Just Relaxed Blog

Category: Personal Essay

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

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

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    We all have them – those little quirks that make us feel like our lives are open books. Maybe you leave dishes “soaking” for a suspiciously long time, or perhaps your definition of “making the bed” is loosely based on what a toddler considers a job well done. But lately, I’ve started to suspect that someone (or something) is taking particular notice of my, shall we say, less-than-perfect habits. And that someone is Ferdinand, my seemingly innocent peace lily.

    Did My Peace Lily Just Raise an Eyebrow?

    It all started innocently enough. I was rushing around, trying to find my keys amidst a mountain of laundry (don’t judge!), when I caught Ferdinand‘s “eye.” Now, I realize plants don’t technically have eyes or eyebrows, but the way his single, broad leaf tilted towards the chaos was enough to make me pause. It was as if he was saying, “Really, Brenda? This is what you’re doing with your life?”

    Judging My Diet? (The Wilting Says It All)

    Then there was the time I decided to order takeout for the third night in a row. (Hey, adulting is hard!) As I unwrapped my burger, I noticed Ferdinand looking a little droopy. Was it my imagination, or was he subtly judging my less-than-nutritious dinner choices? I swear I even heard a faint sigh as I popped open a can of soda instead of reaching for a glass of water. Okay, maybe that last part was in my head, but still. The wilting! The judgment! It was all too real.

    Living With a Passive-Aggressive Plant Parent

    Since then, I’ve become acutely aware of Ferdinand’s silent observations. I swear he perks up a little when I actually cook a healthy meal, and his leaves seem to droop lower every time I binge-watch reality TV instead of tackling my to-do list. It’s gotten to the point where I’m starting to feel like I’m living with a passive-aggressive roommate who communicates solely through subtle shifts in foliage.

    But here’s the funny thing: as much as I joke about Ferdinand’s judgmental tendencies, I secretly kind of love it. It’s like having a tiny, green accountability buddy who, despite not having a mouth, manages to say, “Get it together, Brenda!” without actually saying anything at all.

    Do Your Houseplants Judge You Too?

    So, tell me, dear readers, am I alone in this? Do your houseplants judge your life choices too?

  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry




    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    From Stinky Socks to Existentialism

    There I was, knee-deep in a mountain of mismatched socks (seriously, where does the other one always go?), when it hit me. No, not a stray sock flung across the room by my mischievous toddler – a thought. A deep, philosophical thought that left me staring blankly at the washing machine, wondering if I’d accidentally poured fabric softener directly into my brain.

    It all started with a simple question: if a sock loses its mate in the dryer, does it still have a purpose? Okay, maybe not the most profound start, but hear me out. That missing sock got me thinking about all the other things in life that seem to lose their way, their purpose, their other half.

    Laundry)

    As I tossed a faded band t-shirt (a relic from my glory days, obviously) into the washing machine, it struck me: laundry is a lot like life. We go through cycles, we get dirty, we need a good refresh. Some stains are easy to remove (like that accidental coffee drip), while others linger, leaving their mark (like the memory of that embarrassing karaoke night).

    And just like life, laundry requires balance. Too much detergent and you’re left with stiff, scratchy clothes. Not enough, and well, let’s just say you don’t want to be that person who smells like they haven’t met a washing machine in years.

    Then there’s the sorting. Darks, lights, delicates – each requiring a different approach, just like the people we encounter in our lives. It’s about recognizing those differences, respecting them, and handling them with care (or at least trying to, sometimes I’ll admit, I just throw everything in on cold and hope for the best).

    The Art of Folding (and Letting Go)

    Folding laundry. The bane of my existence. Seriously, why does it feel like such a monumental task? It’s just neatly arranging fabric, right? Yet, there I find myself, staring at a mountain of clean clothes, procrastinating with the finesse of a seasoned professional.

    But then, as I fold my daughter’s tiny socks, barely bigger than my thumb, it dawns on me: laundry is about more than just cleaning clothes. It’s about caring for the people we love, about creating a sense of comfort and order in a world that often feels chaotic.

    And sometimes, it’s about letting go. Of that stained shirt you can’t bear to part with, of the socks that will forever remain unpaired. It’s about accepting that some things are beyond our control, that life, like laundry, is messy, unpredictable, and ultimately, out of our hands.

  • Why I Let My Toddler Dress Me for a Week

    Why I Let My Toddler Dress Me for a Week



    The Day My Fashion Sense Went on Vacation

    It all started with a stray thought. You know, the kind that pops into your head while you’re desperately trying to convince a tiny human that pants are, in fact, necessary. My three-year-old daughter, Lily, stood defiant, clutching a sparkly tutu and a feather boa. “But Mommy,” she wailed, “THIS is pretty!” And that’s when the thought hit: Why not? Why not let Lily, my little fashionista-in-training, take the reins of my wardrobe for a week?

