The time a flower bouquet changed my life

“A garden is a place where if you can’t say I love you out loud, you can say it in deeds and the land will reciprocate in beans.” 

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass

In this case, my flowers reciprocated in puddles

…and I took a tumble. 

• 

• 

A tumble that shifted the course of my life. 

It was the morning after my 29th birthday.  Yes, astrology babes, that’s correct. The year of my Saturn return. 

Bouquet making was a budding hobby and I was thrilled at the chance to complete my first set of orders. This hobby felt like falling in love in the way that excitement and wonder overcome your entire being. When I work with flowers, it’s like I can express love beyond words. Just one bouquet has the power to ease, delight, or let’s face it, annoy someone. A small offering full of so much feeling. I wondered...what could I express with my bouquets?

If you read my last post, you know about the magical Toyota men who saved me thousands of dollars on my car. The homies. During the transaction, I was so overwhelmed with gratitude that I blurted, “Do you like flowers?!” Through puzzled stares and after a beat of silence, they admitted they did.

Perfect.

There I was prancing around my home, designing bunch after bunch, counting down the minutes until I had to get ready for my next passion project: rehearsal. I was on deadline for the florals and the show I was directing. 

And then I heard it...crash! I turned and saw a full bouquet had toppled over the kitchen counter. 

NO! Not the florals! 

I raced to the kitchen and suddenly, I was airborne. In my urgency to salvage what I could, I overlooked the massive puddle on the floor.

It all happened so fast. Both feet were in the air and I couldn’t sense where I was in space. I knew I was in trouble. I landed flat on my back, hitting the back of my head. The second before my head hit the floor, I realized, “I’m alone.” 

Who would find me if I passed out? I couldn’t feel my left arm, having whacked it on the way down. When I looked towards my right arm, I suddenly laughed through my tears…

I was still holding a bouquet and it was completely undamaged. How did I manage that? This detail would make countless doctors laugh. To this day, I don’t know how I did that. I didn’t even realize they were still with me.

What happened next was a series of rushed decisions as the nausea and dizziness set in.

I remember talking to my mom on the phone, forcing words out of my lips, anything to stay present until someone showed up. Before I knew it, not only did the ambulance arrive, but so did my roommate’s dad, my mom, and stepdad. It was a family affair and they were all moving faster than I could keep up with. My body was moving, but I was somewhere else. 

I don't remember that I called my best friend directly after. She lives in Florida, so she was arguably the worst person to call for a direct assist. I just wanted to hear a safe voice. At least, that's what she says I said.

And what about my rehearsal? Or the bouquets? The kitchen was a mess. But, priorities…right.

I would never make it to that night’s rehearsal. I actually wouldn’t see any of those people again until their opening night. I wouldn’t end up seeing the performance until closing night. I didn’t realize it then, but the moment I left the floor, the universe set me on a completely new timeline. And this was only the beginning. 

I was about to learn the art of letting go, and letting go again, and again…and again. Anyone who knows about the art of letting go, knows that just when you think you’ve released about all you can, you release some more and trust A LOT. To trust within uncertainty is one of the most courageous acts I know. Contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with giving up.

It has everything to do with giving over.

Sometimes you can do everything within your control for a situation and you’re still sitting in the middle of your shit show like, “what’s going on?” 

Back to the fall: The doctors diagnosed me with a concussion and I thought for sure that I would be out maybe two weeks with disciplined practices. Every time I asked someone to clarify the timeline, I was met with knowing eyes and much less-knowing words, “It takes the time it takes.” 

You’re kidding me. It takes the time it takes?

“For some people it’s two weeks, others it can be two months, others it can be more…it all just depends on how you approach recovery now and how your body responds to the process. Everyone’s symptoms look different and so does their process.” 

" Okay, perfect," I say through twitching eyes. Literally, my eyes would be tweaking for months. 

The next day, I found myself back in the ER when things got worse and it became abundantly clear that I had no direction on what to do for myself. If this recovery depended on what I did “now,” then I needed to know exactly what to do in the “now’s” of today, tomorrow, etc.

