Becoming a Floral Storyteller

A joyful expression of nature: The floral storyteller radiates happiness, adorned with vibrant foliage against a lush, green backdrop.

To become anything, you first have to come from something. To become a storyteller, you first have to collect data.

And you might be asking—what kind of data is a floral storyteller collecting? Because I, Ronisha Arlene, am not just a storyteller. I am a floral storyteller. And I don’t just tell any story. I tell the story of the African American woman.

Her movements in her curves. The statue in her stance. The textures in her style. The boldness in her color.

For the last forty years, I’ve been collecting data. From every room I’ve walked into, every conversation I’ve leaned in on, every woman who pulled me close enough to whisper their truths. And yes, I pat myself on the back because this data? It’s sacred. It’s weighty. It’s costly.

Ronisha Arlene has done the flowers behind each of these black women

And here’s the truth: the story of the African American woman is dying.

The Weight She Carries: Floral Storyteller

Many people call themselves storytellers, but what story are they really telling? Are they telling the story of how she carried not only the African American family but the weight of the nation on her back?

I once saw a piece of art—an African American man holding the world on his back. And I would debate that painting because the African American woman is the one holding up that man. But who, and I do mean who, holds up the African American woman? Side-eye: other African American women.

And not just any African American woman. The woman who nurtures with her voice. Who embraces with her words. Who wears her resilience like fragrance. That’s who I tell stories for.

Data in the Silence

This week, I found myself sitting in a coffee shop. Normally, by Tuesday, I’d already have my blog written. But I was stuck. Didn’t know what I wanted to say. Didn’t know where to begin.

And then I listened.

At that table, in that coffee shop, I realized there are so many stories African American women carry. They hold them like treasures—delicate, hidden, guarded. And as I sat there, I understood something: the African American woman’s story is so enriching, so layered, but if we don’t stop to hear it, it will disappear into the noise.

That’s where I come in.

God told me: write and create. But before you can write, you have to collect. Before you can create, you have to listen. And I’ve been listening my whole life.

I Get It Now

I get it now. I totally understand how I got to this table—or rather, how I’ve been called to create a table. A table to listen to stories, to write the stories, and to build floral pieces that carry those stories.

From the African American woman who finally claimed a seat on a Fortune 500 board. To the African American woman who founded a whiskey brand and wrote her own blueprint. To the African American filmmaker who documents others’ lives while her own story goes unnoticed. To the African American woman at McDonald’s on the grill, making sure your burger is cooked to perfection.

I, Ronisha Arlene, tell their stories.

And yes, you might be thinking: Haven’t we heard the African American woman’s story enough? My answer: hell naw.

Because what’s been portrayed is not, and I do repeat not, the truth of who she is. Everyone else gets to depict our story—but not through the lens I see. Being an African American woman myself, I know we are the unspoken story. And through flowers, I’m here to tell it.

Flowers as Witnesses

We think flowers are delicate, but if you’ve ever worked with blooms, you know they endure.

They endure pruning. They endure cutting. They endure packaging, shipping, and designing. And even after all of that—they still bloom, still bring joy, still tell a story.

The African American woman is the same. She endures.

That’s why my floral storytelling is not just about pretty arrangements—it’s about creating living narratives. Each flower, each stem, each texture represents a story. The bruised petal. The stem that had to be cut back before it bloomed. The rose that’s still standing, bold and unapologetic.

Collecting for Forty Years

For forty years, I’ve been gathering this data.

From my grandmother who couldn’t read or write. From my mother, who loved my stepfather in ways she didn’t love my biological father. From my closest friends who live with secrets just to keep their families whole. From strangers who, for reasons I may never understand, felt safe enough to spill their stories into my lap.

These stories have been my textbooks.The African American woman has been my curriculum.

Awkward But Anointed

For so long, I wanted to be a “girls’ girl.” But I never fit the mold. Too ghetto for the bougie girls. Too bougie for the ghetto girls. Always the awkward one out.

Issa Rae gave us permission to be awkward—but I lived it long before it became a hashtag. I was the girl sitting in the bookstore for hours, escaping into Omar Tyree and Sister Soulja. I was the one buying CDs and disappearing into the lyrics. I was collecting data even then.

Because the African American woman always has something to say. And I was always meant to be her floral storyteller.

So here I am—embracing what God whispered years ago. Write and create. And I finally understand what it means. My flowers will tell the stories of African American women. Their endurance. Their beauty. Their brilliance. Their pain.

Maya Angelou said it best: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

That’s the heartbeat of floral storytelling. That’s my ministry. That’s my calling.

Every flower I design carries a story. When you purchase from Petals & Cheers, you’re not just buying blooms—you’re carrying a piece of the African American woman’s story into your home, your office, your celebration.

Order your flowers today and let them speak joy, endurance, and restoration into your space