Wool Goddess

When I sit and crochet in my bedroom, there’s always a vase of flowers nearby. I smile at them often. Flowers, to me, are non-negotiable. No matter how skint I am, I’ll always buy them, they bring me joy, and that’s reason enough.

One day, while gazing at my vase, I started thinking… how much this little object mirrors our relationships.

A handmade vase emerges from the kiln with quirks and charm, perfect in its own way. Unique. Magical. Then, one day, someone places a bunch of roses inside it. Suddenly, the vase feels seen. Chosen. Loved. The flowers light it up from within.

Some vases get to hold their forever roses; lasting, loyal, inseparable. But others? They hold on to bouquets they hope will last forever. They convince themselves the roses are enough; that they’re happy. That they’re lucky to hold something so beautiful. Even when the petals start to wilt and the water turns stale.

The signs are there, the fading colour, the sour smell. But the vase tells itself, These are my roses. They make me feel special. So it stays silent. And slowly, silently, the love it holds begins to rot.

Still, it holds on.

Because letting go means facing the emptiness. And sometimes, we’re so desperate to feel whole again that we rush to replace the bouquet. We stuff in new roses before clearing out the old gunk. The mould of past pain, the whispers of self-doubt: Maybe I’m not special. Maybe I’m not beautiful. Maybe I don’t deserve more…

The vase becomes a validation junkie, chasing fresh flowers to feel loved again.

But the new roses don’t last either. And we blame ourselves. We think we’re broken.

But what if…..just what if…..we took a different approach?

What if we paused, cleared out the vase, and gave it a deep clean? Scrubbed out the hidden corners. Poured out the toxic water. Faced the mess we were too afraid to look at before.

And then… let it sit in the sun. Let it dry. Let it breathe.

What if we refilled it, not with just any roses, but with clean water, the good nutrients, and love that actually nourishes?

Or maybe… maybe the vase doesn’t even need roses right now. Maybe it’s content just being a beautiful, whole, perfectly imperfect vase. It knows its worth. It honours its cracks. It whispers to itself daily, I am a Goddess.

Because it let go of the dead roses. It did the inner work. And now, it’s no longer searching for flowers to make it feel special.

It already knows it is.

Love and healing hugs