse a little longer, find one more answer, one more reassurance, one more piece of proof, I could finally rest. The cruel thing is that certainty never comes. Not with OCD. Every answer creates a new question. Every reassurance expires. Every conclusion opens another door. What many people don't see is how quietly it can consume a life. How much suffering can happen entirely inside your own mind. The conversations nobody hears. The fears that feel too irrational to explain. The endless negotiations with uncertainty. The exhausting cycle of obsession, anxiety, compulsion, relief that never ends. It's like a broken record stuck on loop. You can spend years chasing a feeling that never arrives. Years believing that if you could just solve one more thought, understand one more fear, reach one more level of certainty, then you could finally be at peace. But the finish line keeps moving. In many ways, OCD makes you allergic to life itself. Because life is uncertain. Life is messy. Life is nuanced. Life cannot be fully predicted, controlled, or understood. And OCD struggles to tolerate that. That butterfly gave me something unexpected: peace without certainty. Do I think it was a sign? Maybe. Do I know a 100% that it was? No. And for the first time in a very long time, not knowing didn't disturb me. It comforted me. Life is not a problem to solve. It is not something to analyse into submission, understand completely, or force into certainty. It is something to experience. My entire life, I treated uncertainty like an enemy. Something to conquer, explain, or escape. But somewhere in the space where all of these moments met, the song, the butterfly, the dream, and the healer's unexpected story, I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time. Not certainty. Tranquility. The kind that doesn't come from finally finding an answer. The kind that comes from no longer needing one. I don't know what the butterflies meant. I only know that I stopped trying to solve the moment long enough to experience it. I remembered that not everything beautiful has to be explained. Because whether it was divine intervention, coincidence, subconscious symbolism, or simply a beautiful moment, it reminded me of something I had forgotten: life is bigger than my need to understand it. And perhaps the deepest freedom is realising that it was never meant to be fully understood in the first place. Only lived. 🦋🙏🏻🧿🪬🔮🫶🏻💫🪽