    Now, before you picture a parade of princess dresses and rain boots, let me clarify: I set some ground rules. Work was off-limits (my boss already questions my sanity). And while I applaud Lily‘s commitment to self-expression, I drew the line at swimwear for grocery shopping. But within those parameters, my wardrobe was her oyster. What could possibly go wrong?

    Day 1: My Toddler, the Superhero Stylist

    Monday morning arrived with the subtle grace of a glitter bomb. I stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and craving coffee, to find Lily beaming beside a pile of clothes that could only be described as “eclectic.”

  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)






    Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you’re living in a sitcom? Where the universe seems to be playing a cosmic prank on you? Well, that was my life for a solid year, all thanks to The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017.

    The Case of the Missing Pepperoni (and Other Phone Number Misadventures)

    It all started innocently enough. I needed a new phone number – you know, the usual adulting stuff. Little did I know, this seemingly mundane task would plunge me headfirst into a world of mistaken identities, hangry callers, and enough pizza-related inquiries to last a lifetime.

    My first clue that something was amiss came a few hours after activating my new number. The phone rang, and an enthusiastic voice boomed, “Yo, I need a large pepperoni, extra cheese, and hurry it up!”

    Papa Joe’s Pizzeria?”

    And so began my reign as the unwitting recipient of calls meant for Papa Joe’s, a once-thriving (judging by the call volume) pizza joint.

    The Pizza Pilgrims and Other Wrong Number Tales

    The calls were relentless. Hungry customers, delivery drivers seeking directions, even other pizza places wanting to borrow a cup of mozzarella – all found their way to my line. I quickly learned the Papa Joe’s menu by heart, could recite their delivery radius in my sleep, and even became somewhat of a connoisseur of pizza-related complaints (“Sir, I’m truly sorry, but I can’t help you with your undercooked crust”).

    One particularly memorable call involved a group of tourists who were convinced I was holding their deep-dish hostage. Apparently, they had placed an order at the old Papa Joe’s location (now a laundromat, according to my intel), and were on a mission to claim their cheesy prize. It took all my persuasive powers (and a Google Maps search) to convince them they were on a wild goose chase.

    Life After Papa Joe’s: Why I Still Answer the Phone with Caution

    Eventually, the calls dwindled. Papa Joe’s faded into urban legend, and my phone number became my own again. But the experience left its mark. Even today, years later, I still answer the phone with a hint of trepidation, half-expecting to hear, “Yeah, can I get two slices and a Coke?”

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant



    My Brown Thumb Turns Green: Embracing the Challenge of Plant Parenthood

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing skills. In fact, my thumbs are decidedly less green and more…well, brown. So, when my well-intentioned friend gifted me a houseplant, I accepted it with a mix of delight and dread. Delight at the thought of bringing some life into my apartment, and dread at the inevitable plant massacre I was sure to commit. Little did I know, this leafy green roommate would teach me more than just how to keep something alive (though that was a definite perk).

    Life Throws Your Way

    The first few weeks were a crash course in plant parenthood. I overwatered, underwatered, and even managed to scorch a few leaves with too much direct sunlight. My poor plant looked like it had seen better days, resembling a sad, wilted salad more than a thriving piece of nature. Just when I was about to throw in the (gardening) towel, something amazing happened. It started to bounce back. New growth emerged, the leaves perked up, and it was like my plant was giving me a leafy green thumbs-up (or at least, that’s how I interpreted it).

    This experience taught me a valuable lesson about resilience. We all go through rough patches, times when we feel wilted and defeated. But just like my resilient houseplant, we have the inner strength to bounce back, stronger and more vibrant than before. It might take some time, a little TLC, and maybe even a pep talk or two (don’t judge, we’ve all been there), but we can overcome challenges and thrive.

    Lesson #2: Growth: Embracing the Unexpected Pace of Progress

    As my confidence as a plant parent grew (pun intended), I became a little obsessed with tracking my plant’s progress. I’d measure its height weekly, scrutinize new leaves, and even whisper words of encouragement (okay, maybe I’m judging myself a little here). I wanted to see tangible evidence of growth, proof that I was doing something right.

    But growth, as I learned, doesn’t always work that way. There were weeks when my plant seemed stagnant, stuck in a leafy limbo. Then, seemingly overnight, it would shoot up, surprising me with its sudden growth spurt. It was a constant reminder that growth isn’t always linear or predictable. It happens in fits and starts, with periods of quiet reflection followed by bursts of progress.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent




    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent


    Confessions of a Budding Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, folks. I became a plant parent for the aesthetic. That lush, verdant Instagram feed? Totally fell for it. Little did I know, my journey into the leafy world would be less “tranquil oasis” and more “daily emotional rollercoaster.”

