FEMINISM

Fuck It, I Gave Myself My Own Damn Flowers

Because I refuse to wait until I die to get em.

The best Valentine’s Days I ever experienced were the ones I spent single. 2023 was no exception.

I had been single for three years after a devastating breakup from a very abusive narcissist.

For three years, I had a break from disappointing Valentine’s Day. Like the one in 2008 when my great-grandmother passed the night before.

My ex at the time publicly gave another girl a Valentine at school while I was at home consoling my mom.

Or from 2011–2013, when another ex figured sex was the best give I could receive.

Then there was Valentine’s Day of 2014, involving an ex hitting up his ex to tell her how much he missed her.

In each case, I went all out.

Holidays were always important in my house; it was ingrained in me to celebrate the people I love. I was taught to give people their flowers.

The problem was I tolerated so much dismissal because I was not taught to receive them. I had not realized I could give them to myself.

That all changed last year.

There were no men in my life in 2023.

Including male friends.

After a series of betrayals and friendships that ended because I either wasn’t going to put out or because they had partners demand to cut me off, I was tired.

I didn’t want to be bothered. I desired the peace of being alone and not having a man (any man) to deal with.

Friend or lover.

Valentine’s Day was brighter.

There were no expectations, so there were no letdowns. I was working for myself and making my own money.

Not only could I treat myself, but I was finally aware that I could. I was not prioritizing anyone else before myself.

It was not about a boyfriend or wondering if someone else would find me special enough to celebrate. There was no man to answer to or wait around for.

I had the choice to fall in love with myself if I wanted to; I was finally at a place where I genuinely did. The freedom to be feminine is underrated.

Aside from doing something special for my mom, I spent the day making myself feel loved, valued and appreciated.

I gave them their flowers.

It all started with a trip to Family Dollar.

The evening before Valentine’s Day.

I walked in and noticed they had roses for sale.

Something you should know?

I love flowers, and I love buying myself flowers even more. I never got around to doing that for myself the previous year.

I was focused on giving my mom an unforgettable Valentine’s Day, which included getting her artificial roses since she likes those better because they never die.

I prefer real flowers.

To me, plants are sacred.

Even though they die, I cherish what little time we have with those living beings.

Now, I had the perfect opportunity to not only get some flowers but to give myself my own damn flowers.

But it wouldn’t be the first time I did.

A tradition birthed from heartbreak.

When I was a freshman in college, I experienced a tough breakup with an older man I had no business dating.

My heart was raw but I was at that place where I knew I would be alright because I would be without him.

As I ran the city streets with a classmate, we walked into a nearby Duane Reade. There, I saw a purple rose.

It was artificial but I felt pulled to buy it. So I did, and as I held onto it, everything shifted. It was the first time I had ever bought myself flowers.

And it felt good.

It felt sacred.

I still had it until last year, when it fell apart after 12 years.

Since then, buying myself flowers has become a self-love ritual I saved for sacred moments. That Wednesday night was no different.

I chose my rose carefully.

I had a choice between a bouquet or a single white, yellow, red, or pink rose. I chose a single white rose.

White roses symbolize:

• youthfulness
• eternal loyalty
• and new beginnings

My newfound independence (or my ability to embrace it) was still in its first few breaths of life.

This new beginning was still extremely new, and there was a need to celebrate that. I’ve come a long way from codependency.

It’s taken some wild experiences to accept my path, which means walking it solo most of the time.

It felt fitting to choose one rose to represent the beauty I’ve finally found in not being part of a crowd or a couple.

Plus, I’ve always found a classic sense of elegance in a single rose; although the color otherwise wouldn’t have mattered — that night, it did.

I deserve it.

I’ve been on a long journey with me.

I’ve developed a newfound sense of endless loyalty toward myself, whereas I was detrimentally self-sacrificing.

I protect myself out of love instead of fear now, and I’m finally settling into it being me and me throughout life.

For the first time in my life, I can actually tell you that I do love myself (and every era of who I’ve been).

Achieving self-love is hard as hell to do, and the fact that I even have the strength and the courage to get started is why I deserve my own damn flowers. For such an intimate achievement, the only person who could give me my flowers is me.

And to be honest, being the one to give them to myself made them matter more. It was a personal moment of solidarity. It was pure love and recognition between me and myself.

It was our moment.

Loving myself was and is our thing; this wasn’t something somebody else did for me, especially out of obligation. It was something I did for myself.

I considered myself.

It was me making myself a high priority and giving the old me her flowers because she got me here. I never could’ve done it without her.

Acts of self-love make sense now.

It makes sense now.

Everywhere you go, there you are.

Everywhere I go, I take me with me.

From my shadow side to my inner child. I keep every aspect of me in mind and bond with my selves daily. I make time to love myself by getting to know myself.

I celebrate myself and the little things about me that have always gone overlooked. I celebrate my little wins. Actively showing myself love makes sense now.

I’m protective over my ability to do that because it took nearly 30 years to reach this point, but I made it; some people will never experience that.

So, you’re damn right, I gave myself my own damn flowers.

I had every right and every reason to celebrate the simple milestone of being me, especially on a day devoted to love.

And yes, I got my favorite girl (my mom) her own flowers too.

I guess the lesson here is:

Give people their flowers while they’re still alive to receive them.

Do not wait until it’s too late, and don’t forget that this also includes you giving yourself your own damn flowers too . Not only because you should.

But because you fucking can.

©Linda Sharp 2024. All Rights Reserved.