You’ve already died. Maybe not in the physical sense, but parts of you have died or been left behind. Death as we commonly understand it—the finality of the body’s expiration—often feels like the ultimate ending, a door that once closed, cannot open again. But in our lives, death is more than just an end; it is a beginning, a transformation, a passage. It is the opportunity for something new to emerge. Death is not just cessation, but the invitation to shed the old and emerge, over and over again, into something different.
This reframing of death began to take shape for me five years ago, during a time when I was grieving the end of a relationship. It wasn’t a physical death; the person I loved didn’t pass away. But in many ways, the connection we had was gone, and the version of "us" that I had known no longer existed. I found myself mourning as though someone had died, because in a way, something had. Our bond had dissolved, and I had to let go of the image of the future we had built together. In that space of grief, I began to understand that death can be transformative, even when it’s non-physical. It’s not always an end but the fertile soil from which new possibilities can grow.
This non-physical death I speak of—the one that I am most familiar with—is the shedding of the old skin, the symbolic “molting” we experience throughout our lives. Many animals do this: they shed their exoskeletons, leaving behind the rigid, outdated shell to make room for growth. In humans, we experience this shedding in subtler ways. We shed hair, skin, cells, and layers of ourselves that no longer serve us. But unlike a snake or a crab, our molts are gradual, unnoticed by us, and often masked by the daily rhythms of life. We don't always see these transitions, but they are happening.
And this is where we find the lesson of the scorpion. The scorpion is a creature that molts multiple times throughout its life, shedding its exoskeleton and allowing new growth. Every time it sheds, it enters a new phase of its existence, more prepared to face the challenges that lie ahead. Much like the scorpion, we, too, go through phases of transformation, leaving behind parts of ourselves that no longer fit our current reality. Some of these changes are subtle—an emotional release, a shift in perspective, the death of a previous self. Others are more apparent: the end of a relationship, a career shift, or a profound personal loss. Each one is a kind of death, a moment when we are forced to let go of who we once were in order to become who we are meant to be.
This cyclical nature of life and death is a concept that many ancient cultures understood deeply. For many cultures, death was not a stark, linear end but a transition, a passage from one state of being to another. The Romans, for instance, revered their crypts, seeing death as an integral part of life. The Egyptians mummified their dead and built elaborate tombs, reflecting their belief in life after death, not as an end but as a continuation. In some Buddhist traditions, sky burials are practiced, where the body is left to the elements, symbolizing the return to nature. These cultures lived in closer proximity to death than we do today, and their understanding of it was less about fear and denial, and more about acceptance and transformation.
In the modern world, however, death has become something we shy away from. With the industrialization and medicalization of death, dying has been removed from the home and community. It’s a process we often avoid or delay, and when it happens, it’s not seen as part of the cycle of life but as a sharp, painful ending. We’ve distanced ourselves from the natural process of death, and in doing so, we’ve also distanced ourselves from life’s natural rhythms.
But what if we embraced the idea that death is not the end, but a vital part of the ongoing cycle of life? Just as nature’s ecosystems are in constant flux—seasons change, forests regrow, old species make way for new ones—so too do we experience these cycles of death and rebirth within ourselves. Every loss, every shift, every ending offers a new beginning.
Perhaps we need to reconnect with this cyclical view of death, not as a finite end but as a continual process of transformation. And this is one of the reasons that, for me, the new course on our platform The Ecology of Death is so important. This course changes the way we see death and is taught by Sierra Campbell, who is revolutionising the way we relate to aging and death. Especially in a society where narratives of constant growth have made us fear the natural cyclicality of life, or where we reject ageing as a normal aspect of living (especially for women), re-evaluating our relationship with aging and endings is truly a rebellious practice.
My invitation to you is to transform, to shed the old, and let yourself step into the new, again and again,.
If you have time, take the Practice for New Beginnings that I curated for the Turn Inward programme here.
