You Hate Flowers? How Can Anyone Hate Flowers?

I hate flowers.

I shouldn’t say I hate flowers, I should say my trauma hates flowers. Specifically, my childhood trauma.

When I was about ten, my house was being renovated and I had to pick out new wallpaper. My mom laid out sheets and sheets of paper samples full of patterns, stripes, shapes, and colors of all kinds. I couldn’t decide so I asked her to pick one for me. She picked one with flowers. I had a visceral reaction to it. It was disproportionate to the event for sure. A simple little thing like tiny pink flowers on a sample size piece of wall paper sent me into an absolute tizzy and I couldn’t explain why.

“I hate flowers!” I screamed as my insides started to churn. I tried to stop the feelings from bubbling over the surface, but looking at those pretty little bouquets made my chest tight, and made me breathe a little heavier, and got my blood boiling. A wave of fear and panic came over me and all I knew was that I didn’t want to be picking out wall paper anymore. My mom started getting on my case about why I was freaking out, and when I didn’t have an answer for her, I stormed off to my room. She chose the flowers.

I used to be a theatre teacher, and generally after every performance, the parents and students would give me flowers as a way of saying thank you. I would accept them with a giant smile while simultaneously wanting to take the bouquet and bash it over their heads and tear the pedals into a million pieces. It’s hard to describe, but physically, inside my chest and my gut, everything would start swirling around and make me feel really uncomfortable, and the only resolution was to fight or flee. I couldn’t do either so I just I gave a thank you speech and threw them out when I got home.

I hate flowers.

I never really knew why I had such a huge reaction to something so seemingly insignificant. It remained a mystery to me until I started working on my mental health at the age of 35 and started processing my childhood trauma. Eventually, I got to the root of why I hate flowers so much.

I hate flowers so much because my house got inundated with them right after my mom was shot. It felt like everybody we knew on the planet sent bouquets of flowers to our home and to the hospital. Lilies in particular. Walking into her hospital room was like walking into a lush nursery. When she got home from the hospital, our beach house turned into a green house, and the smell of lilies was so pungent it made me nauseas.

I hate flowers so much because flowers remind me of the time my mom was shot and trigger a whole bunch of PTSD flashbacks that I’d rather not think about ever again. One whiff of a lily and I’m right back in 3rd grade terrified that my mom is gonna die and terrified of what she looked like all bandaged up and newly disfigured. I connect flowers to an extremely stressful part of my life that haunts me to this day. I am baffled at how deeply engrained the connection is.

Recently, I started thinking “fuck that- flowers are fuckin’ beautiful,” and I made the decision to try and retrain my brain. I started buying flowers and putting them in a vase in my living room every week. It took me a while to get the nerve up to buy a Lily, but I did. I hated it. Lilies are still trash to me, but I can tolerate a dozen roses and I can definitely get down with a sunflower or a colorful petunia.

I recently bought my mom a bouquet of flowers for Mother’s Day- four pink roses and a few pink lilies in the center. The smell was overwhelming. I still hate it. It still brings up uncomfortable feelings and makes me think about a lot of shitty things from the past, but it’s not as bad as it used to be. And at least the smell doesn’t make me so uncomfortable anymore that I feel the need to drink an entire bottle of Pinot or do some sort of harmful behavior because I’m triggered. I’m able to be triggered, be uncomfortable, and let the feeling pass within 90 seconds.

I’ve learned a lot about myself since I actively started working on my mental health. I’m looking forward to sharing more stories and experiences as I continue along on my journey.

To anyone on their own journey of mental health and wellness: don’t forget to stop and smell the roses once in a while. What I’ve learned so far is that the road to healing and recovery goes on forever. That sounds daunting, but choosing to enjoy the race and not focusing on the finish line helps. Stopping to smell the roses once in a while does too.

I can honestly say, I don’t hate flowers anymore. I love flowers. Well ok, maybe I don’t love flowers quite yet. I tolerate flowers. Maybe one day I’ll be able to truly love them. But that day is not today, and that’s ok too.