Helping Children Grow Through Big Feelings: Dr. Dale Atkins on The Turquoise Butterfly

Some children's books entertain us. Others quietly give children and the adults who love them a new way to understand what they are feeling. The Turquoise Butterfly does both.

Written as an homage to author and psychologist Dr. Dale Atkins' late mother, Sylvia, the story explores what can happen when a child is given something increasingly rare in our fast-moving world: the time, patience, encouragement, and love to become who they are at their own pace. Turquoise was Sylvia's favorite color, and the butterfly was a symbol she loved, making both deeply personal elements of the story.

At the center of the book is Victoria, a child who experiences anxiety, hesitation, and those very real butterflies in her stomach. Grandma Sylvia doesn't try to talk Victoria out of her feelings or push her to be braver before she's ready. She listens, stays close, offers reassurance and practical tools, and allows confidence to develop over time.

It's a message that reaches far beyond childhood. How different might our relationships be if we gave the people we love more room to become? What if we listened before we fixed, encouraged without rushing, and remembered that growth doesn't always happen on our timetable?

Dr. Dale Atkins recently joined me on The Best Ever You Show to talk about The Turquoise Butterfly, children and big emotions, the importance of grandparents and other caring adults, grief, resilience, peace, and the love we continue to carry with us after someone we love is gone.

LIsten to our conversation below, and then continue reading for more from Dr. Dale Atkins.

What inspired you to write The Turquoise Butterfly, and why was this the story you wanted to tell at this point in your career?

The Turquoise Butterfly is very personal to me. It was written, in part, as an homage to my late mother, Sylvia. Turquoise was her favorite color, and the butterfly was a symbol she loved. Naming a character after her and making the turquoise butterfly central to the story was a way of honoring my mother.

But the book also grew from my many years as a psychologist, mother, and grandmother, and from something I have seen repeatedly: children need adults who know how to simply be there for them.

Victoria often feels hesitant and anxious. She has butterflies in her stomach. Grandma Sylvia does not try to change her or rush her into being braver than she feels. She stays close. She listens. She reassures her. She gives her some tools. Most importantly, she gives her patience, time, and love.

After writing books for adults for many years, I wanted to write a story for children about how we gradually become who we are. Like a butterfly, a child needs time to emerge. We cannot hurry that process, but we can create the loving environment in which it can happen.

The turquoise butterfly is such a beautiful symbol. What does it represent to you personally, and what do you hope children see when they encounter it in the story?

The turquoise butterfly is deeply connected to my mother. Turquoise was her favorite color, and the butterfly was her special symbol, so bringing those two things together in the book was very intentional. For me, the butterfly represents transformation, hope, and the idea that becoming takes time.

Think about what happens before a butterfly emerges. There is a period when we cannot see what is happening. Yet something extraordinary is taking place.

I think children are very much like that. We do not always know who they will become, and we should not be too quick to decide who they are based on who they are at one moment in their lives. A timid child may become wonderfully courageous. An anxious child can learn ways to manage uncertainty. A child who hangs back today may step forward tomorrow.  The book takes place over 3 years to underscore that change happens over time.

I hope the butterfly reminds children, and adults too, that there is no need to rush becoming. With encouragement, patience, and love, we can continue to emerge and evolve throughout our lives.

Grandma Sylvia plays such an important role in Victoria's life. How did you develop that relationship, and what does it say about the importance of grandparents and intergenerational connections?

Grandma Sylvia carries the name of my mother, so there is naturally a great deal of tenderness for me in that character. I wanted her relationship with Victoria to show a particular kind of love. Grandma Sylvia does not take over. She does not constantly instruct. She pays attention. She listens. She guides. She notices when Victoria is uncomfortable and helps her find her own way through.

That is something grandparents and other caring adults can offer children. We may have the gift of a little more time and perspective. We can stand beside a child without feeling that we must immediately fix their discomfort.

And the relationship goes both ways. Children invite us to rediscover wonder, playfulness, curiosity, and the pleasure of seeing something for the first time. Being with them sharpens our senses and keeps us alert.

InterAge relationships can give children roots while also giving them room to grow their own wings.

Victoria experiences big emotions throughout the story. Why is it so important for children to see characters who feel deeply and learn healthy ways to navigate those emotions?

Children have very big feelings, often before they have the words or skills to understand what is happening inside them.

I wanted Victoria to be a child who sometimes feels anxious, hesitant, or timid because so many children recognize those feelings. I did not want the message to be that she needed to stop feeling them to be strong. Learning how to live with our feelings is a key to developing resilience.

We sometimes rush children. We say, "Don't be afraid," "There's nothing to worry about," or "Go ahead, you'll be fine." Usually we mean well, but the child may hear that what they are feeling is somehow wrong. And when this happens, they move more in the direction of fear rather than competence.

Grandma Sylvia offers something different. She communicates, in essence, "I see that this is hard for you. I'm here. Let's find something that helps."

She teaches Victoria simple tools, including the butterfly hug and ways to use her body and breathing to calm herself. Eventually, Victoria carries those tools within herself.

That is how confidence develops. We do not pull open the wings of the butterfly. We provide safety and support while the child gradually discovers that she can open them herself.

As a psychologist, you've spent decades helping people through life's challenges. How did your professional experience shape the story and its messages?

