Story
Where it all began
Long before RoseTulips had a name, it lived in my grandmother’s hands.
She was the most elegant woman I have ever known. Amber at her collarbone, pearls against pressed silk, a perfume you noticed before you saw her. She told stories about Chanel and Sophia Loren as if they were old friends. She never met them, of course. She just understood what they stood for, because she stood for it too, in a small town in Bulgaria: taking care of yourself is not vanity. It is dignity.
She is the one who first poured dried linden blossoms into my open palms. We walked the mountains together, gathering thyme from the warm slopes, calendula from the meadows, lemon balm from the edges of old gardens, lavender from the terraces above the valley. We dried everything in the living room and kept it in glass jars along the kitchen shelves. She never measured. She blended by scent, by intuition, by love.
From her I learned more than herbs. The small daily things, the tea, the table, the way you carry yourself, are not small at all. They are how you tell yourself who you are.
From Bulgaria to Amsterdam
At eighteen I left Bulgaria for the Netherlands. I came to study. I stayed because Amsterdam slowly became home.
Anyone who has built a life in a second country knows the two feelings that never quite leave you: the freedom of becoming someone new, and the pull of everything you left behind. I lived with both. I built a career here. And Amsterdam showed me that tradition doesn’t have to stay in the past. It can become something new.
Even in Amsterdam, my kitchen slowly began to look like hers.
Bulgaria gave me the herbs and the patience. The Netherlands gave me the courage to make something of my own out of them. RoseTulips could not have been born in either country alone. It needed both.
The birth of RoseTulips
I never imagined those afternoons gathering herbs with my grandmother would one day become RoseTulips. But in 2019, it finally found its shape.
The roses of Bulgaria, where it all began. The tulips of the Netherlands, where it all came together. My two homes, in one word.
What I wanted was simple to say and hard to do: to bring a piece of that slower world into modern life. Real herbs, no shortcuts, no synthetics. Blends made to do something for you, not just to taste nice. The philosophy my grandmother lived without ever needing to name it, made to fit the life I actually live now: full, fast, and in need of a pause.
RoseTulips is my way of sharing what she gave me.
When motherhood changed everything
Then, as life does, everything shifted again.
I became a mother twice in quick succession. Two children under two. Nobody prepares you for how much of yourself that asks, or for how it remakes your identity while you’re too tired to watch it happen.
In those months, tea stopped being a ritual and became survival. A warm cup held with both hands during the 3 a.m. feed. The one moment of stillness in a day that had none. The only thing, some days, that was just mine.
The Mother’s Tea collection came directly from that time. Blends for postpartum recovery, for breastfeeding, for the emotional ground under your feet. I made them because I needed them and couldn’t find them.
Motherhood did not create RoseTulips. It expanded it.
The art of slowing down
What I believe
Slowing down is not a luxury. It is a necessity. I know, because I have lived the other version.
The way you start your morning, the pause you take in the afternoon, the quiet cup before sleep: these are not small things. Over the years they become the shape of your life.
Ingredients should come from the earth, not from a factory. Recipes should be passed down, refined, and offered with care.
And self-care is not selfish. A mother who tends to herself is teaching her children something no words can teach.
That is the whole philosophy. My grandmother would have said it in fewer words.
From Amsterdam, with love
Today RoseTulips is still made of the same things it started with: my grandmother’s wisdom and a handful of wild herbs.
Every blend is crafted here in Amsterdam, where the tulips return every spring without fail.
So this is my invitation. Slow down. Pour with intention. Hold the warmth with both hands and remember that this moment is yours.
With love,
Yana