Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: fiddle-leaf fig

  • The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices

    The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices

    The Day My Plant Judged My Life Choices: A Hilarious Tale of Self-Care

    We’ve all been there. You’re scarfing down cold pizza at 3 AM, scrolling through endless social media feeds, and suddenly you lock eyes with your houseplant. You know, the one you swore you’d care for diligently? It’s sitting there, basking in the glow of your laptop, leaves perfectly poised, and you can’t shake the feeling it’s judging you. Hard.

    My Brush With Botanical Judgement (and How it Changed Me)

    My personal descent into plant-judgement paranoia started innocently enough. I adopted Ferdinand, a majestic fiddle-leaf fig, during the peak of the pandemic. Everyone was baking sourdough; I was nurturing life! Or so I thought.

    For a few blissful weeks, Ferdinand and I were thriving. I watered him religiously, serenaded him with Mozart (don’t judge), and even invested in a fancy humidifier. He, in return, graced me with new growth and an air of quiet sophistication.

    Ferdinand’s watering schedule. I woke up to find him drooping dramatically, leaves brown and crispy at the edges. He looked…disappointed.

    The Silent Treatment (From a Plant, Yes, Really)

    Over the next few days, I showered Ferdinand with attention (and water, let’s be real). But something had shifted. Gone was his cheerful aura, replaced by an air of stoic disapproval. I swear he even angled his leaves away from me when I walked by.

    It was like that scene in every sitcom where the disappointed parent just sighs and walks away, leaving the protagonist to wallow in their shame. Only instead of a parent, it was a houseplant. And instead of sighing, it was…well, just existing silently. Which, let’s be honest, is somehow even more effective.

    Finding Life Lessons in Unexpected Places: The Wisdom of Plants

    Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I’d gone full-blown crazy plant lady. Maybe the coffee had finally tipped me over the edge. But then it hit me. Ferdinand’s silent judgement wasn’t about him; it was about me.

    He was a reflection of my own neglected needs. Just like I’d forgotten to water him, I’d been neglecting my own well-being – pushing myself too hard, surviving on caffeine and takeout, and generally forgetting to thrive.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me


    From Green Thumb to Green Paranoia

    I used to think I had a green thumb. My windowsills overflowed with vibrant succulents, dramatic ferns, and even the occasional, surprisingly resilient orchid. I whispered words of encouragement to my leafy companions, celebrated new growth like a proud parent, and generally considered myself a friend to all flora. But lately, something has changed. My once peaceful plant haven has become a source of low-key anxiety. Why? Because I swear, one of my houseplants is judging me.

    plant lady starter pack, right? But hear me out. Agnes is a drama queen. One day, she’s basking in the sunlight, leaves practically shimmering with gratitude for my care. The next? She’s wilting like a Victorian child who just heard a mildly inappropriate joke. And the worst part? I can’t figure out why! I water her on schedule, mist her leaves, even serenade her with early 2000s pop (don’t judge, she seems to like it). Yet, there she’ll be, drooping dramatically, throwing me the most obvious side-eye over her lush, green shoulder. It’s as if she’s saying, “Really, Susan? This is the best you can do?”

    Exhibit B: My Houseplant Hates Me, But Loves My Other Plants

    To make matters worse, Agnes isn’t my only plant. Oh no, I have a whole botanical jury assembled on my windowsill. And while Agnes is busy judging my every horticultural decision, the rest of them are thriving. My peace lily is practically throwing out new blooms every week. The succulents are plump and content. Even the notoriously finicky air plant is clinging to life with an almost aggressive enthusiasm. It’s like they’re all in cahoots, silently whispering amongst themselves:

    • “Did you see Susan forget to rotate the ZZ plant again?”
    • “Honestly, the nerve of some people, thinking they can just bring us home and neglect basic plant care.”
    • “At least she got the humidity levels right this time. Baby steps, darling, baby steps.”

    I’m telling you, the judgment is real. I can feel it in the rustling of their leaves, the subtle tilt of their stems, the way they seem to collectively hold their breath whenever I walk into the room.

    Judging Me?

    Look, maybe I’m being a little paranoid. Maybe I’m projecting my own insecurities about being a “plant parent” onto my leafy roommates. Or maybe, just maybe, my houseplants are silently judging my every move. What do you think? Do your plants judge you too?


  • Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)

    Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)



    Maybe you dropped your phone for the hundredth time that day, or burnt dinner… again. But have you ever gotten that feeling from your houseplant?

    My Fiddle-Leaf Fig Made Me Feel Judged (Really!)

    It all started innocently enough. I was sprawled on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, desperately trying to binge-watch my way through a rom-com marathon. Empty pizza boxes littered the coffee table (don’t judge, it was a tough week!), and my laundry hamper overflowed like a forgotten volcano. It was then that I noticed it. My beloved fiddle-leaf fig, Ferdinand, seemed… different.

    His usually perky leaves drooped slightly, and I could have sworn he was leaning away from the chaos. Was it my imagination, or did Ferdinand just give me the botanical equivalent of a disappointed sigh? From that moment on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ferdinand was judging my every move.

    Houseplant Was Judging Me: The Evidence

    Exhibit A: The Case of the Neglected Watering Can

    Remember how I mentioned it was a tough week? Well, apparently, Ferdinand took it personally. I walked into my living room one morning to find him looking particularly parched. His soil was bone dry, and his leaves were practically begging for a drink.

    Guilt washed over me. I quickly filled his watering can, muttering apologies as I gave him a much-needed drink. As the water quenched his thirst, I could have sworn I saw a single leaf perk up, as if to say, “It’s about time.” Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the guilt was real.

    Exhibit B: The Great Repotting Debacle

    Convinced that Ferdinand was trying to tell me something, I decided to become a better plant parent. I researched the perfect soil mixture, invested in a stylish new pot, and even downloaded a plant care app (yes, really). The repotting process, however, was less than graceful.

    Picture this: me, covered in dirt, desperately trying to untangle Ferdinand’s roots from his old pot. Let’s just say it wasn’t my most glamorous moment. As I finally managed to wrestle him into his new home, I noticed a few stray leaves scattered on the floor. Ferdinand, meanwhile, remained stoic, but I could practically hear him thinking, “Was all this really necessary?”

  • 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.