Always Receive Your Flowers 💐

I am deeply grateful for the lessons I’ve learned from each relationship I’ve had. Each one has shaped me, softened me, and taught me something about myself. My longest relationship, in particular, taught me one lesson that continues to echo through my life: always receive your flowers.

He used to buy me flowers regularly. Beautiful ones. Thoughtful ones. At first, it was consistent, almost effortless. But over time, he noticed what he believed was my lack of appreciation. Eventually, he stopped buying them altogether. What surprises me now is that, at the time, I felt relieved. I didn’t miss them the way I thought I would.

It wasn’t until the relationship ended that I began to long for the flowers he used to bring home.

What we lacked most was communication. He never truly knew that my response wasn’t rooted in ingratitude. It came from something much deeper—something I wasn’t ready to face then. I hadn’t yet accepted that all good things come to an end. That everything that lives will eventually die. That endings are inevitable, and that they don’t have to be feared.

At that time in my life, I saw endings as something to brace for, something to mourn before they even arrived. I believed that loving fully meant preparing for loss. I didn’t yet understand that endings—whether the loss of a relationship, a moment, or a season—aren’t meant to be avoided. They are meant to be honored. Prepared for. Even embraced.

I didn’t want flowers because they reminded me of loss. He would spend hundreds of dollars on something so beautiful, yet so fragile, when what I craved was something everlasting. Flowers felt symbolic of death to me. They arrived full of life, color, and promise, only to wither days later. The joy they brought was quickly followed by disappointment. Watching them fade felt like a reminder that nothing lasts.

What I didn’t understand then was that my focus was misplaced.

If I had stayed with the initial joy they brought me—if I had allowed myself to revel in their scent, their beauty, the intoxicating surprise of being thought of—I might have experienced them differently. If I had welcomed the gesture fully, leaned into the moment, and allowed myself to receive without anticipating the ending, he would have felt seen. He would have known I was grateful.

Because I was grateful. I appreciated his thoughtfulness. I appreciated the effort, the intention, the care behind the gesture. But my fear of endings—my fear of death in all its forms—kept that gratitude hidden. It prevented him from seeing what lived beneath my restraint.

If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have worried about how much money he spent on something so perishable. I wouldn’t have measured the worth of a moment by its longevity. I would have understood that something doesn’t need to last forever to be meaningful.

Now, I don’t fear death the way I once did. I don’t resist endings. I understand that they carry transformation within them. I know now that endings make room for beginnings, even when they arrive quietly or take time to reveal themselves.

And now, I require my flowers—in all relationships. Sometimes they come in the form of words, presence, consistency, or care. Sometimes they are physical. Sometimes they are fleeting. But I allow myself to receive them fully.

As I move through a current ending, I remind myself to be gentle with my own heart. To hold what was beautiful without clinging. To let gratitude and sorrow exist side by side. I don’t need to harden or rush to survive this. I can soften, breathe, and trust that even as this chapter closes, life will meet me again—with quiet gifts and gentle beginnings.