From Black Thumb to Almost-Green Thumb
Let’s be honest, before I became a plant parent, I thought succulents were indestructible. I mean, they’re basically desert cacti, right? How hard could it be? Famous last words, my friends. Famous last words. My journey into the world of houseplants began, as I’m sure it does for many, with the noble intention of “bringing some life” into my apartment. What I didn’t expect was the emotional rollercoaster that comes with keeping another living thing alive, even if that living thing photosynthesizes and doesn’t judge your questionable life choices.
I remember the first time my peace lily bloomed. I had this plant for months, convinced it hated me because I kept forgetting to water it. But then, one day, a beautiful white flower emerged, as if to say, “Hey, I know you’re trying your best, and I appreciate it.” I swear, I could hear the plant version of Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” playing in the background.
Decoding the Silent Language of Plants
One of the biggest challenges of being a plant parent is, well, the lack of verbal communication. Unlike a pet that can bark, meow, or chirp to let you know it’s hungry, thirsty, or plotting world domination, plants are a bit more…subtle.
Is that leaf drooping because it needs water, or is it just tired? Is that brown spot a sign of disease, or did I accidentally spill coffee on it again? (Don’t judge, we’ve all been there). Decoding the subtle cues of your plant children can feel like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. I’ve spent countless hours Googling things like “why is my spider plant looking at me funny?” and “can plants sense fear?” (The answer to the latter is still up for debate, but I’m pretty sure my ferns are judging my questionable dance moves).