The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From My Roommate)




The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From My Roommate)


From Brown Thumb to Budding Botanist

Let’s be honest, before moving in with my now-former roommate (let’s call her “Glitter Bomb” for reasons that will become abundantly clear), I thought succulents were only good for wedding favors. My idea of “watering” involved forgetting about the poor thing for weeks and then drowning it in a moment of panicked guilt. Unsurprisingly, my track record with houseplants was dismal at best.

Then Glitter Bomb sashayed into my life, trailing a cloud of hairspray and a penchant for late-night karaoke. Don’t get me wrong, she was fun… for about five minutes. Then the glitter started getting everywhere (seriously, everywhere), the singing never stopped, and I realized I needed a sanctuary. Enter: the wonderful world of plants.

plant named Steve. He thrived on neglect, tolerated low light, and even seemed to absorb some of the excess glitter in the air. Emboldened, I graduated to a peace lily (aptly named Serenity Now) and a spider plant that multiplied faster than Glitter Bomb’s collection of sequined tank tops.

My apartment, once a shrine to all things sparkly and loud, was slowly transforming into a green oasis. The air felt cleaner, the vibrant colors were calming, and the occasional earthy scent was a welcome change from the perpetual haze of hairspray. But the best part? My plants were the perfect passive-aggressive weapon against Glitter Bomb’s chaos.

Did she leave her dishes in the sink again? Time to repot my fiddle leaf fig, right next to her bedroom door. Karaoke marathon at 2 am? Cue the dramatic misting of my ferns, complete with a pointed sigh about needing “peace and quiet for my babies to thrive.”

Finding My Tribe: Connecting With Fellow Plant Lovers

What started as a desperate attempt to survive my roommate situation blossomed into a genuine love for plants. I became that person who stops to admire strangers’ window boxes, who can identify different types of ferns, who actually enjoys the calming ritual of repotting.

And I’m not alone! Through online forums and local plant swaps, I’ve discovered a whole community of plant parents just as passionate (and occasionally neurotic) as I am. We trade tips, diagnose mysterious ailments, and celebrate each other’s successes (new leaf, anyone?).