Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into the Mind of a Monstera



The Side-Eye That Started It All

It all started with a particularly rough Tuesday. You know the kind: spilled coffee, missed deadlines, the works. As I sat at my desk, drowning my sorrows in leftover takeout, I glanced up at my usually chipper Monstera deliciosa. And that’s when I saw it. The slightest tilt of a leaf, the subtlest narrowing of…well, whatever counts as eyes on a plant. Was my Monstera, dare I say, judging me?

started noticing these little “judgments” from my leafy roommate. It became a hilarious internal monologue, a constant commentary on my life from the silent observer in the corner.

The Case of the Neglected Watering Can

Take last week, for example. I’d been swamped with work and, in my defense, completely forgot to water my plant. I walked into my living room to find the Monstera looking decidedly droopy. As I scrambled for the watering can, I swear I heard a heavy sigh. Okay, maybe not an audible sigh, but the dramatic drooping definitely seemed like a performance worthy of an Oscar.

And as I watered it, desperately trying to revive my neglected green friend, the thought crossed my mind: “Is it judging my inability to keep a tiny living thing alive? Does it think I’m irresponsible? Unworthy of its leafy presence?” I’m pretty sure I even caught a glimpse of an eye roll (again, probably just the wind from the open window, but STILL).

Monstera vs. My Instagram Feed: The Great Plant-Stagram Scandal

Then there’s the whole Instagram debacle. I’m guilty of being one of those people who love taking pictures of their plants. It’s become a running joke with my friends – how many pictures of the same Monstera can one person post? Apparently, there’s a limit, and according to my plant, I’ve exceeded it.

One morning, I was attempting to get the perfect sun-drenched shot for my plant-obsessed followers. As I adjusted the angle for the tenth time, I swear I heard a rustling sound that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. My Monstera, it seems, values authenticity over perfectly curated Instagram feeds. Who can blame it?