Each spring, the rose bush outside our house begins to bloom. The buds transform into beautiful, pink flowers, and every year I’m impressed. How can something that sits so starkly dormant through the winter suddenly blossom into something so stunning? If a little rose bush can make such a magnificent transformation in a matter of weeks, am I capable of making metamorphic change, too?

Even the ugliest caterpillars morph into a beautiful butterfly.

It’s funny to stare at the blossoming roses and silently contemplate my life. As I gaze at the pink flowers, I always notice the numerous differences between each rose as well as each individual petal. Although each flower is different, each is still beautiful in its own unique way. Maybe that’s true for all of us, even someone like me.

I may be a tulip in a rose garden, but that doesn’t make me any less lovely.

Eventually, the blossoms fade as the petals fall to the ground. Winter always seemed like death to me, but really, it’s just a peaceful slumber. It’s preparation for a rebirth, the time of silent reflection before my rose bush blossoms again. Some years, spring comes early. Other times, it arrives later. Does the delay in spring make my rose bush’s blooms any less marvelous, though?

I may struggle to bloom at first, but that doesn’t make my blossoming any less stunning.

I know that my loved ones have struggled, anticipating the day when I’ll finally learn from my mistakes and turn over a new leaf. Maybe I’m the pot that seems to never boil. Perhaps I’m the late bloomer. I understand if they’re tired of waiting for the freezing air to lift, and I won’t judge them for walking away. But I know that it’s always darkest before the dawn and coldest right before the first blossoms begin to peek out from the buds.

I hope my family and friends know that I love them, and I hope they’ll stick around. Don’t give up on me just yet. I truly believe I’m just about to blossom.