Shedding: A Lesson from Leopard Geckos

Dear friends,

For the past 12 weeks, I have been engaged in a transformative weekly conversation with four other women. We have gathered on Friday afternoons to share whatever is front of mind, to hold space for one another, and to serve as accountability partners for each others’ growth.

As the 12 weeks drew to a close last week, I offered a version of the story below as a sort of “graduation present” to my four fellow travelers. Enjoy!

---

When I was in my first year as an elementary school principal, an email went around to second-grade parents (of which I was one) asking for volunteers to host the science lab’s two leopard geckos over spring break.

The two geckos, Gummy and Houdini, were as adorable as their names suggest. When you visited them in the science classrooms, you’d be greeted by their cute little faces peering out from behind the glass of their terrariums. You might catch a glimpse of them climbing their fake rock enclosures or curling up with their spotted tails hanging out.

Plus, they were reptiles! And reptiles sometimes shed their skin. And shedding skin is cool. If we were lucky, we’d get one great at-home science lesson without having to have a pet of our own.

I hit reply.

As spring break approached, I received an early morning visit from one of the science teachers. She eyed me with some amusement as she confirmed I was indeed to be the one to take on these creatures for the vacation.

“I’ll make sure you have plenty of crickets to take home,” she said, “so you don’t have to run out and buy more.”

“Crickets?” I repeated, not sure I was hearing her correctly.

“Yes, Mom, crickets!” my second grader chimed in, “They eat crickets! And the crickets need to eat too. Crickets eat mealworms!”

The amused expression on the teacher’s face suddenly made sense. I thought we were just picking up the geckos, but now we were talking about live crickets… and mealworms… for two weeks.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t worry,” the science teacher said, “You don’t have to store the mealworms in the fridge if you’re just going to have them for two weeks. They can stay out on the table next to the crickets.”

I almost gagged. My husband was going to kill me.

But by now, I felt too deep in it to back out. I was the principal after all! So, I nodded like I had everything under control and agreed to take the crickets, mealworms, and everything that came with them.

When the big day arrived, I loaded up the car with the precious cargo—two terrariums, a plastic case full of chirping crickets, and the all-important mealworms. And also, our three children. (and one hermit crab, but that’s another story…)

The next few days went relatively smoothly, with the geckos seeming content in their new home. Guess who ended up managing the crickets and mealworms? Hint: not the second grader …

One afternoon, I walked into the living room and noticed something odd: One of the geckos was rubbing up against the edge of their rock, scraping its body against the rocks and sand. As I looked closer, I could see that the skin looked lighter than usual, almost transparent.

Was it shedding? It was shedding!

What luck! This was exactly the teachable moment I had been hoping for. I quickly called the kids to gather around. I had visions of keeping the gecko skin on a bookshelf like one would keep a snakeskin or an abandoned bird nest – evidence of a wholesome nature-informed childhood.

The gecko wriggled and squirmed, and pretty soon, we could see cracks in the skin and a separation between the dry skin and the brighter, fresh layer underneath.

Photos and videos were taken. It was indeed really cool.

I even had time to imagine how this would sound at a faculty meeting one day: “Sometimes, we have to shed what no longer serves us…”

Just as the kids were starting to lose interest, Gummy suddenly turned to look at us, opened its mouth wide, and stuck its tongue out.

And before I knew it, that mouth had grabbed a huge hunk of dry, dead skin and folded it into its mouth.

I stared in disbelief, not sure if I was witnessing a miracle or a horror show.

It was eating its face skin.

I gagged for real.

“Wait, what?? Are they supposed to do that?” I asked my second-grader, who was staring with rapt attention.

“Yes, Mom!” He said with some impatience as if I was supposed to know this already.

“Shedding takes a lot of effort. Eating the skin is how they power up. Look! Now it’s eating the neck skin!”

Hopes of gecko skin on the bookshelf – dashed.

I kept watching in horrified fascination. I couldn’t help but think it was a little bit like cannibalism. Or maybe like picking your nose and eating it. I couldn’t look away.

We made some mostly futile attempts to salvage some skin. We did get one cool foot relief that reminded me of a lobster shell. And when we came back the next morning, there was no evidence at all that the skin had been shed. The habitat was clean. Such a major transformation! And it was as if nothing had happened.

At the end of the vacation, we returned the Gummy and Houdini (and the remaining crickets and mealworms) to their home in the science lab. I never did end up sharing the story at a faculty meeting. But the images remained with me.

And now, as I reflect anew on this transformation, it strikes me how much it mirrors the work we do as humans when we let go of what no longer serves us. Maybe the process of the leopard geckos shedding their skin – and eating it! – provides a kind of metaphor for the work we’ve been doing over these past 12 weeks.

What the geckos shed wasn’t wasted.

On the contrary, as they shed their old skin, they used it to nourish themselves for the next phase of growth and renewal.

Isn’t that what we have been doing, too?

Nothing we have shed has been wasted.

While it might seem messy, uncomfortable, or even a little unsettling, we are actually using those old parts of ourselves to fuel our next steps forward.

The old you provides the fuel for who you are becoming.

Just like the leopard geckos.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me. May we all continue to shed what no longer serves us—and use it to fuel the growth ahead.

Sarah

---

If you’d be interested in joining a future coaching group, please reach out to Sarah or book a time for us to chat.