Just Relaxed Blog

Category: Personal Essay

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (I’m Starting to Think So)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (I’m Starting to Think So)



    We’ve all been there, right? Staring into the abyss of a messy living room at 3 am, questioning every decision that led us to this very moment. But lately, I’ve started to feel like I’m not alone in my existential dread. No, it’s not a roommate (unless you count the pile of laundry in the corner as a roommate). It’s Herbert.

    Herbert, my seemingly innocent ZZ plant, has become the most judgmental houseguest I’ve ever encountered. And trust me, I’ve lived with some real characters.

    When My Houseplant Almost Staged an Intervention

    It all started with a particularly brutal week. Deadlines at work were looming, my dating life resembled a barren wasteland, and the closest I came to a home-cooked meal was microwaving a bag of popcorn (don’t judge, we’ve all been there). It was then that I noticed Herbert looking… different.

  • Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (And Why You Should Join the Green Side)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent: My Story

    Let’s be honest, folks. I used to be a plant assassin. My thumbs were anything but green. More like a death touch, really. I’m talking wilting orchids, drooping succulents, and peace lilies that looked anything but peaceful. My track record with houseplants was about as impressive as a goldfish’s memory.

    But then, something magical happened. Call it boredom, a global pandemic, or maybe just a desire to prove myself wrong, but I adopted a little ZZ plant named Zephyr. And against all odds (and my own history), Zephyr thrived! He even sprouted a new leaf, which, in my book, was basically the equivalent of winning an Olympic medal.

    Plant Parent

    That’s when I realized that being a plant parent came with a whole host of unexpected joys:

    1. Stress Relief Like No Other: Forget bubble baths and meditation apps (okay, maybe not completely). There’s something incredibly therapeutic about digging in the dirt, watering your plants, and watching them grow. It’s like meditation with a side of chlorophyll.
    2. Instant Interior Design Guru: Plants are like nature’s air freshener and decor all rolled into one. They can brighten up even the dullest corner and make your home feel like a tropical paradise (or at least a slightly more oxygenated version of your apartment).
    3. Bragging Rights and Green Thumb Envy: Remember those perfectly curated Instagram feeds with cascading monsteras and vibrant fiddle leaf figs? Yeah, those can be yours! Okay, maybe not overnight, but with a little patience (and a lot of Googling), you too can become the envy of all your plant-loving friends.

    Plant Parenthood: The Real (and Hilarious) Struggles

    Now, let’s get real for a second. Being a plant parent isn’t always easy. There will be times when you overwater, underwater, or completely misinterpret your plant’s desperate cries for help.

    I once spent a whole week trying to diagnose why my beloved snake plant, Slinky, was looking a little pale. Turns out, I’d placed him too close to the window, and he was sunburnt! Cue the guilt trip and a crash course in plant first aid.

  • The Day the Five-Second Rule Saved My Dignity (and Maybe My Stomach)

    The Day the Five-Second Rule Saved My Dignity (and Maybe My Stomach)




    The Day the Five-Second Rule Saved My Dignity (and Maybe My Stomach)

    My Brush with Culinary Disaster (and Carpet Lint)

    We’ve all been there. That heart-stopping moment when a perfectly good piece of food takes a nosedive towards the floor. Our eyes widen, our reflexes go into overdrive, and for a split second, time seems to slow down. Do we lunge? Do we weep? Or do we casually employ the time-honored tradition of the five-second rule?

    I used to scoff at this so-called “rule.” “Germs don’t operate on a timer,” I’d declare with an air of smug superiority. Oh, how naive I was. My perspective did a full 180 after a particularly memorable incident involving a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie (still warm from the oven!) and my kitchen floor (which, I’m ashamed to admit, hadn’t seen a proper mopping in…a while).

    Second Rule Story

    Picture this: It’s a Friday night, I’m home alone, and I’ve just pulled a tray of gooey, chocolatey goodness from the oven. As I reach for a plate, disaster strikes. The cookie slips from my grasp, bounces off the counter, and lands with a sickening thud on the floor.

    My heart sank. It was a thing of beauty, sacrificed at the altar of my clumsiness. But then, a glimmer of hope. “The five-second rule!” my brain screamed. Now, I won’t bore you with the details of the internal debate that raged within me. Let’s just say common sense lost to a potent combination of chocolate cravings and a desperate need to salvage something from this culinary catastrophe.

