The Dragonfly That Found Me

🪷 The Dragonfly That Found Me

How One Tiny Winged Wonder Reminded Me I'm Still Here

I wasn’t looking for a sign.
But I got one anyway.

A few days before it happened, I had a dream — soft, strange, and glimmering. In it, a dragonfly landed on my hand and simply stayed there. No buzzing, no flitting away. It rested like it belonged there, like I belonged somewhere too. I woke up with that image still in my mind. I even whispered to myself, “Weird.” But I carried on.

Three days later, it wasn’t a dream.

I stepped outside, heart heavy with everything I hadn’t said and everything I couldn’t fix. That kind of heaviness doesn’t always show on your face, but you feel it in your bones — the quiet ache of grief, the slow burn of being misunderstood, the weight of simply surviving.

That’s when I saw it.
A real dragonfly.
Floating toward me.

And not just passing by — it landed. Right in front of me. Right in my path. Almost daring me to notice.

I froze. Then I smiled. Then I cried.
Because deep down I knew… this wasn’t random.

🧭 A Symbol That Chose Me

Dragonflies mean a lot of things — transformation, adaptability, light in the darkness. But to me, in that moment, it meant:
🟢 You're still here.
🟢 You’re still growing.
🟢 You don’t have to rush or be perfect or “fly” all the time.

This little creature, so fragile and fierce, reminded me that change doesn’t mean the end — it means the middle. The becoming. The awakening.

💭 Why I Share This With You

Maybe you’re tired too. Maybe you're navigating grief, like I am. Maybe you’re quietly healing from something no one else sees. Or maybe you’re just trying to remember who you are — underneath the expectations, the labels, the loss.

If so, I want to tell you this:
There’s still a dragonfly out there for you.
Maybe not a literal one (though hey, you never know).
But a moment. A reminder. A breath of unexpected beauty that shows up and whispers:
You’re still here. And that matters.

💌 From My Wings to Yours

That’s why the dragonfly appears throughout my books, my network, my logo, and even my dreams.
It’s not decoration.
It’s declaration.

A quiet one.
But a powerful one.

You’re still here.
And you’re not alone.