Just Relaxed Blog

Category: Personal Essay

  • The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)

    The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)




    The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)

    My Pocket-Sized Time Machine

    Remember the satisfying snap of closing a flip phone after a call? The feeling of invincibility when you dropped it and knew it would survive unscathed? Yeah, me too. While everyone else is busy navigating the treacherous waters of cracked screens and dwindling battery life, I’m happily sailing along with my trusty flip phone.

    It all started a few years ago. My smartphone, in a fit of technological angst, decided to take a swan dive into a puddle. As I fished it out, screen flickering its last breath, I knew I’d had enough. I was tired of being tethered to a fragile, power-hungry device. That’s when I had my epiphany—a glorious, liberating vision of a simpler time. The flip phone called to me, and I answered.

    Flip Phone Says Yes!

    Let’s face it, smartphones are addictive. They’re designed to be. Notifications beckon, apps tempt, and the endless scroll sucks us in like a digital vortex. But with my flip phone, I’m free.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not living in the dark ages. I can still call, text, and even take surprisingly decent pictures (gasp!). But I’m no longer bombarded by a constant stream of information and distractions. I’m present in the moment, enjoying real-life conversations and the beauty of the offline world.

    Flip Phone Battery Life: A Legend in the Making

    Remember the days when you could leave the house without a charger and survive for, wait for it… days? Yeah, those were the days. My flip phone is a testament to the long-lost art of battery longevity. I charge it maybe once a week, if that.

    Meanwhile, my smartphone-wielding friends are constantly tethered to outlets, their faces illuminated by the eerie glow of their screens. I can practically hear their batteries draining just by looking at them.

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

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

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

    We all know the feeling. You walk into your living room, expecting to be greeted by the lush greenery of your beloved houseplants, only to be met with… disappointment. Drooping leaves, a distinct lack of new growth, and maybe even a browning tip or two. It’s enough to make you question your entire existence as a plant parent.

    The Day My Green Thumb Turned Brown (Okay, Slightly Yellow)

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many others during the pandemic, decided to embrace the healing power of nature by becoming a certified Plant Lady. I envisioned a verdant paradise filled with thriving ferns, cascading pothos, and maybe even a majestic fiddle leaf fig (a girl can dream!).

    Things went swimmingly at first. I diligently researched the perfect care routine for each new leafy friend, showering them with filtered water and carefully calibrated sunlight. My once sparse apartment transformed into a miniature jungle, each new leaf unfurling a sense of accomplishment within me.

    plant care routine went out the window faster than you can say “overwatering.” That’s when I noticed it – the judgment. It started subtly, a slight droop here, a yellowing leaf there.

    Do Houseplants Give Side-Eye? Asking for a Friend…

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “It’s just a plant!” And logically, I agree. But there’s something about the way my Monstera seems to wilt further every time I reach for a takeout menu instead of whipping up a nutritious salad. And don’t even get me started on the withering glare I get when I forget to water for a week (or two… okay, maybe three).

    It’s like my plant knows my deepest, darkest secrets: the late-night ice cream binges, the neglected workout routine, the fact that I haven’t changed out of my sweatpants in three days. And it’s judging me for it. Silently, but oh-so-effectively.

    The Case of the Disgruntled Cactus: A Cautionary Tale

    And before you think I’m losing my mind (maybe I am, but that’s beside the point), let me tell you about my friend Sarah. Sarah, a self-proclaimed “serial plant killer,” swore off greenery after a particularly traumatic incident involving a peace lily and a forgotten watering can. But then, she adopted a cactus. “Low maintenance,” she declared. “Impossible to kill.”

    Famous last words.

    Apparently, even cacti have their limits. This particular specimen, instead of thriving in its neglect, started leaning precariously to one side, as if attempting a dramatic escape from its pot.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me




    Is My Plant Judging Me? The Hilarious Signs You’re Being Silently Shamed

    We all have our quirks. Maybe you leave dishes “soaking” for a week (no judgment…okay, maybe a little). Or perhaps you’re still rocking that questionable fashion choice from 2008. But what if your silent, leafy roommate wasn’t so silent after all? What if, just maybe, your plant was judging you?