No one could give me all the answers- I would have to be the guide on my body because only I knew what I was experiencing. Weeks later, I found my way to a sports neurologist, who amped up the process. It turned out there were other things going on in my head that were slowing this process down. I’m still figuring that out. Every day, it feels like I learn something new. My symptoms are my compass and they change on a daily basis. 

Today, I’m in my fifth month of recovery and I can officially say the universe has been playing some tricks. But of course, for every trick, there is usually a treat. I'm fortunate to say that while I've experienced setbacks, I've gained many gifts along the way.

Gift 1: lean into your community

It takes a village. The people who showed up for me (in sometimes unexpected ways) were all intentionally placed at different stages of the journey. I’m an independent person, but I wouldn’t be as far along in my recovery if not for my tribe. I’ve been humbled by many moments in this process. Simple tasks became very challenging for me. I learned how to entrust others to help me cross the street, to keep me from falling over, to navigate the grocery store, to drive me places, etc. I also learned how to hand over my responsibilities to my various teammates and to admit when I needed to tap out. 

That was hard for me. I was always the person who finished what I started. While I firmly believe in quitting when something doesn’t serve you, having to admit that you are not the best fit to take a team to the finish line is a tough blow. There was a grief in knowing I wasn't who I once was. Of course, there was compassion and at the same time, it was hard to admit.

But that’s the thing about shadow parts. They come out when you least expect it. Shadows were creeping into my mind from every imaginable angle. I gave over my tasks to be left with shadows. Maybe this was the perfect moment to meet them again. It started with my summer-theater directing job and then continued into my school counseling job. I would have to re-learn how to approach my work, which required creativity, patience, support…and plenty of naps behind a closed door. 

I would be humbled when I thought I was further along in recovery, only to be pulled over on the side of the road, unable to drive. Just when I thought I was comfortable with asking for help, I would then encounter new opportunities where I felt even more vulnerable.

Asking for help is indeed a practice (like most things in life).

People can surprise you. Vulnerability is a gateway for connection. Not everyone will answer the call, but if you're lucky...you have a hand to keep you steady, a shoulder to lean on, laughter through audio notes, and a smile reflected back to remind you that you're not alone...and you are exactly where you need to be.

This is abundance. This is community.

Gift 2: rest as intentional medicine

In our capitalist American culture, we glamorize pushing through and productivity. This isn’t always our fault. We are often pushed to choose money over wellness due to financial need or the desire to expand financial success. The very system itself is not particularly designed to support our wellbeing. If it did support our needs fully, maybe that hunger wouldn't be as strong. So, we can’t be too harsh on ourselves.

It shouldn’t be a privilege to rest. To rest is to resist the system that aims to fatigue and control us. We can't judge ourselves for conforming to a system that promised us prosperity and freedom on the other side. What makes it even more challenging? That sometimes it seemingly does work! But then you start to wonder, who is it working for and why?

"The portal that rest provides to those suffering under the weight of capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy. Rest wants us to see it as an escape, a refuge, and a guide."

Tricia Hersey, We Will Rest! The Art of Escape

What would your rest tell you?

Where would your rest portal take you?

My fall was a portal. I couldn't push through when doing so could prolong my injury. I had the privilege to choose to not push through - something I do not take for granted. There was only one choice.

Enter the portal.

And so I did...and I would never be the same.

The portal brought me silence. We sometimes forget the power in the silence - that there are developments that occur during periods of dormancy.

You don't always need to speak aloud for your message to be clear. The same way seeds take time building roots under soil before sprouting, we too need time to build roots, deciding how we want to grow before we get there. The magic happens beneath the surface - in that which you cannot see.

Furthermore, something odd happens when you embrace the quiet. You’re forced to see everything as it really is. Sometimes, you don't like what you see. That brings us to Gift 3. 

Gift 3: choose another path 

When I landed, staring at the ceiling, it was like the whole world flipped with me. Things I thought I believed or knew started to shift and morph into something else. I started to think that maybe for the first time, I was actually right side up; that perhaps, I needed “the fall” to fall directly onto my new path, a new timeline. 

What if the portal was to a new beginning?

This was affirmed when my pursuit for additional schooling came to a screeching halt.  