    It all started with Herbert, my peace lily. I brought him home, placed him by a sunny window, and waited for my home to transform into a tropical paradise. Instead, Herbert just… wilted. Turns out, being a plant parent is less about posing for pictures and more about understanding the silent language of your leafy roommates. So, after a few (dozen) mishaps, I’ve compiled a list of the unspoken rules of plant parenthood. Trust me, your green babies will thank you.

    1. The Thrill of New Growth (and the Agony of Yellow Leaves)

    Rule number one: every new leaf deserves a celebratory dance. Seriously, that tiny sprout signifies growth, resilience, and your undeniable plant whispering skills. Post it on Instagram! Text your mom! You’ve earned those bragging rights.

    On the flip side, a single yellow leaf? Cue the existential dread. Is it overwatering? Underwatering? A rare fungal disease only documented in the Amazon rainforest? Google becomes your best friend (and worst enemy) as you spiral into a research frenzy, convinced you’re one brown spot away from plant homicide.

  • 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 Went From Black to…Slightly Less Black

    I’ve never been particularly gifted in the plant-keeping department. In fact, I’m pretty sure I 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 a silent prayer. I named him Percy (because, why not?), stuck him on a windowsill, and braced myself for the inevitable brown droop of doom.

    But something strange happened. Percy thrived. He sprouted new leaves, stood tall and proud, and even bloomed a few times (which, according to my extensive Google research, is a big deal in the peace lily world). I was amazed. This little green thing, completely dependent on me for survival, was flourishing under my less-than-expert care. It got me thinking: what else could I learn from this resilient little dude?

    Life Gets Rough, Keep Growing

    Percy‘s resilience was inspiring. He weathered accidental overwatering (okay, maybe more than accidental), a few too many days in direct sunlight (oops!), and even a close call with my cat, Mittens, who seems to think all houseplants are catnip-stuffed chew toys. Through it all, Percy bounced back. A little droopy at times, sure, but he always found a way to keep growing.

    It dawned on me that life, much like my cat, can be unpredictable and occasionally harsh. But just like Percy, we have the incredible ability to adapt and overcome challenges. It might not always be graceful (much like Percy’s dramatic drooping after a Mittens attack), but the important thing is to keep reaching for the sunshine, even if it means leaning at a slightly awkward angle.

    Lesson #2: Cultivating Patience – Good Things Take Time

    Plants, as I quickly learned, don’t believe in instant gratification. They grow at their own pace, in their own time. There’s no rushing a new leaf or forcing a bloom. It’s all about patience, consistency, and trust in the natural process.

    As someone who thrives on instant results (thank you, microwave dinners and next-day delivery), this was a tough lesson. But watching Percy slowly unfurl a new leaf, revealing its vibrant green beauty over the course of days, taught me the value of slowing down and appreciating the journey. It’s a lesson I’m still working on (patience is not my strong suit), but Percy serves as a constant, leafy reminder that some things are worth waiting for.

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why You Should Join the Club)





    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a natural nurturer. In fact, my thumbs were practically stained black from a long history of accidental plant homicides. Cacti, succulents, even the supposedly “unkillable” snake plant – they all met their demise under my care. I was convinced I was missing the “plant whisperer” gene.

    Then, something changed. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a sudden urge to nurture something other than my caffeine addiction, but I decided to give plant parenthood another shot. I adopted a humble little ZZ plant, promising myself (and the poor plant) that this time would be different. And guess what? It was.

    Plant Parenthood: More Than Just a Green Thumb

    Now, before you roll your eyes and assume this is just another preachy blog about the zen of indoor jungles, let me tell you, being a plant parent is so much more than having a green thumb. It’s about the unexpected joys, the little quirks that make you smile, and the surprising life lessons you pick up along the way.

    1. Conversations with Your Chlorophyll Crew

    Yes, you read that right. I talk to my plants. And before you judge, I’m convinced they listen! Okay, maybe not in the conventional sense, but there’s something therapeutic about whispering words of encouragement to your leafy companions. “You’ve got this, Philodendron Phil!” or “I’m so proud of you, little succulent Steve!” It might sound crazy, but trust me, it’s oddly liberating.

    2. Witnessing Tiny Victories as a Plant Parent

    Remember that feeling of accomplishment when you successfully assembled IKEA furniture? Being a plant parent is like that, but with leaves and photosynthesis! Every new leaf unfurling, every bloom pushing through, it’s a tiny victory that brings an unexpected wave of joy. Who knew a tiny sprout could make you feel like you could conquer the world?

