I Can Buy My Own Flowers
I remember the first time I heard Miley Cyrus’s “Flowers” vividly.
I was driving-sans kids and had just put on a more “adult” mix consisting of Lady Gaga, Doja Cat, and Pink.
Wind blowing in my hair, Siri did a fabulous job mixing some of my faves.
Just for a second, I felt like some of the responsibilities of being a caretaker lifted just a little.
Then, “Flowers” came on.
After the chorus hit and Miley started singing about buying her own flowers, I had to pull over.
At first, I started crying; then, I started laughing.
Not the cute kind of laugh, the belly laugh that makes your sides hurt.
No, I didn’t completely lose it.
But, rarely have I ever felt so seen by a song.
You know, the kind of song you sit there and ask yourself, “Is this about me?” knowing fully that some pop star has no idea who you are.
I’m gonna back up here for a second and give you a little background.
Like every chubby, awkward pre-teen girl in the 1990’s, Disney ruined me. I wanted the white horse, the prince, and the big poofy dress. I wanted it ALL.
And in my innocence, I believed that process was like a checklist.
It went something like this:
Find a dude to love me- check. It’s ok if he isn’t prince material; once he realizes how much he loves me, he’ll naturally morph into the perfect prince, and we will live happily ever after.
That’s it. That is as far as my brain took it. There’s way more to unpack here, but that’s not what this post is about.
This thought process led to a string of embarrassing relationships, ending spectacularly when I was 21 and summarily dumped by my high school sweetheart.
And while this is entirely normal and exactly what should have happened, it still hurt like hell.
So, what does a heartbroken 21-year-old do?
She parties her ass off and latches on to the first guy that seems like he might be the answer to her Disney dreams.
That is exactly how I met my daughter’s father.
As anyone who has been through severe traumatic shit knows, the red flags were all there. But I didn’t see them until many years and lots of therapy later. The controlling, the excuses as to why I always had to put in more effort to make him happy, the isolation from family and friends, all of it.
We should have broken up instead of getting married, but I wanted my Disney fairytale, dammit.
What I got was him proposing purposefully while my parents were out of town, an elopement because he didn’t want to get married then, and a staged wedding six months later that felt like I was in a play, not celebrating my marriage.
Before we were even married, the insults and fights were progressively worse.
After we were married, I became property, simple as that.
Fights were open season on any vulnerable information I’d ever told him.
I’m going to tell you right now that if someone uses things you tell them as a weapon to control you, RUN. Run as fast as you can.
In the early years of our relationship, I still thought I could “teach” him how to be the prince I dreamed of. I tried hinting; I tried begging… none of it worked.
Shocker, right?
One of my “love languages” is flowers.
I have always loved how beautiful they are, no matter the size, shape, or color.
I’d always dreamed of my prince wooing me with beautiful bouquets and that, once married, there would always be flowers.
Obviously, I was REALLY wrong.
It took years of me hinting, explaining, and begging him even to attempt to fulfill this one request.
Looking back, he usually brought home flowers after a fight and always just the $3 bunch, not the full $3/12 bouquet.
He didn’t think it was necessary, so it wasn’t. Period.
It wasn’t about the money to me.
It was about the effort.
I’ll also take a second to tell you that if someone purposely abuses you with their words, they are fully capable of using their hands.
Unsurprisingly, the fights worsened, from intimidation and boxing me into corners to full-on physical attack.
The morning after he hit me for the first time, I took our daughter to her first day of first grade.
I walked her in, praying that the concealer on my face was enough to hide the bruise. I might have still been in shock, to be honest. I felt like I was walking through a dream.
Upon returning home, I unlocked my front door, and the first thing I saw was a dozen red roses on the kitchen table. I ran straight to the bathroom and threw up, crying hysterically.
At that moment, I knew I had become one of those women you read about.
The ones you wonder,” Why don’t you leave”?
I thought it was a mistake.
I thought that the incident might have finally made it click for him.
Naïve is an understatement.
The truth is that, from then on, whenever things got physical, I got my roses, which is why I hated them for years, particularly red.
It took a couple more years, but I finally left.
I guess that’s why “Flowers” struck that chord in me.
For years, I expected someone else to give me flowers as if my buying them for myself was unfathomable.
Somewhere during that first year Ella and I were on our own, I decided that thought process was absolute bull shit.
I didn’t care how broke I was.
And I WAS, trust me. I don’t care how much money you make; starting over is expensive.
I decided I deserved the flowers.
I decided I deserved to feel loved and beautiful without the strings.
I decided to do that for myself and that whoever might come next better damn well keep up.
I decided I would love myself SO well that it would take someone truly special to be in my and Ella’s life.
No excuses, no exceptions.
I could buy my own damn flowers.
You don’t have to be a Miley fan to understand this message’s importance.
I’ll give you a spoiler since Disney is the underlying theme here.
This mindset shift is why the Universe gave me my prince-because I was finally ready.
He’s not perfect. But he’s mine.
I joke that I wanted a prince on a white horse, but I got a lawyer in a white Jeep.
And there are ALWAYS flowers.
