Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent

From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Mom

Okay, let’s be honest. My journey into the world of plant parenthood started out less “green goddess” and more “serial plant assassin.” I’m talking the kind of track record that could make even a cactus weep. I once managed to kill a succulent. A succulent. You know, those desert-dwelling, practically-immortal champions of drought? Yeah, not even they could survive my questionable nurturing skills.

But then, something changed. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was hitting my late 20s, or maybe (and most likely) it was a desperate attempt to add some life to my apartment after months of lockdown. Whatever the reason, I brought home a humble snake plant, named him Stanley, and braced myself for another inevitable plant funeral.

To my utter shock, Stanley thrived. He sprouted new growth, stood tall and proud, and basically laughed in the face of my previous plant-murdering reputation. I was hooked.

The Thrill of New Growth (No, Seriously)

Fast forward two years, and my apartment now resembles an urban jungle, complete with hanging vines, leafy friends perched on every surface, and yes, even a couple more succulents (don’t worry, they’re thriving too). And you know what? It’s amazing.

There’s something incredibly satisfying about watching a new leaf unfurl, about witnessing a tiny sprout reach for the sunlight. It’s like a tiny, green testament to your care and attention. Plus, it’s way less messy than raising actual children (or so I’ve heard…).

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