My experience as a psychologist is certainly part of the book, although I never wanted The Turquoise Butterfly to feel like a psychology lesson. Over many years I have learned that people grow best when they feel understood rather than judged or rushed. That is especially true for children.

Temperament matters. Some children naturally charge into new situations. Others stand at the edge and observe before joining. Some need more reassurance, more preparation, or simply more time. Our job is not to turn every hesitant child into the child who runs to the front of the room.

Our job is to help each child feel secure enough to discover who they can become.

That requires patience. It requires listening. And sometimes it requires trusting a child's timetable rather than imposing our own.

Many families are navigating anxiety, uncertainty, grief, and change right now. How can stories like The Turquoise Butterfly help children process what they're feeling?

Stories give children a safe way to approach difficult feelings.

A child may not be ready to say, "I'm anxious," "I'm afraid," or "I'm worried about losing someone I love." But that child can talk about Victoria. Why does she have butterflies in her stomach? What helps her? What does Grandma Sylvia do? What happens when someone we love is no longer physically with us?

The story creates a little space around feelings so they can be explored without overwhelming the child. It also reminds children that relationships can continue to sustain us after someone dies. Victoria loses Grandma Sylvia, but she does not lose what her grandmother gave her. The love, memories, experiences, and lessons have become part of her. That is what I call the "eternality of love."

That aspect of the story is especially meaningful to me because of my own mother. In some ways, The Turquoise Butterfly is itself an example of how someone we love continues to live through what we remember, what we carry forward, and what we give to others.

What do you think children need most from adults in their lives today?

I think children need our presence, attention, and acceptance.

They need adults who notice, listen, and are curious about who the children are rather than overly invested in who they think the child should become.

Children today live in a very stimulating and fast-moving world. There are screens, schedules, activities, expectations, and enormous amounts of information coming at them. Adults can offer something increasingly precious: time.

Time to listen. Time to walk together. Time to wonder. Time to be quiet. Time to try something and decide they are not ready yet. Time to fail and try again.

We can encourage children while still respecting their temperament. We can help them stretch without pushing so hard that they lose confidence in themselves.

Sometimes our most important message is simply, "I'm here. I believe in you. Take your time."

Since our audience loves talking about peace, what does living peacefully look like for a child, and how can adults model that every day?

For a child, I think peace begins with feeling safe, heard, respected, and loved.

Peace does not mean there will never be conflict, frustration, disappointment, or fear. Those are part of life. It means learning that we can experience strong feelings without hurting ourselves or one another.

Adults teach this far more through what we do than through what we say. Children watch how we behave when we are frustrated. They notice whether we listen. They see how we treat people who are different from us. They learn whether we can apologize, forgive, compromise, and disagree respectfully.

And peace begins within us as well. Do we exude peace? Do we look for peaceful solutions to problems? When children learn ways to calm their bodies, understand their emotions, and ask for help when they need it, they are developing an inner foundation for living more peacefully in the world.

How do you personally create moments of peace in your own life when things become busy or overwhelming?

Nature is one of my most reliable ways of returning to myself.

I go outside. I walk. I look at the sky. I watch birds and animals. I notice what is growing, changing, arriving, or disappearing with the seasons. I pay attention to what is actually in front of me.

Nature reminds me that everything has its own rhythm. We cannot make a flower bloom before it is ready or hurry a butterfly out of its chrysalis. There is something both humbling and comforting about that.

I also try to breathe, slow down, and remember that I do not have to solve everything at once. And that there are many things I will not "solve".  Socrates said: "There is no solution. Seek it lovingly." Peace is often found in recognizing that I can learn to love what I cannot solve (a life-long lesson). I do find peace in very small moments: a walk, a conversation with someone I love, time with an animal, looking at a bird, or simply stopping long enough to notice where I am. Counting my blessings and recognizing that everything is changing all of the time also brings me peace.

Finally, if Grandma Sylvia could leave all of us listening with one piece of wisdom today, what do you think she would say?

Because Grandma Sylvia carries something of my own mother within her, I love thinking about this question.

I think she might say, "Give people you love the time and space to become who they are."

Be there. Pay attention. Encourage them. Help when they need help. Step back when they need room. Love them through the moments when they are uncertain of themselves.

And remember that love does not disappear when someone is no longer physically beside us. We carry the people who have loved us well in the way we live, the way we love others, and the way we find our own courage.

And she would remind us to keep looking for the butterflies and would ask us to remember the wonders of our life.

Sometimes they are signs of change. Sometimes they remind us of someone we love. And sometimes they simply invite us to stop, notice, and appreciate the beautiful moment that is right in front of us.

Perhaps one of the loveliest messages in The Turquoise Butterfly is also one we can carry into our own lives: be there, pay attention, and give the people you love room to become who they are. 

Children need that from us, but perhaps adults do, too.

We are all still becoming. We are all still learning how to move through fear, change, loss, uncertainty, and the unexpected turns of life. Sometimes what helps most isn't someone trying to fix us or hurry us along. Sometimes it's knowing that someone sees us, believes in us, and is willing to stay beside us while we find our own way.

And maybe that's another reason the butterfly is such a fitting symbol. We don't always see the change taking place while it's happening. That doesn't mean nothing is happening.

So keep looking for the butterflies. Keep noticing the people you love. And don't wait until an ordinary moment becomes a memory to understand how beautiful it was.

Pause. Breathe. Choose. And pay attention to the wonder that's already here.