I received notice of my acceptance on July 26th (aka two days into a new reality). I didn’t even know until the week after. I could barely read the letter, but I felt elated that something was still normal. Weeks later, I deferred due to knowing that my pursuit to keep up with the pace of the program would be a detriment to my health. My program director advised, “You only have one brain. We’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

My heart was full of gratitude and sadness, knowing that I wouldn’t be back. When I said goodbye this year, it was as if a private agreement was made with myself…knowing that this new path would take me somewhere else. Of course, I can always change my mind, create a new reality. But sometimes you know when it’s goodbye. You know that the path is changing. There's both sadness and wonder. 

Sadness because you perhaps found comfort and love on your current path. 

Wonder because there are infinite possibilities in this world and you deserve access to that which calls your soul. 

After experiencing several shifts in community, endeavors, hobbies, ways of being, I can confirm...it was a freakin portal.

A portal that led to the start of my floral business: Designs de La Tierra! That takes us to the next gift...

Gift 4: find new loves 

In any recovery, some moments are lonely. If you choose to tune in, you become the wizard of your body and your body’s needs. Sometimes those needs and desires change. My first new love? Naps. I have never napped so much in my entire life, but now I’ll never stop.

To love to nap. Wow, who knew? 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I had always been a creative and active person. Ask anyone, I spent more time in my car en route to the next passion project than in my home. But while injured... 

• To exercise my imagination sent pulsing pains to my head. 

• To dance, to move sent tingles and pain everywhere. 

• To read felt like going circles in a corn maze with no way out. 

• To speak, to sing felt laborious. What would I do to pass time in the shower? 

• To be with the sun felt like the embodiment of an egg sizzling on a frying pan. 

By this point, just about every one of my passions fell dormant except for…the flowers. I spent hours in my dining room getting lost in florals - their designs, their colors, their feelings, the endless combinations I could create. They were my new love and all I wanted was to escape in their embrace for just a breath longer. 

Mostly because when I was with the flowers, I didn’t have to speak, look, or listen to anything. I could exist just as I was. They didn’t expect anything of me. It was quiet, but I was in full company. Things felt less lonely in the sea of quiet when I had them. 

Before I knew it, my heart was painted in their colors and my house was full of their new life. Over time, I’d imagine my brain as a hydrangea - sometimes needing extra hydration from all sides. When I disappeared in nature’s embrace, it felt like pouring water in dried soil. My brain was quick to soak up every ounce of liquid and just like that, she began to grow.

When you hang out with something long enough, you learn how it speaks. My time outside in nature or with the flowers affirmed that there is a continuous flow of energy connecting us to land. You can’t always see it, but you can feel it. I felt it when I went to the woods and knew to touch the bark of a tree.

Trees talk. Every tree in my town would know my secrets. They knew the realities I was shifting, the grief of that knowing, and the unspoken desires that wrestled inside my stretching skin. 

Now, when I work with flowers, I listen. I listen to how they want to be arranged and shared with others. My friends will often tell me it sounds like I’m tripping on shrooms. I don’t know what that feeling is, but what I do know is that I’ve never felt this close to nature before and I never want to go back. Really, it’s just about seeing, being, and listening. So many times we miss what’s right in front of us because we’re not truly seeing, being, or listening. Sometimes all it takes is the art of slowing down. 

I fell so deeply in love with the process of healing through flowers that I wanted to share it with others. That's why I started Designs de La Tierra - for our peace, joy, and healing.

After all, isn't it nice to slow down and smell the flowers?

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Gift 5: take your time 

Before a seed can take life, you must cut down your garden. La cosecha can bring you many crops to share, a great abundance of life. When you are done cosechando, it comes time to clean up. Clear the remains of life and make space for dormancy. Only then can new life take its form. Seeds need space to grow and so do we. 

Uncertainty was the hardest part. Now, I’m used to not knowing how long something will take. In July 2024, every night falling asleep, I would look around my room and wiggle my numb fingers in my bed. I used to lay there, heart racing, forcing my eyes to stay open, feeling like I was still falling.

The body remembers more than we realize.

I said a silent prayer, “Please universe, let me see tomorrow. Let me feel tomorrow.” I’d take one last look through eyes that couldn’t process the outer world and I'd let go of whatever would come next. 

