The Circle of Becoming: Self-Discovery •Becoming • Purpose

There’s something sacred about memory—especially when it shows up unexpectedly in the form of something as simple as a flower.

For me, it’s white tulips.

I remember asking my great-grandmother—Mama to many, but always Grandma to me—what her favorite color was. She told me, without hesitation: white.

I had to have been around 12 years old at the time.

“Why white?” I remember wondering.

Knowing my grandma, it likely held a spiritual meaning. She never forced her beliefs on anyone, but if you lived in her home, you were going to respect her faith.

She lived well into her 90s. A widowed woman who never remarried but devoted her life to raising not only her children, but her children’s children. She gave her all until her final days.

That woman was my superhero.

She prepared me for the toughness of the world long before I knew what real hardship was.

Even now, every time I’m in the kitchen—especially during the holidays—her memory returns. I can feel her hand in mine while I cook. Those are the moments she’s closest.

But it wasn’t until a therapy session one day that something deeper came to light.

“You mention your grandmother often,” my therapist said, “but always at surface level.”

She was right.

I’ve done the same with my mother. I rarely speak of her—not because I don’t care, but because I don’t want others to judge her story.

I’ve forgiven her in my heart.

To me, that has to be enough.

But what I didn’t realize was how much I also needed to forgive my grandmother.

There’s one thing I wish she never said:

“You’re going to have to fend for yourself when I’m gone.”

She told me this over and over—starting when I was still a little girl, and continuing well into adulthood.

And those words planted something in me.

A sense of fear.

A belief that I’d always be alone.

That strength meant solitude.

But I’ve learned that healing sometimes means letting go of what even well-meaning women passed down.

Because the truth is: I’m never alone.

She still lives within me.

She shows up in my strength and my softness.

She planted the seed of faith in me with scriptures like “Train up a child in the way he should go…” even when I didn’t fully understand the weight of that promise.

And so, white tulips will always remind me of her.

Of grace.

Of forgiveness.

Of the quiet ways our ancestors still love us… even as we learn to heal from the parts they didn’t have the language to fix.

“May we all hold space for the women who raised us—and for the healing that unfolds when we decide to rewrite what we were taught about strength, solitude, and survival.”

Your Turn to Reflect

🌷 Is there a woman in your life who shaped you in ways you’re just now starting to understand?

🌿 Have you had to forgive someone while still holding onto the love they gave you?

Share your reflections in the comments or journal privately using the prompt:

“What generational belief am I ready to release, and what am I choosing to carry forward instead?”

❤️‍🩹And if this spoke to you, consider sharing this post with someone who might need it. Healing is sacred—but it doesn’t have to be done alone.