on gifting

As a child, I never felt fully understood. I was a tomboy in a household of girly-girls. My mom was homecoming queen. And my sister was captain of the cheerleading squad. I wanted to wear clothes that were comfortable and that I could play in. I wanted to build forts. Play sports. And don’t even think about giving me a doll for my birthday.  Nevertheless, they tried to dress me up, curl my hair, wear make-up, and I kept fighting. I wasn’t being rebellious. I just wasn’t that kid.

So when my friend Madeline gifted me her passion flower vine a few days ago, I finally felt seen. Here was a perfect gift for me. She was potting up her vines to bring indoors for the winter, and gifted me a mature vine with multiple buds just about to open.

On the Five Love Languages test, “gifts” are my lowest scoring love language. And I am not surprised. After a lifetime of receiving gifts for the girl I never was, I eventually lost my taste for them. Birthdays still make me anxious to this day. But it turns out, there are a few weirdos like me who know just what I want.

passion flower (Passiflora)