And then the sun would rise, I’d open my eyes, breathe a sigh of relief and do it all over again. I felt so lucky to see, to feel. I didn’t know what would happen today or tomorrow, but I knew I could see and I knew I could feel. 

When you know you could be on the cusp of losing something, it makes you hold on just a little longer. For better or worse.

It’s hard to let go of what we love. You always just want one more time.

This was a feeling I knew well. But the thing is, once change begins, no matter how much you want to resist, the call will become loud and uncomfortable until all that’s left to do is surrender to the process. You can’t always rush, just trust that you’ll know when the timing is right.

It’s never enough when it comes to people, places, or things that we love. All we can do is be present because when moments change, then we can say that we were there…we were really there.

Breathe, little one. Breathe and make space...con cuidado y con amor.

Change can be scary; Growing into new realities requires courage. But just like our seedlings, at some point, we’re ready to go from growing in red solo cups to growing in garden beds. 

Taking my time became critical. I opted out of extreme sports in grocery stores and got real comfortable with being the last to arrive anywhere.

But to paint a picture, when I started this journey, crossing the street felt like the scene from Mulan when the grandma blindly crosses the street holding onto the lucky cricket. I couldn’t go down any stairs without processing each step and clinging onto someone or something. 

From where I sit now, I can go down stairs swiftly with minimal dizziness. I can look both ways before crossing the street with CONFIDENCE. I figured out how to dance and do yoga safely in this body. I have made important changes and self-discoveries. There’s a lot I can do - and it isn’t about getting back to where or who I was.

It's about honoring who I am now.

I used to ask questions like, “how will I ever get back to where I was?” But the answer is that I am a completely different person. Anyways, how can I ever be who I was? This version knows herself in a new way and I wouldn’t change that for anything. So no, I’m not symptom free yet and there are moments where it feels like I haven’t made progress. But as we know, progress isn't linear. I accept that there is no rush and this is how I am right now.

Yes, there are setbacks and tearful moments. That's what poppyseed muffins and friends are for. Yes, I have goals to work towards that involve many props and special tricks (shout out to physical therapy and exercise bikes). 

• 

• 

• 

But I am not late to anything. I am exactly on time.

Gift 6: go towards your light 

The road to any recovery takes time. There are twists and setbacks, confusion, joy, grief, surprises, and an abundance of other experiences. Typically, when we hear the word recovery, we assume there is something wrong. While there is truth in that, I think a better way to perceive healing is to witness it as rediscovery. To rediscover is to find what is lost. 

Somewhere in the air, the light left my eyes. I remember looking at myself in the mirror, asking, where did you go? 

I spent weeks buscando la luz. And suddenly, there she was. I found her in all kinds of places - my lettering journal, my flowers, my plants, my first hike, steady hands holding me upright, spontaneous mall trips with hats and earplugs, my first dance class, my first yoga class, my first audition in 18 months, leaving places I’ve outgrown, salmon and risotto, jokes about wobbly legs, my understanding doctors, compassionate eyes and ears, cupcakes, poetry books, familiar faces, new faces, a sunny day. 

Light was everywhere. 

And once I caught a couple glimmers, it just kept brillando brighter than ever before. I couldn’t get enough. 

Sure, there were some ideas I had that people thought were crazy. They worried I was moving too fast again, that I wouldn’t be ready. They just didn’t realize that I had a plan, that maybe I could reach “the summit” in a completely new way. These days, I know about moving too fast. Movement doesn’t always mean “moving too fast.” Sometimes things just look different than you expect, and that’s okay. 

At the end of the day, what’s really meant for you won’t pass you by. This I know for sure. 

So, why not run towards your light? 

Yes, proceed with caution. Turn back if you need to.

Yes, be on the lookout for puddles. 

Maybe slow your run to a walk if you want to…or pause to touch a tree. 

But go there.

My mom once told me (while I was silently weeping in pain lol…the drama), “You fell because of love. You loved those flowers so much, you ran to them. How could anything less than wonderful come from something based in love?” 

Running towards my love and light may have sent me down a detour and into a portal, but I’m starting to believe that I’m exactly where I need to be. And wherever I end up, I’m right on time. 

And when I have no clue what’s happening, at least the world is full of good people and of course, flowers.