    I snatched up the cookie, gave it a cursory inspection (ignoring the suspicious-looking fuzz clinging to its underside), and took a triumphant bite. And guess what? It was glorious.

    The Aftermath: Did the Five-Second Rule Work?

    Now, before you brand me a public health hazard, let me assure you, I lived to tell the tale. In fact, I experienced zero ill effects from my daring cookie rescue. This experience sparked a newfound appreciation for the five-second rule. Sure, it might not stand up to scientific scrutiny (and let’s be honest, dropping food on the floor is never exactly hygienic), but there’s something undeniably satisfying about refusing to let a little mishap ruin a perfectly good treat.

    Let’s face it, life’s too short to mourn the loss of fallen food, especially when it comes to chocolate chip cookies. So, the next time you find yourself in a similar predicament, remember my story. Embrace the five-second rule, throw caution (and maybe some hand sanitizer) to the wind, and enjoy that rescued morsel. You might just be surprised at how delicious a little bit of “floor seasoning” can be (just kidding…kind of).

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant


    We’ve all been there – scrolling through Pinterest, suddenly envious of those people who seem to live in botanical gardens disguised as homes. Lush greenery spills over shelves, vibrant flowers brighten every corner…and then there’s the rest of us, battling to keep even a cactus alive.

    From Brown Thumb to…Slightly Greener Thumb?

    I fall somewhere in between. I’m not exactly known for my green thumb, but I’m also not about to let a little thing like keeping a plant alive defeat me. So, imagine my triumph when I managed to keep a peace lily alive for more than a month. Not just alive, mind you, but thriving! This thing was practically begging me to buy it a bigger pot (which I totally did, because, you know, #proudplantparent).

    But here’s the thing about plants – they’re not just pretty faces. They’re like tiny, silent gurus, whispering wisdom while they soak up the sun. And let me tell you, this little peace lily had a lot to say.

    Lesson #1: Learning to Chill Out – Sometimes Less is More

    I’m a bit of an overachiever. Okay, that’s an understatement. I’m the queen of overwatering, overthinking, and overdoing it in general. So, imagine my surprise when I discovered the secret to a happy peace lily is actually benign neglect. A little water here, some indirect sunlight there, and boom – growth!

    Turns out, constantly fussing over it was actually doing more harm than good. Who knew? This little plant taught me the power of stepping back, letting go of the need to control everything, and trusting the process.

    [IMAGE_DESCRIPTION: A photo of a person gently touching the leaf of their peace lily.]
  • Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)



    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (And Why You Should Join the Club)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a friend to flora. In fact, I was more like the grim reaper of greenery. My apartment housed a graveyard of neglected succulents and overwatered ferns. I swore off plant parenthood, convinced I lacked the magical touch.

    life in my sterile apartment, but I adopted a scraggly little peace lily from the grocery store. I named him Percy (don’t judge), and to my utter shock, he thrived.

    That’s when I realized: being a plant parent isn’t about mystical abilities; it’s about paying attention, learning, and embracing the journey. And let me tell you, the rewards are surprisingly profound.

    The Unexpected Perks of Sharing Your Space with Leafy Roommates

    Sure, everyone knows plants purify the air and add a touch of zen to your home. But there are some seriously underrated perks to being a plant parent:

    1. The Thrill of Victory (And the Agony of Almost Killing Something…Again)

    Remember that rush of accomplishment you felt after baking your first decent loaf of sourdough? Yeah, propagating a new plant baby from a cutting is basically the green thumb equivalent. Watching a tiny sprout emerge, knowing you helped create life (well, sort of), is oddly exhilarating.

    Of course, with great power comes the potential for great plant-destruction. Overwatering, underwatering, forgetting to rotate—the struggle is real. But even the near-death experiences come with a valuable lesson: patience, my friend, and maybe a better watering schedule.

    2. They’re the Silent, Non-Judgmental Roommates You’ve Always Wanted

    Had a bad day? Your Monstera Deliciosa won’t judge your tear-stained pajamas or your fourth cup of coffee. Need someone (or something) to listen to your woes without offering unsolicited advice? Your trusty spider plant is all ears (or, well, leaves).

    Plus, unlike your human roommates, they won’t eat your leftovers or blast questionable music at 3 am. They’re the epitome of low-maintenance companionship.

  • Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Suspiciously Strong)

    Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Suspiciously Strong)

    Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Strong)

    The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    The other day, I was shamelessly devouring a bag of chips—okay, fine, it was my third that week—when I caught my peace lily, Beatrice, giving me this look. You know the one: a subtle tilt of the leaves, a slight droop, as if to say, “Seriously, Sharon? Again?”

    Now, I consider myself a rational person. I understand that plants don’t possess the cognitive capacity for judgment (at least, that’s what “they” want us to believe). But the evidence has been piling up, and frankly, Beatrice‘s passive-aggressive drooping is just the tip of the leafy iceberg.

    Leaves

    There’s a definite correlation between my life choices and Beatrice‘s overall well-being. The week I forgot to water her (twice!), she practically staged a dramatic fainting scene, leaves drooping lower than my spirits after a bad Tinder date. Coincidence? I think not.

    But here’s the kicker: the moment I finally remembered to give her a good soak, she perked right back up. And not just any perking up—it was like she was showing off, leaves glistening with newfound vigor, as if to say, “See, Sharon? This is how you care for a living organism.”

    Exhibit B: The Great Dust Debacle of 2023

    We all have our weaknesses, and mine, dear readers, is dusting. I’m not proud of it, but let’s just say my feather duster and I haven’t been on speaking terms for a while. Beatrice, of course, noticed. And did she let me have it!

    One morning, I awoke to find her normally vibrant leaves covered in a thick layer of dust. Now, I live alone. I own a very lazy cat who wouldn’t dream of exerting that kind of effort. The only logical explanation? Beatrice orchestrated the whole thing. A silent, leafy protest against my subpar housekeeping skills.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)



    We’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you catch your reflection in the mirror after a particularly questionable decision and think, “What am I doing with my life?” But lately, I’ve started to feel like I’m getting that same judgmental stare-down from a less talkative member of my household: my prized fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand.

    The Side-Eye Is Real: My Plant‘s Silent Judgment

    It all started innocently enough. I was sprawled on the couch, halfway through a bag of chips, binge-watching a reality TV show I’m embarrassed to admit I love. As I reached for another chip, I caught Ferdinand‘s eye (or at least, the spot where his eye would be if plants had eyeballs). And let me tell you, the judgment was palpable. It was a look that seemed to say, “Seriously? This is how you spend your precious free time? I’m over here photosynthesizing, trying to better myself, and you’re letting your brain turn to mush.” Okay, maybe I was projecting a little, but the side-eye was definitely real.

    Plant Parent Duties

    Then there was the time I completely forgot to water him for two weeks straight. In my defense, I was swamped with deadlines and surviving on a diet of coffee and takeout. But when I finally remembered poor Ferdinand, his leaves were drooping so low they were practically sweeping the floor. I swear, he looked at me with an air of weary disappointment, as if to say, “You had ONE job, Susan. ONE job!” I quickly showered him with apologies (and water), but the damage was done. He knew, deep down, that I was failing at this whole responsible plant parent thing.

    Flourishing Shade: Is My Plant Rewarding My Good Behavior?

    But here’s the kicker, the evidence that really cemented my theory. Last week, I actually managed to achieve some semblance of balance in my life. I went for a run, cooked a healthy meal, and even started reading that novel that’s been gathering dust on my nightstand. And guess what? Ferdinand was thriving! His leaves were greener and more vibrant than ever, and he even sprouted a new one. Coincidence? I think not. It’s like he was rewarding my (admittedly minimal) efforts at self-improvement. Or maybe he was just showing off, proving that he could flourish even with a hot mess like me as his caretaker.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    My Thumb Wasn’t Always Green: A Houseplant Journey

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing abilities. I once killed a cactus. A CACTUS, people! So, when my well-intentioned friend gifted me a leafy, vibrant peace lily, my immediate thought was, “Oh no, not another victim.” I imagined a tragic cycle of overwatering, underwatering, and ultimately, a slow, wilting demise. Turns out, I was in for a surprise.

    Peace Lily

    For weeks, I babied that plant like it was a newborn panda. I watered it religiously, sang it questionable lullabies, and even invested in a special plant light. Yet, it remained stubbornly droopy, its leaves slowly turning a sickly shade of yellow. One day, at the peak of my frustration, I declared, “That’s it! You’re on your own!” I banished the plant to a forgotten corner, vowing to let nature take its course.

    Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks later, I stumbled upon the “neglected” peace lily looking positively radiant. Its leaves were a vibrant green, and it even boasted a brand-new shoot! Apparently, my constant fussing had been suffocating the poor thing. Sometimes, a little tough love is all we need to thrive, both in the plant world and in life.

  • The Art of the Fashionably Late Arrival

    The Art of the Fashionably Late Arrival




    The Art of the Fashionably Late Arrival

    The Day I Embraced My Inner Clock-Challenged Diva

    Picture this: It’s my best friend’s birthday dinner, and I’m running through the restaurant, mascara smudged, hair resembling a bird’s nest, apologizing profusely. As I slide into my seat, twenty minutes late, breathless and disheveled, everyone else is calmly sipping their wine, engaged in relaxed conversation. That’s when it hit me – they all looked fantastic, and I looked like I’d wrestled a raccoon. And you know what? They seemed… happy to see me.

    late” – because honestly, haven’t we all earned the right to arrive with a little flair?

    The Unexpected Perks of Being Fashionably Late

    Here’s the thing: being “fashionably late” isn’t about disrespecting other people’s time. It’s about understanding the delicate balance between making an entrance and orchestrating a perfectly timed dramatic pause. It’s about the anticipation, the build-up, the “Where IS she?” whispers that culminate in the grand reveal. Okay, maybe I’m being a tad dramatic. But there are some genuine perks to this lifestyle choice:

    Benefit #1: The Calm After the Storm

    Arriving slightly after the scheduled time often means sidestepping the initial chaos. Think cocktail parties where everyone’s still awkwardly finding their footing or meetings where the small talk hasn’t quite gotten off the ground. You glide in, a vision of serenity, and effortlessly become the center of attention.

    Benefit #2: The Master of Making an Entrance

    Let’s be honest, there’s a certain thrill to arriving fashionably late. All eyes turn to you, a hush falls over the room, and for a fleeting moment, you are the star of the show. It’s a confidence boost disguised as a social faux pas.

    Benefit #3: The Gift of Perspective

    Being slightly removed from the initial frenzy allows you to observe and assess the situation with a fresh perspective. You can gauge the mood, identify key players, and craft the perfect entrance line. It’s like walking onto a stage with a pre-written script – you’re already one step ahead.

    Confessions of a Chronically Unpunctual (But Lovable) Friend

    Now, before you brand me as the queen of inconsiderate behavior, let me assure you, I have rules. First and foremost, I’m fiercely loyal to my friends. Need someone to pick you up from the airport at 3 am? I’m your girl. Important work deadline? Consider it done, ahead of schedule. But ask me to show up for brunch at 11 am sharp? Well, that’s where things get a little… flexible.

    I’ve learned to embrace the humor in my tardiness. I once showed up late to a Halloween party dressed as a “Fashionably Late Fairy” – complete with a clock necklace permanently stuck at 12:15. It was a hit!

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant


    We all know the stereotype: plant parent, crazy cat lady, insert your preferred harmless eccentricity here. Well, I never thought I’d be the plant person. Give me a bouquet of flowers any day, but a living, breathing thing that relied on me for survival? No thanks, I kill succulents just by looking at them.

    How One Little Plant Changed Everything

    Then came Herbert. Yes, I named my plant. Don’t judge. He was a birthday gift from my best friend, a sprightly little peace lily in a charmingly chipped pot. My friend, an actual plant whisperer, swore Herbert was low-maintenance. “Just water him when the soil is dry,” she said. “He practically thrives on neglect!” Famous last words.

    Herbert seemed content, even perky. Then came the drooping. The yellowing leaves. The distinct feeling that I, a fully grown adult, was failing to keep a houseplant alive. Turns out, “neglect” is a relative term. Who knew plants needed sunlight, too? (Don’t judge me, I’m a work in progress.)

    Lesson #1: Faking It ‘Til You Make It With Plant Care

    Desperate to save Herbert (and my pride), I turned to the internet, that vast repository of both wisdom and questionable advice. I learned about drainage, fertilizer, and the importance of talking to your plants (don’t worry, I kept it brief). I even downloaded a plant care app, because apparently that’s a thing now.

    Slowly but surely, Herbert started to rally. His leaves perked up, regained their vibrant green, and even sprouted a new growth. Was I a natural? Absolutely not. Did I spend an embarrassing amount of time Googling things like “how to tell if my plant needs water” and “can plants get sunburned?” You bet. But I was learning, adapting, and most importantly, keeping Herbert alive.