Ruby De’Rose: Symbolic Art for Self Identity and Emotional Resilience

artbykagsy
1 day ago
3 min read

Painting of a rose with a human face, text on the stem, vintage room with candles and lamp, moody ambiance.

How Her Thorns Grew

Ruby De’Rose didn’t begin life as she is today. Instead, she began as something gentle, something to be desired. When she first sprouted, she bloomed in soil so rich and indulgent that she felt as if Mother Nature and the earth itself had favoured her over every other flower.

Her soft, ruby-red petals glinted in the morning sun as they unfurled, and her flawlessly smooth stem slid from the earth with no resistance.

There was no reason to protect herself from the environment; everything about her existence was ease. She was flawless. Or at least, that is how it felt, judging by the attention she received from those who passed her by.

Each year, as her bloom reached its peak, people would come to pick her. Some would cut her carefully; others would yank her from her bed. But every time, her roots were left behind. She would be placed in fancy vases, positioned where the light could show off her ruby-red petals. To everyone who picked her, she was a symbol: of elegance, taste, and expense. People admired her, but not for what she was—rather, for what she represented in their world. She elevated and completed their spaces. But admiration, she would come to learn, came at a cost.

Without her roots, there was no way to thrive. So slowly, she began to fade. The richness of her red dulled. The silkiness of her petals withered, and what had once been full, now collapsed inward. And just as quickly as she’d been chosen, she was discarded. Not with cruelty, that would have been easier to understand, but from indifference. As her beauty faded and her flaws became apparent, she was thrown onto rocky paths and left to die.

And yet, year after year, she bloomed again, just as vibrant as before.

“Maybe,” she thought, “this year will be different, and when I am picked, I won’t fade. I will stay perfect.” But year after year, the cycle repeated, and year after year, her flaws became apparent. Without her roots, she would always fade and die.

Ruby didn’t harden all at once. The change was subtle: a slight sharpness that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t enough to stop the hands that came for her, but it was enough to be felt by those who grabbed her without a thought for her needs. And with each season, that resistance grew. The smoothness of her stem gave way to a smattering of thorns. Not chaotic or wild, but intentional, formed through the painful memories of being discarded for her imperfections. But those imperfections were what made her strong, made her resilient. Made her who she is today.

The hands still came, though. Some were more cautious than before. Some were deterred. Some were still willing to endure the discomfort of the thorns. But something else had begun to change. It wasn’t just that she was becoming harder to take; it was that she was no longer rooted in the same place. Where once she had only grown in the richest of soils, she now appeared in unexpected terrains, where conditions were less certain and controlled. Places where flowers as delicate as she was were never expected to survive, let alone thrive.

And yet, she did. Her petals remained a rich, ruby red, still soft and still unmistakably her. And while her flaws had defined her, they were no longer her vulnerability. She stopped needing others to define her worth. But more importantly, she stopped mistaking perfection for value.

Ruby De’Rose still blooms each year. Still striking, still impossible to ignore. But now she blooms on her own terms, thorns and all, in any terrain. She is not admired in the same way any more. She is respected.

And that, she has learned, is true perfection. Flaws and all.