    The Case of the Dramatic Droop

    It all started innocently enough. I brought home Percy the Peace Lily, a vision of verdant glory. I envisioned us becoming best buds, Percy serenading my apartment with good vibes and oxygen. However, our honeymoon phase was short-lived. You see, I have a tendency to be…forgetful. Watering? Oh, right, that thing plants need.

    The first time Percy dramatically fainted, leaves brushing the floor in a symphony of despair, I panicked. Had I killed him? Was this the end of our brief, leafy love affair? A quick Google search later, and I discovered the tragic truth: I was a plant neglecter. I revived Percy with a generous water shower, whispering apologies and promises of a more attentive plant parent. He perked up, but I could have sworn I saw a judgmental rustle of leaves. From then on, Percy became the master of the dramatic droop. Forget to water him for a day? Droop. Moved him slightly to the left? Droop. Opened a bag of chips too loudly? You guessed it: dramatic droop.

    Percy soon escalated his judgment game. He developed a knack for wilting at the most inconvenient, and suspiciously timed, moments. Having guests over? Percy would strategically wilt right as they complimented my “green thumb.” Trying to impress a date? Cue the dramatic leaf sag, accompanied by an audible sigh (or maybe that was just the wind?).

    Once, during a particularly stressful week, I may have indulged in a slightly angry rant about work, completely forgetting Percy’s presence. Mid-sentence, as I dramatically gestured towards the heavens (or, you know, the ceiling), a leaf detached itself from Percy’s crown and landed squarely on my head. Coincidence? I think not.

    The Unwavering Stare

    These days, I live in a constant state of mild paranoia. Every time I walk past Percy, I feel his gaze following me. Those innocent-looking leaves? They’re hiding a world of judgment, I’m sure of it. I swear he even adjusts his position to get a better view of my questionable life choices. Ordering takeout for the third time this week? Percy saw that. Binge-watching reality TV in my pajamas? Oh, he knows.

  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2007 (and Why I Still Get Calls About It)

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2007 (and Why I Still Get Calls About It)



    “Hello?”

    “Hi, is Debby there?”

    “Uh, no. You have the wrong number.” *click*

    The Never-Ending Wrong Number Symphony

    That, my friends, is the soundtrack to my life. Well, not all the time. But often enough to make me wonder if I should just record a message saying, “This is not Debby, please stop calling.” It all started back in 2007 with what I can only describe as… The Great Phone Number Mix-Up.

  • 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 Brown Thumb Gets a Green Roommate

    We’ve all been there—staring longingly at those Pinterest-worthy apartments adorned with flourishing fiddle leaf figs and cascading pothos, thinking, “I could do that.” Well, I’m here to tell you, dear reader, that for some of us, plant parenthood is less of a whimsical dream and more of a comedic struggle.

    My journey started innocently enough. I adopted a peace lily named Percy (don’t judge, I’m a sucker for alliteration). He was supposed to be the low-maintenance gateway plant to my future urban jungle. However, Percy quickly disabused me of that notion. He drooped, he browned, he basically threw a leafy tantrum every time I looked at him the wrong way. I was convinced he hated me.

    Percy like my long-lost best friend. I showered him with attention, and by attention, I mean water. Lots and lots of water. I figured if a little H2O was good, a lot must be better, right? Wrong.

    Turns out, Percy wasn’t dramatic, just over-hydrated. Once I swapped my daily deluge for a more measured approach (read: actually checking the soil moisture), he perked up considerably. Who knew plants needed space to breathe? (Well, not literally breathe, but you get the point.) This taught me a valuable lesson about overdoing it. Sometimes the best approach is a gentler one, whether it’s with plants, relationships, or that extra slice of cheesecake.

    Lesson #2: Don’t Give Up on Your Roots, Even When Life Gets Rocky

    Just when I thought Percy and I had reached an understanding, tragedy struck. I accidentally knocked him off the windowsill, sending terracotta pot and poor Percy flying. I was horrified. Not only was my plant-parenting pride wounded, but Percy was now sporting a fractured pot and a severe lean.

