Wool Goddess

Peony season in the UK is fleeting, lasting only from late April to mid-June. These blooms arrive in a sudden, blousy burst of beauty, then disappear almost as quickly. Their short season makes them feel sacred to those who adore them. I’ve always been one of those people. But 2024, for the first time, I chose not to buy peonies.

Not because I love them any less, but because I didn’t want them to carry the weight of a season I’ve worked so hard to move beyond.

Last year was emotionally brutal. I became entangled in someone else’s chaos, carrying their drama, their wounds, and even enduring bullying in the process. When I finally began to set boundaries, I was met with rejection, exclusion, and more pain. It left me utterly soul-weary.

Therapy became my turning point. I began confronting the deep grief and trauma I had buried, learning how much I’d been silencing myself to keep the peace. Among the many heartbreaks I processed was being ghosted by my fiancé just days before a holiday we had long planned together. He offered no explanation, just silence. A grown man disappearing like that is more than immature, it’s cruel.

In time, I saw it clearly: I didn’t lose him. He lost me, and any respect I ever had for him. Of course, he moved on quickly, diving into another relationship with the same reckless charm. I truly pity the woman now at his side, because I’ve lived that love-bombing cycle. I’ve heard the flattering words, the blame-shifting tales about his exes; now including me. But I know now: a man who cannot take accountability cannot love with maturity.

So I made a vow. To myself. To the Universe.

Never again would I abandon myself for a relationship.

Never again would I shrink to be loved.

And never again would I date a man who hadn’t done his own inner work.

As an empath and a deeply spiritual person, I often sense the energy that lingers in people, places, and objects. Clearing what no longer serves me has always been a quiet ritual of mine, and this year, I didn’t want peonies tied to pain. I didn’t want to buy them and feel the ache of last year surface.

Instead, I went foraging for wildflowers. I didn’t know why at first, just that it felt right. There’s a quote I once read that says wildflowers bloom bravely even when trampled. That stuck with me. I pressed those blooms, not yet knowing their purpose, only that I wanted to keep something from this time of rebuilding.

Months later, singing along to Miley Cyrus’s Flowers, a song my two youngest sons affectionately call “mine” I remembered the pressed petals and found their purpose. I brought out a ceramic vase I had bought earlier: a sculpted female torso. It felt symbolic. I began placing the dried flowers onto the abdomen of the vase, the very area where I had once undergone emergency surgery.

As I worked, I whispered affirmations.

You are strong.

You are worthy.

You have survived what tried to break you.

This body had carried five sons. It had carried me through love, loss, surgery, and sorrow. And it was still here, still sacred.

Now, the vase sits beside my bed, next to a photo of my five sons and another of me, sun-kissed and free, from a holiday where I remembered how joy feels. Sometimes I place my hand over my belly and say gently, “I love you.” A quiet but powerful act of reclaiming myself.

That vase is now a symbol of healing, of choosing myself, and of honoring the softness and strength I’ve always held.

Peony season will come again. And next year, I think I’ll buy them, not to mask pain, but to celebrate how far I’ve come.

Until then, I hope this story reaches someone who needs it.

May it remind you: you can bloom again, even after being trampled.

With love and healing,