A Crown Crafted from my Hands, Worn by a Sweet Spirit

A reflection on 40, friendship, and finding peace in the bloom

A woman exudes confidence and elegance, adorned with a vibrant flower crown, her arms gracefully lifted overhead.

I’ve been sitting with this one for a while because this moment — this crown — feels sacred.

What makes it even more special is that the flower crown in these photos wasn’t made for me. It was made by me.

I crafted it for my sweet client and friend, Carmel — a woman whose gentle spirit feels like peace walking into a room. The kind of woman who carries light without even trying.

And when she told me she wanted a flower crown for her 40th birthday, I didn’t hesitate. I said yes, immediately — because this moment meant something.

The Color of Her Crown

A woman adorned with a vibrant floral headpiece sits elegantly on a leather couch, wearing a stylish black dress and patterned heels.

The first thing that came to me was purple. Not just because it’s pretty — but because it’s royal.

And if you’ve ever met Carmel, you know exactly why. She’s Atlanta royalty in her own right — small in stature, but she wears her many titles with grace and strength.

So I built her crown from shades of purple and layers of texture — because that’s what makes a woman who she is. It’s never just one color, one mood, one title. It’s layers.

The scabiosa told a story — wild, elegant, and complex. The anemone brought in fragility, but its deep, dark center gave space for her intellect to shine. The mum carried that soft pink that whispered “grace,” and the strength of purple that declared “power.” And then there was the lavender rose — a bloom that speaks for itself, soft yet commanding.

This crown was wide, detailed, and unapologetically full — just like Carmel. It wasn’t meant to be subtle. It was meant to speak.

What This Crown Taught Me

Here’s the truth: when I made that crown, I wasn’t just designing for her — I was healing something in me.

Since turning 40 on July 11, life has been a whirlwind. Beautiful, but real.

These last few months have been some of the most resilient of my life. I’ve had to cut out the toxic, pull back from noise, and sit quietly under the shade of peace. And baby… that shade? It’s ideal.

So when Carmel asked for this crown, I saw it as an assignment — a mirror. It reminded me of what the last 40 years have taught me: That strength doesn’t have to roar. That peace doesn’t mean quiet — it means settled. That confidence doesn’t always come dressed in loud — sometimes it comes dressed in lavender.

A woman adorned with a vibrant flower crown sits elegantly on a leather couch, exuding confidence and grace in a sleek black dress.

Giving Women Their Flowers

Making that crown was ministry. Because this is what I want to do with my hands, my heart, my purpose —give women their flowers while they can still smell them.

I want to help her adjust her crown when it starts to slip. Be there when she wants to put it down. Even when she’s ready to give it back — I’ll be that cheerleader on the sideline saying, “Girl, you’ve come too far. Keep going.”

And I’ll be honest — I used to crave that kind of womanhood in earlier seasons. Not the performative kind — the real kind. The woman who says, “Let me fix that flower.” Or “Hold still, sis — let me move your head so the rain doesn’t hit your face.”

That’s the kind of woman I want to be. That’s the kind of space I want Ronisha Arlene to hold —a soft landing for women who pour and serve and bloom.

Because truth be told, I’m building something that’s healing both the little Ronisha and the grown one who’s still learning to rest.

And I see now… God has been preparing me for this for years. Carmel was just confirmation.

The Bloom Continues

Carmel has been my client since 2016.That’s nearly a decade of connection, evolution, and trust. That’s good soil.

So when I say this crown was more than flowers — it was fellowship. It was testimony. It was womanhood in full color.

And as I step deeper into 40, I’m learning to celebrate the harvest of resilience, rest, and revelation. I’m learning that peace can be loud in its own way. And that the crowns we build — for ourselves and each other — are sacred work.

So to my sister Carmel, thank you for letting me craft your crown. Thank you for letting me see myself in your story. And thank you for reminding me that 40 is not the end of anything — it’s the beginning of everything.

Until next time, be peace —and bloom. 🌿