  • The Day My Inner Voice Started Speaking in a British Accent

    The Day My Inner Voice Started Speaking in a British Accent




    The Day My Inner Voice Started Speaking in a British Accent

    From “Dude” to “Darling:” My Brain’s Transatlantic Makeover

    Have you ever woken up feeling like a completely different person? No, I’m not talking about a dramatic haircut or a newfound love for kale smoothies. I’m talking about something far weirder – the day my inner monologue decided to ditch its usual Californian drawl and adopt a posh British accent.

    It all started with a seemingly innocent cup of tea. See, I’m a coffee person, always have been. But on this particular morning, I woke up craving something different. So, there I was, sipping Earl Grey like a character in a Jane Austen novel, when suddenly, a thought, clear as day, popped into my head: “Well, this is simply delightful, isn’t it?”

    I nearly choked on my biscuit (yes, I was going all out). My inner voice, the one that usually sounded suspiciously like Seth Rogan after a pack of cigarettes, had been replaced by something out of Masterpiece Theatre. It was jarring, hilarious, and a little bit alarming, all at the same time.

    British Accent: From Mundane to Hilarious

    At first, I tried to ignore it, hoping it was just a temporary glitch in my neural pathways. But as the day went on, my internal Benedict Cumberbatch wouldn’t be silenced.

    In the grocery store, while comparing brands of cereal: “One must always prioritize fiber, old chap.”

    At the gym, attempting (and failing) to lift a heavier weight: “Oh, bother. Seems I’ve overestimated my abilities, haven’t I?”

    Even my frustration took on a dignified air. During rush hour traffic, instead of my usual string of expletives, I found myself muttering, “Good heavens, is this the extent of human progress? Stuck in this metal contraption like sardines in a tin.”

    Strangely, the British accent seemed to have an oddly calming effect. Instead of honking my horn, I simply sighed and turned up the radio, which, of course, was now only playing BBC Radio 4 dramas and the occasional Adele song.

    Adjusting to My New Voice: Embracing the Queen’s English (or Trying To)

    It’s been a few weeks now, and my inner voice shows no signs of returning to its former, less-cultured self. I’ve learned to embrace it, mostly. Here are a few things I’ve discovered:

    • People definitely look at you strangely when you say “cheerio” instead of “goodbye.”
    • Suddenly, I have an inexplicable urge to start drinking tea with milk.
    • My vocabulary has expanded to include words like “splendid” and “rubbish,” which is both impressive and slightly terrifying.
  • The Day My Inner Voice Became My Outer Voice (and Why I Don’t Regret It)

    The Day My Inner Voice Became My Outer Voice (and Why I Don’t Regret It)




    The Day My Inner Voice Became My Outer Voice (and Why I Don’t Regret It)

    The Infamous Grocery Store Incident

    Picture this: me, standing in the frozen food aisle, desperately searching for the elusive veggie burgers. I’m talking about the kind that actually have some semblance of flavor, not those cardboard imposters. Suddenly, a wild Karen appears, pushing her overflowing cart with the grace of a rhinoceros on roller skates. She rams me into the freezer door with a grunt and then, without a word, starts pilfering the last of the (you guessed it) good veggie burgers.

    Now, my inner voice, let’s call her Sasha Fierce, was LIVID. “Excuse me?!” Sasha boomed, “You just assaulted me for a veggie burger! And not even the good kind, I might add!”

    For years, Sasha had been relegated to the sidelines, offering her colorful commentary solely within the confines of my skull. But something about Karen’s audacity, her blatant disregard for frozen food etiquette, flipped a switch. And for the first time ever, Sasha Fierce became my outer voice.

    Voice (and Unexpected High Fives)

    Let me tell you, watching Karen’s face morph from entitled indignation to wide-eyed shock was almost worth the near-death experience by freezer burn. Did I handle the situation perfectly? Absolutely not. Was my outburst a tad dramatic? Probably. But you know what? It felt damn good.

    And the unexpected bonus? Other shoppers, who had clearly fallen victim to Karen’s reign of grocery-getting terror, looked at me with a newfound respect. One brave soul even offered me a high five! It was then I realized that sometimes, the things we’re most afraid to say are the things others are dying to hear.

    Embracing Authenticity: How to Channel Your Inner Sasha Fierce

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating for a world where everyone runs around unleashing their unfiltered thoughts like toddlers on a sugar rush. There’s a time and a place for everything, and tact is still a valuable social currency.

    But since that fateful day in the frozen food aisle, I’ve made a conscious effort to bridge the gap between my inner and outer voice. I’ve learned to:

    • Speak up for myself: No more shrinking violet routine when someone disrespects my time, opinions, or personal space.
    • Embrace authenticity: Life’s too short to pretend to be someone I’m not, even if it makes others uncomfortable. (Sorry not sorry, I will never understand the appeal of Crocs.)
    • Use humor as my weapon of choice: Because honestly, who doesn’t love a well-placed witty retort? (Unless it’s directed at them, then maybe not so much.)