The Rose Diaries: The Meaning Behind My Name

Becoming the Rose I Was Meant to Be

For as long as I can remember, “Rose” has felt more like who I am than the name I was born with. It’s a name that carries softness and strength, both of which I had to learn the hard way. This piece, like all in The Rose Diaries, is a reflection on identity, healing, and the strength it takes to bloom after being buried in pain.

The Name I Chose: Why I Call Myself Rose

A Name That Was Never Mine

Names are supposed to tell a story, but mine never felt like my own. I was named after my father, a decision that came from my mother’s desire for control rather than love. She couldn’t even allow me the freedom of a name that belonged only to me. It was another way to make me an extension of her choices, her image, her rules. From the start, my identity was something I had to fight for.

The One Who Saw Me

But there was one person who saw something more. My grandmother. She called me Rose from the day I was born. It was her quiet rebellion against the name my mother gave me. To her, Rose meant beauty with strength. She used to say that I was delicate, but never weak. That I would grow through the hardest conditions and still manage to bloom. My grandmother and my father were the only ones who ever made me feel like I was worth loving.

The Shadow of a Mother

My mother was the opposite of love. She was a narcissistic, manipulative woman who used affection as a weapon. Every part of my childhood was about meeting her needs, her moods, her expectations. I was trained to silence my own pain and desires to keep her comfortable. I learned early that wanting anything for myself came with punishment. To her, I existed only to serve, to please, to reflect her illusions.

Growing up in that kind of control teaches you to disappear. It strips away your voice until you forget you ever had one. But even in that darkness, there was my grandmother’s voice, soft but unyielding, calling me Rose.

Becoming the Rose

That name became my lifeline. It reminded me that I was more than the version my mother created. It became a symbol of the person I was meant to be. A rose carries both beauty and defense. It offers softness and fragrance, but it also protects itself. That is what I had to learn. To protect my spirit without losing my heart.

Calling myself Rose is not just about honoring my grandmother. It is about reclaiming what was taken from me. It is a name that holds pain, love, and rebirth all in one word. When I use it, I remind myself that I am no longer the child who had to beg for approval. I am the woman who grew her own identity from the thorns that tried to choke her.

Why the Rose Endures

The rose is more than a flower to me. It is a symbol of survival. It represents the beauty that rises from hurt, the dignity that survives betrayal, and the  power of becoming your own person. It reminds me that love can exist even in broken soil.

Every time I sign a post as Rose, I honor the parts of me that refused to die under my mother’s control. I honor my grandmother, who saw my worth before I did. I honor the child who once felt invisible and the woman who now stands fully in her truth.

I call myself Rose because it is the name I chose for myself. The name that was given in love, not control. The name that reminds me who I really am.

Be The Magical Rose 🌹✨

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