I Bought Myself Flowers and Didn’t Feel Stupid

Dear Delyara, I know this will sound ridiculous to some people, but I bought myself flowers last Thursday and then sat in the car crying. Not because I was sad. Because I realized how unfamiliar simple kindness still feels when it’s directed at me. I have spent most of my life earning affection through usefulness. Being helpful. Being good. Being low-maintenance. Being the one who understands. I never learned how to receive care without suspecting I owed something in return. So when I stood in the supermarket holding those flowers and thought, I want these, my first instinct was to put them back. Waste of money. Pointless. Embarrassing. I bought them anyway. They sat on my kitchen table all week, and every time I passed them I felt this strange, quiet softness in my chest. Maybe self-love begins like that — not as a huge declaration, but as a small refusal to deny yourself tenderness.