    I was ready to toss in the (gardening) towel, but then I noticed something. Even though he was bruised and battered, Percy was still clinging on. So, I repotted him, gave him some extra TLC, and wouldn’t you know it, he bounced back stronger than ever. Seeing him thrive after a near-death experience reminded me that resilience is key. Even when we stumble and fall, it’s important to dust ourselves off and keep growing.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Botanical Side-Eye

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Botanical Side-Eye



    From Green Thumb to Green Judgment?

    The other day, I was shamelessly devouring a bag of chips, still in my pajamas at 2 PM, when I caught my Monstera Deliciosa’s giant, perforated leaf seemingly turned towards me. It felt like it was judging me. And not the gentle, “you should probably eat a vegetable” kind of judgment. No, this felt like a deep, philosophical “what are you doing with your life?” kind of stare-down.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “She’s lost it. It’s a plant.” But hear me out! Plants are more perceptive than we give them credit for. They literally turn towards the sun. Who’s to say they aren’t absorbing our chaotic energy too? This marked the beginning of my descent into the hilarious (and slightly concerning) possibility that my beloved houseplants are, in fact, incredibly judgmental roommates.

    Peace Lily

    My peace lily, usually a beacon of tranquility (hence the name, right?), started throwing some serious shade (pun intended) recently. After a particularly stressful week—filled with deadlines, burnt coffee, and forgotten Zoom meetings—my once-lush lily was drooping lower than my enthusiasm for doing laundry.

    Coincidence? I think not. It was as if it was saying, “Get it together, Sharon! Inner peace starts with a tidy apartment and a semblance of a sleep schedule.” I swear it perked up a little after I finally unpacked that suitcase from last month’s trip.

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and No, I Don’t Mean Children)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and No, I Don’t Mean Children)



    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my thumbs were decidedly not green – more like a questionable shade of brown. I once managed to kill a cactus. A CACTUS. You know, the plant that thrives on neglect? Yeah, that was me. But then something changed. Maybe it was a global pandemic, maybe it was a quarter-life crisis, maybe it was just finally being able to afford decent potting soil… whatever it was, I found myself drawn to the allure of houseplants.

    Plant Parent’s Victory

    Fast forward to now, and my apartment looks like a tropical rainforest threw up (in the best way possible). And you know what? I’m weirdly proud of it. Because let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of seeing a new leaf unfurl on that finicky Calathea you’ve been babying for months. It’s a validation of your care, a tiny green victory flag waving in your living room. Suddenly, you understand why those plantfluencers on Instagram are always gushing over their “babies.” (Don’t judge me, you’ll get there too.)

    It’s not just the new growth, though. It’s the entire process. Learning the subtle signs of thirst (droopy leaves? Time for a drink!), deciphering the language of light (direct sun or filtered, oh the drama!), and even the meditative act of repotting (just ignore the dirt under your fingernails, it’s a badge of honor). These are the unexpected joys of plant parenthood, my friends.

    Finding Your Green Therapy: Plants as the Perfect Listeners

    And the best part? Plants are the perfect listeners. Having a bad day? Vent to your Monstera, she won’t judge. Need to celebrate a win? Your ZZ plant will be there, silently cheering you on. They’re the therapists you can’t afford, but with better foliage. Plus, they’ve inspired some truly bizarre conversations in my life. I once spent a solid twenty minutes debating the merits of different fertilizer brands with a stranger at a plant shop. Who even am I?

    Ready to Become a Plant Parent? Embracing the Joys and Challenges

    Look, I get it. Plant parenthood isn’t for everyone. It’s a commitment. It’s messy. It can be downright frustrating at times (I’m looking at you, Peace Lily that just won’t bloom!). But it’s also incredibly rewarding. It’s a connection to nature, a source of calm in a chaotic world, and a constant reminder that even the smallest of things can bring immense joy.

