The Girl Who Forgot She Was a Garden
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To the Girl Who Forgot She Was a Garden
(and started running everyone’s emotional AirBnB)
Girl. Sit down. Sip something sweet.
We need to talk.
Listen to me. You didn’t stop blooming
you just started blooming for everyone else.
You were:
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Proofreading other people’s healing,
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Babysitting egos like it paid your rent,
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Serving emotional snacks on a paper plate…
...and calling it love.
Let me remind you:
You’re not a succulent on a corporate desk.
You’re not a decorative hedge at someone’s wedding.
You are a wild, uncurated, fully bloomed ecosystem.
You are pollen and power. Nectar and nerve.
The bees want you. The sun shows up for you.
You're the reason spring bothers.
Meanwhile, your petals?
Dry.
Your sunlight?
Blocked.
Your honey?
They are running low!
And it’s not cute anymore.
You used to hum.
You used to move like Sunday mornings and soft jazz.
You wore that dress — the floaty one with too much personality.
But then?
You started apologizing for being colorful.
You called exhaustion “being supportive.”
You let Carl text you “u up?” … and answered.
You are not:
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A customer service line.
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A Google Calendar with bangs.
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A Pinterest board of coping mechanisms.
You are a garden, darling.
Chaotic. Wild. Unapologetically fragrant.
And absolutely not available for unsolicited emotional landscaping.
Meanwhile, the bees?🐝
They’re talking.
They miss the version of you who smeared honey on toast like it was lip gloss,
giggled mid-sentence,
and danced like your kitchen had a spotlight.
Now they’re like:
“Who is this spreadsheet soul-swapping version of her?”
The bees want your main character pollen energy back.
So do you.
So let’s be clear:
You were never meant to shrink yourself into “low maintenance.”
You were meant to bloom loudly,
in inconvenient places,
during Mercury retrograde,
with your hair smelling like moss
and your lips sticky with rebellion.
Let's Do This!
Today’s mission:
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Cancel the plan that makes your stomach sigh.
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Drop your phone in a drawer.
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Drizzle honey like it’s highlighter for your soul.
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Play the playlist that makes you walk like you just signed a book deal.
And when someone asks what you’re doing?
Smile. Then say:
“Photosynthesizing, babe. Try it sometime.”
MINI RITUAL — For Garden Girls Who Ghost Softly & Bloom Loudly
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Scoop a spoonful of Floral Obscura honey — the one you hide from guests.
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Let it melt on your tongue like sweet, sticky revenge.
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Light a candle. Name it Carl. Blow Carl out.
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Say:
“I am soft. But I do not wilt.”
Then toss your hair like bees live in it rent-free.
Bonus Blooming Chaos:
Go outside.
Touch a flower.
Whisper:
“We thrive in full sun. Unapologetically.”
If someone hears you? Perfect. Let them feel confused and inspired.
And then… she remembered:
She almost forgot she was a garden —
but Floral Obscura remembered for her.
The kind of bloom that doesn't shout.
She waits in stillness.
Unfolds in shadows.
Smells like softness with secrets.
The bees whisper about her but no one dares to define her.
She is the Gelam Blossom.
Born in wild swamps, where deep roots sip from mystery.
Where beauty grows from the overlooked.
Where honey isn’t rushed. It’s earned.
Floral Obscura isn’t here to be pretty.
She’s here to help you remember:
✨ You are not here to be consumed.
✨ You are here to be felt.
✨ To sting, to seduce, to bloom in your own impossible way.
So when you drizzle that thick, wild honey…
when it touches your tongue like a love letter you wrote to yourself :—
Remember:
The garden isn’t gone.
She just got tired of being polite.
🌕 Final Reminder:
You were never supposed to be everyone’s safe space.
You were supposed to be your own damn sanctuary.
You are not low maintenance.
You are legendary botanical chaos in full sun.
So baby, bloom.
Bloom big. Bloom loud. Bloom like the bees have been gossiping about you.
(Spoiler: they have.)
So when you’re ready to return to your own garden,
one slow spoonful at a time,
Floral Obscura is waiting.
Born in mystery. Bottled for your bloom.
Ciao, bella. 🌸