The Wings I Have Yet To Earn

By Jamella Ellise

”It is in being the caterpillar that you become the butterfly” — John Harricharan

It was one of my seventeenth birthday celebrations, standing on the fragile bridge between childhood and adulthood. I spent this specific afternoon with the friends I had known since grade school, the ones who witnessed every version of me, my victories and insecurities, and somehow still stayed. As I admired the swaying trees, blossoming flowers, the gleaming pedal boats drifting ever so peacefully along the soft ripples of the tranquil lake, and the cool, yet comforting breeze that lingered in the air, I almost missed the caterpillar moving slowly on a leaf. My friends drifted away, their laughter fading into the distance, but I got left behind, standing in awe while looking at the tiny green creature, wondering if it knew what awaited it. Did it realize that one day it would become a butterfly with graceful wings, or did it simply continue moving forward, unaware that every inch brought it closer to something extraordinary?

Long after we left the park, I carried that moment with me. Strangely enough, it reminded me much of myself. Growing up, I believed confidence was something one was born with and I just wasn’t part of the lucky few. I spent years preferring to stay unnoticed, rehearsing answers endlessly in my mind yet never found the courage to raise my hand. Even if I knew the answer by heart, fear whispered louder than certainty ever could. While my classmates spoke effortlessly with confidence, I chose silence because it felt safer, silence could never humiliate me.

I was never incapable.

I was simply afraid.

Fear rarely announces itself loudly but instead, it disguises itself as hesitation. My quietness was not born from a painful experience, it was merely a fear that quietly took residence. To compensate for the voice I could never seem to use, I buried myself in schoolwork, believing that if I could not be heard, perhaps I could at least be recognized. That determination eventually led me to become the valedictorian. Yet even with the gold medals around my neck, I still felt like the same timid child hiding behind perfect grades. Achievement filled my résumé, but it could never fill the empty space where confidence was meant to grow.

I often wonder how many versions of myself fear has quietly buried. The girl who almost raised her hand, the girl who almost spoke, the girl who almost believed she was enough. Sometimes, I grieve for all the “almosts.”

Everything shifted during the summer before 10th grade. I sat alone in my bedroom, surrounded by the memories from the nine years I spent in my beloved alma mater. Although I had grown academically, I had not yet become the person I wanted to be, I strived and dreamed for more. With this being my final year in junior high, I wanted to enjoy, leave a legacy that I could look back on and be proud of myself, and become someone my younger self would have imagined and admired. Confidence is not something that happens overnight, I had to build it myself, brick by brick, promising to conquer every obstacle. I had to meet fear halfway, knowing that growth begins the moment we accept change. I embraced the saying “Fake it ‘till you make it,” if I acted confident enough, I would soon adapt to it, right?

One opportunity came after another, I joined essay and journalism events, hoping to find my voice through words before I could find it through speaking. Small victories slowly transformed into bigger ones. They became quiet reminders that courage does not always arrive in such grand moments but soon I began representing my school in quiz bees, participating in my school’s leadership conferences, even in Manila and Tokyo, and serving in the student council’s socio-cultural committee, writing event flows and host scripts, being closer than ever to a dream that once felt impossible.

Eventually, I found myself standing on stage before an audience, trembling slightly with a script in my left hand and a microphone in my right, looking into the faces of people who had watched me struggle for years. I made my debut as a host and I still remember how tightly I held that microphone. I smiled, spoke, and carried the program through to the very end.

But when it was all over, all I could hear were my own mistakes. Isn’t it strange how the mind remembers criticism with perfect clarity, yet lets the kindness slip away so easily?

Self-doubt echoed louder than any applause ever could.

For days, I questioned whether I truly belonged beneath those shining lights or if I had made a mistake by trying. Yet somewhere within that disappointment was another realization: criticism was not the end of my journey, it simply showed me where to improve. The challenges didn’t stop there. I enrolled in a pageantry academy and joined my school’s intramurals pageant. If someone told my younger self that I willingly stood under bright lights while hundreds looked my way, she would have been in disbelief. I walked in six-inch heels, I twirled, and smiled despite the nervousness hidden under every graceful step.

For the first time, I truly believed I had become the butterfly I spent years chasing.

Then life asked me to begin again.

I transferred to a new school, all the confidence I spent years building had seemingly crumbled overnight. No one knew the competitions I won, the speeches I delivered, the nights I spent rehearsing until fear no longer controlled me. It felt as though I spent years growing wings, only to wake up and find myself back in a cocoon. Was it all just a dream? I was back in square one and I had to prove myself again to everyone.

“If nothing ever changed, there would be no such thing as butterflies.” - Wendy Mass.

Although discouragement found its way into my heart, I refused to believe my journey had been erased. No new environment could strip away my courage, I found my footing and became a class officer, consistent group leader, and volunteered to report in front of class.

But in one blink, it all changed again. Life asked me to begin once more.

Today, I am in 12th grade surrounded by unfamiliar people and a completely new environment. There are days when I doubt myself again, fear quietly sits beside me every morning. School has only been underway for a month, and some days I still feel like that timid child searching for the courage to raise her hand. But there is one difference now, I realized that becoming a butterfly was never the lesson, it was to keep crawling even when transformation cannot be seen.

Ce n’est que le début - this is only the beginning.

And in the near future, I hope I can finally spread the wings I have been rebuilding for so long but maybe the wings I have yet to earn aren’t waiting somewhere in the future. Maybe they’ve been growing quietly all along and I was simply too busy looking for butterflies to notice them.