Find your flowers

I just read a post written by someone who is struggling right now, and I found myself wanting to reach out to her. I wasn't sure how to go about reaching out because our relationship is new, and because I'm trying to make sure that my behavior is motivated by compassion rather than co-dependency. She knows she needs to take care of herself, and I do not want to get in the way of that. But I had the thought that if I could, I would buy her flowers. And then I remembered an experience I had over two years ago about buying myself some flowers.

It was the first Saturday in June, 2011. Not quite 3 months after I had learned that H had been viewing pornography for at least the last three years of our marriage. I was going to therapy regularly. I was crying at church every Sunday. And I was wondering if our recent efforts to get pregnant (initiated by me; that's a story to share sometime) had worked.

I was driving around running errands to get some special food for visitors who would be arriving the next evening. On my way back from a shop in the country, I saw a small farm with a wide, spreading lawn that was graced by two long rows of peonies. They looked very similar to this:

I slowed down and looked longingly. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen a row of peonies. Clustered shrubs of them, yes. But not a long row. When I was little my parents owned a home for a few years that had a long row of peonies lining the front yard, and I loved weeding the bed and watching the ants crawl over the buds before they exploded with petals and released their sweet perfume.

And then I saw a sign that said, "1 dozen for $5."

One dozen for $5? I could buy 12 huge, gorgeous blossoms for just $5? I couldn't believe it, and of course I wanted to pull over and get some. But I kept driving. Why spend $5 on fresh flowers when in 3 days I would be going on a trip? Why spend $5 on a want when, in an effort to save money for when H would go back to school that fall, discretionary funds didn't really exist? How would H react to me bringing home flowers---would he feel guilty that he had not bought me flowers recently? He didn't need more guilt right now. And what would my guests think of the flowers I had bought myself? The culture of romance I was raised in had trained me to believe that flowers were something you give to someone you admire, and also that it is vain to admire yourself. So I wasn't sure buying myself flowers was an appropriate thing to do, and I didn't feel ready to try experiment with it when I would have an audience.

But as I kept driving, I couldn't stop thinking about the flowers. I imagined them on my dining table, and just the thought of it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I realized how much pleasure I would be able to extract from those flowers. And I could enjoy them for three whole days! So I turned around, drove back to the farm, parked in the long, semi-circle driveway, and waslked toward the two long rows. As I approached the beds, I was surprised to find that I was crying. I cried pretty frequently at this stage of my life, but I was confused as to why I was crying at that particular moment. A little embarrassed, I wiped my cheeks with my hands as I was greeted by the middle-aged woman who had inherited the farm and its heirloom peonies. She clipped the exact peonies I wanted, and because some were small, she threw in a thirteenth peony. It was so hard to choose between the varying shades of pink, from tinted white to deep magenta. My selections spanned the spectrum. If you put these two bouquets together, you can imagine what it looked like.

 

  

Breathtaking isn't the word; they looked and smelled so good they inspired me to breathe. To breathe more, and to breathe more deeply. I brought them home, put them in a vase, and just as I had imagined, experienced pleasure every time I looked at them and smelled them for the next three days.

At my next appointment with my therapist, I told him about the peonies. It seemed like a silly thing to bring up in therapy, but it seemed too important not to mention. As I told him about buying them, I started crying again. I felt embarrassed that I was crying over such a small thing, and I tried to change the subject to my more serious concerns. But he asked me to think more about why buying flowers was such an emotional experience. I thought about it some more, and I realized that this simple act of buying myself something I loved so much for the sake of my own pleasure was an extremely important act of self-care.

One of the clearest, strongest,and most repeated impressions I have had from God since finding out about H's pornography use has been to take care of myself. I am still learning how to take care of myself, but in the last two years I have learned a lot about why it is so important for me to stay well, what keeps me well, and how to prioritize the things that contribute to my wellness.

To all of the women reading this, who know the pain that I have felt, I wish I could send you flowers. But even more than that, I hope that when flowers are what you need, you are able to find them for yourself.

Dahlias I bought for myself on my 28th birthday in September 2011.