I saw a post floating around Facebook that stopped me mid-scroll (which, in 2026, is the emotional equivalent of a spiritual awakening):
“You can be the prettiest rose ever, but if they like lilies, it won’t matter.”

Rude. Accurate. Personally offensive.

Because somewhere between being raised to believe we are all special snowflakes and binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, many of us internalized a quiet but persistent myth:
If I am good enough, pretty enough, smart enough, and funny enough surely I will be chosen.

Cue Buffy, stakes high, destiny clear, hair somehow perfect after apocalypse-level exertion. She was the chosen one. Not a chosen one. Not one of several candidates pending review. The chosen one.

And yet, in real life?
You can be a rose. A spectacular, breathtaking, metaphorically award-winning rose.
And someone will still walk past you and say, “Do you have any lilies?”



Is there an existential crisis of not being someone’s favorite flower?

There’s a very particular sting in realizing you are not the preference.

Not because you lack value.
Not because you’re deficient.
But because you’re just not what they want.

And that’s where the psyche does a little interpretive dance:

“Maybe I should try being more like a lily?”
“What if I toned down the rose-ness?”
“Could I reinvent myself as a succulent?”

This is how we end up shape-shifting in relationships, jobs, and friendships trying to become more palatable, more aligned, more chosen.

But here’s the inconvenient truth:
Preference is not merit.

Let me say that again for the people quietly rewriting their personalities in the back row:
Preference is not merit.



Lets talk about toses dating tea people (a cautionary tale)

Let’s take it further.

You’re not just a rose. You’re also espresso. Bold. Intense. Slightly intimidating. Possibly the reason someone stayed up all night rethinking their life choices.

And they? They’re a tea person.

At first, it’s charming

“I’ve always wanted to get into espresso.”
“I like that you’re strong.”
“This feels exciting.”

For a brief, hopeful moment, you think: Ah. I have transcended floral and beverage limitations. I am universally appealing.

And then…

Their stomach starts to hurt.
Their sleep gets weird.
They miss their quiet chamomile evenings.

And suddenly, you’re not “invigorating.” You’re “a lot.”

This is the part where people often internalize:

“I’m too much.”
“I should tone it down.”
“Maybe I’m the problem.”

But no.
You are not too much.
You are just not tea.


So, lets talk about the psychology of being “not it”

Here’s where it gets psychologically interesting.

Being “not chosen” can activate:

1  Old attachment wounds
2. Core beliefs around worthiness
3. That deeply human fear: “If I’m not preferred, am I enough?”

But what’s actually happening is far less dramatic and far more mundane:

We can admit humans have preferences.
Sometimes rigid, sometimes irrational, often not about you at all.

They like lilies.
They like tea.
They like quiet.
They like simple.

And you, magnificent, layered, slightly chaotic youare something else entirely.



Let’s engage in  reframing the narrative (without toxic positivity, because we don’t do that here)

The goal is not to say:
“Yay! I wasn’t chosen! Everything is perfect!”

Let’s not lie to ourselves. It stings. It bruises. It lingers.

The goal is to shift from:

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

to:

“Why am I auditioning for roles that don’t require roses?”

Because somewhere out there in annoyingly, inconveniently, not always immediately known ways
there are people who:

1. Love roses
2. Need espresso
3. Thrive on exactly what you bring

And when you land there, something very un-Buffy-like happens:

You’re not chosen because you fought the hardest.
You’re not chosen because you proved your worth.

You’re chosen because you fit.

Effortlessly. Naturally. Without needing to become a hybrid floral beverage situation.



Here’s my final thought (from one unapologetic espresso to another)

If someone doesn’t choose you, it’s not always a reflection of your value. Sometimes it’s just a reflection of their taste.

And taste, as we all know, is wildly inconsistent.

So be the rose.
Be the espresso.
Be the thing that occasionally gives people emotional heart palpitations.

Because the right ones won’t need convincing.

They’ll just walk in, take a deep breath, and say
“Oh. This. This is exactly what I was looking for.”