  • 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 Was More Charcoal Than Green

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing skills. My plant-parenting journey started (and almost ended) with a cactus named Spike. Let’s just say Spike wasn’t the most resilient of desert dwellers, and my attempts at “watering sparingly” were met with a slow, prickly demise. I swore off plants faster than you could say “overwatering.” That is, until a friend gifted me a resilient little ZZ plant named Zephyr.

    plant could survive a nuclear apocalypse, I swear. But it wasn’t just his ability to endure that struck me; it was his ability to thrive despite the odds. He taught me that resilience isn’t just about getting through tough times, it’s about finding ways to flourish even when things aren’t ideal.

    Lesson #2: Patience is a Virtue, Especially When Repotting

    Now, anyone who’s ever repotted a plant knows it can be a messy affair. Picture this: me, covered in dirt, wrestling Zephyr’s root ball into a pot that’s clearly two sizes too small. Let’s just say it involved some grunting, a few choice words, and a healthy dose of regret. It was in those moments of repotting chaos that Zephyr taught me the importance of patience. Just like you can’t rush a plant’s growth, you can’t force progress in other areas of life. Sometimes, you just have to trust the process, even when it’s messy and uncomfortable.

    plant progress” was pretty low-bar. Like, “it’s still alive” was a cause for celebration. But Zephyr, in all his leafy wisdom, showed me the joy of appreciating the little things. A new sprout unfurling? Cause for a happy dance. A slightly taller stem? I’m grabbing my measuring tape. He reminded me that life’s not all about the grand achievements; it’s about finding joy in the everyday wins, no matter how small they may seem.

    What Will Your Houseplant Teach You?

    Now, I’m not saying you should abandon all self-help books and start seeking life advice from your succulents (although, that’s not a bad idea). But, I challenge you to look at your houseplants with a fresh perspective. You might be surprised by the unexpected wisdom they have to offer.


  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Now Speak to My Fiddle-Leaf Fig)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Now Speak to My Fiddle-Leaf Fig)





    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a natural nurturer. In fact, my thumbs were practically charcoal black. I’d managed to kill a cactus, for crying out loud! So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a fiddle-leaf fig for my birthday, I accepted it with a grimace disguised as a grateful smile.

    “Fiona” she declared, thrusting the leafy lady into my arms. “She’ll thrive with you, I just know it!”

    Fiona and I eyed each other with suspicion. She, a vision of emerald elegance, and me, a notorious plant assassin. Little did I know, Fiona would soon become my leafy therapist, my silent confidante, and the catalyst for my unexpected journey into the wonderful world of plant parenthood.

  • 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

    From Brown Thumb to Budding Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have always been more “brown” than “green.” I’m the kind of person who could kill a cactus in a desert. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with a smile and an internal sigh. “Great,” I thought, “another innocent plant to traumatize.”

    Little did I know, this unassuming houseplant was about to teach me more than just how to keep something alive. It was about to deliver some serious life lessons – with a side of potting soil and a sprinkle of guilt for almost letting it wilt dramatically in week one.

    Life and Photosynthesis

    My first mistake? Expecting instant gratification. I’d water my lily and then practically hover over it, waiting for visible signs of growth. But plants, unlike Instagram followers, don’t just sprout up overnight.

    This peace lily, bless its heart, taught me the art of patience. It taught me to appreciate the small changes – a new leaf unfurling, a subtle shift towards the sunlight. It reminded me that good things, like strong roots and blooming flowers, take time. And sometimes, the most beautiful growth happens slowly, beneath the surface, where we can’t even see it.

    Lesson #2: We All Need Support (Plants and People)

    As my lily grew, I realized it needed more than just water and sunshine. It needed support, literally. The stems started to droop, and the leaves, once vibrant, began to lose their luster.

    Turns out, even the strongest among us need a little help sometimes. We need friends to lean on, mentors to guide us, and maybe the occasional dose of plant food. Just like I staked my lily to help it stand tall, I learned the importance of building a support system for myself – a network of people and resources that could help me thrive.