Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: houseplants

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant



    From Black Thumb to Budding Botanist (Sort Of)

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have always been more “black hole” than “green thumb.” I’m the person who could kill a cactus in a desert. So, naturally, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily, my immediate thought was, “I’m going to kill this plant, aren’t I?”

    Turns out, I was right…partially. I overwatered it. I underwatered it. I accidentally left it in direct sunlight, which, as I learned the hard way, peace lilies despise with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Yet, somehow, amidst my bumbling attempts at plant parenthood, this little green warrior not only survived, but thrived. And in the process, it taught me a thing or two about life.

    Lesson #1: Cultivating Resilience: A Houseplant’s Tale

    peace lily looked, well, less than peaceful. Its leaves drooped lower than my motivation on a Monday morning, and its once vibrant green hue had faded to a sickly yellow. I was ready to throw in the towel (or trowel, in this case), convinced that I was a plant-killing monster.

    But then, something amazing happened. I adjusted my watering schedule, found a nice shady spot for it to chill, and lo and behold, new growth started to appear. Tiny, vibrant green shoots peeked out from the soil, like a tiny green middle finger to my doubts. The peace lily, despite my best efforts to the contrary, was resilient. And it reminded me that even when we feel wilted and worn down, the capacity for growth and renewal is always within us.

    Lesson #2: Finding Patience in the Plant World

  • 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


    The Side-Eye is Real

    It all started with a feeling. You know that feeling when you’re pretty sure someone’s watching you, but you turn around and no one’s there? Yeah, that’s what it’s like living with Herbert, my supposedly “carefree” spider plant.

    I swear, I caught him — yes, “him,” he has definite “dude on the couch judging my life choices” energy — giving me the side-eye over breakfast the other day. One minute I’m innocently enjoying my avocado toast, the next I feel this…presence. I look over, and there he is, perched on the windowsill, leaves strategically angled like he’s about to launch into a dramatic monologue about the state of my recycling habits.

    Houseplant‘s Wilting Accusations

    Now, I’m not new to this whole plant parenting game. I’ve managed to keep a cactus alive for three years (a personal best!), so I’m not exactly failing at this. But Herbert? He’s different. He’s got this way of dramatically wilting the second I think about being late with his watering schedule.

    I’m talking full-on, theatrical droop. It’s like he’s saying, “Oh, you think you can just ignore my basic needs for hydration? Watch this…” And then, *poof*, instant plant-world drama queen. The worst part? He perks right back up the second he gets a splash of water, leaving me to question my sanity (and my ability to read a simple moisture meter).

    The Silent Judgement of New Growth

    Here’s where things get really weird. A few weeks ago, after what I thought was a particularly successful yoga session (read: I didn’t face-plant on the mat), I walked back into my living room to find Herbert…different. He’d sprouted a new leaf, a big one, and it was unfurling right before my eyes.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Aw, that’s sweet! He’s thriving under your care!” But here’s the thing, this wasn’t a happy, “look at me, I’m growing!” kind of unfurling. This was a slow, deliberate, “I see what you did there” kind of unfurling.

    He’s been holding that leaf like a silent, green judge ever since. It’s gotten to the point where I catch myself adjusting my posture when I walk by, as if a single houseplant could actually revoke my houseplant-owning privileges.

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From Becoming a Crazy Cat Lady)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and How It Saved Me From Becoming a Crazy Cat Lady)





    From Feline Fantasy to Frond Fanatic

    I used to be that girl. You know the one—obsessed with cat videos, dreaming of fluffy felines curled up on my lap. I envisioned a life filled with purrs, cuddles, and maybe a little playful chaos. But then, life, as it often does, took an unexpected turn. My shoebox apartment (seriously, it was tiny!) wouldn’t accommodate my feline fantasies. Dejected, I almost resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood, surrounded by cats I didn’t even have.

    Then, one fateful day, I wandered into a plant shop. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and something green and alive. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, casting intricate shadows on the floor. And there, nestled among the ferns and succulents, I found my calling. Or rather, my calling found me.

    Plant Parent Mishaps)

    My journey into plant parenthood wasn’t without its bumps. In the beginning, I was a notorious over-waterer. My poor peace lily, bless its heart, looked perpetually drowned. Then there was the time I nearly scorched my spider plant to a crisp by placing it too close to the window. (Turns out, direct sunlight isn’t always a plant’s best friend.)

    But slowly, through trial and error (mostly error, let’s be honest), I began to understand the subtle language of my leafy companions. I learned to decipher the droop of a thirsty leaf from the yellowing of one that had had a bit too much to drink. I discovered the joy of watching a new leaf unfurl, a tiny testament to my nurturing (or at least, my ability to keep it alive).

    My Indoor Jungle: Why Plants Are Better Than Pets

    Now, my apartment is a jungle—in the best way possible. I’ve got trailing pothos cascading from shelves, a majestic monstera claiming its territory in the corner, and a collection of succulents that could rival a desert landscape (though hopefully less prickly).

    And you know what? I wouldn’t trade my plant family for all the catnip in the world. They may not greet me with purrs at the door, but they fill my home with life and a sense of calm that no cat video could ever replicate. Plus, they’re far less likely to cough up hairballs on my favorite rug.

  • 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)

    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 charcoal black. I’d managed to kill cacti, for crying out loud! But then, something shifted. Maybe it was the pandemic-induced desire for a connection with nature, or perhaps it was just sheer boredom, but I brought home a humble little snake plant named Steve.

    plant parenthood.

    The Quirky Conversations (and Life Lessons) of Plant Parenthood

    One of the most unexpected joys of plant parenthood? The conversations. Now, before you call the folks in white coats, hear me out. When you’re the proud parent of a leafy friend, you find yourself engaging in the most absurd dialogues.

    “Oh, you’re looking a little droopy today, Philodendron Phil. Did I overwater you? Under-water you? Are you just feeling dramatic?”

    And the best part? You’ll never feel judged. Plants are the ultimate listeners, offering silent but sage advice like, “Just chill out and photosynthesize, man.” It’s surprisingly therapeutic.

    Conquering Pests and Celebrating Growth: The Plant Parent Rollercoaster

    There’s nothing quite like the feeling of watching your plant baby sprout a new leaf. It’s a tangible reminder that you’re doing something right, that you’re keeping another living being alive (a feat some days seem impossible, am I right?).

    But let’s not forget the challenges. Oh, the challenges! From the dreaded fungus gnats to the mealybugs that appear out of thin air, being a plant parent comes with its fair share of battles. But here’s the thing: even the struggles are oddly rewarding. You learn to become a problem-solver, a detective, a warrior in the fight for your plant’s well-being.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent



    Plant Parent

    Plant Killer (Almost)

    My journey into plant parenthood began like a rom-com montage – sun-drenched trips to the nursery, whispered promises of “thriving, not just surviving,” and visions of my apartment transformed into a verdant paradise. Fast forward to reality, and let’s just say my thumbs were less than green. I’m talking crispy edges, wilting stems, and a graveyard of terracotta pots that haunted my dreams (okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you get the picture).

    But amidst the botanical carnage, something strange happened. I learned. I adapted. I even (dare I say it?) succeeded! Turns out, there’s a whole set of unspoken rules to this plant parenting gig, and once you master them, you unlock a world of leafy joy (and maybe a slight obsession with fertilizer, but that’s a story for another day).

    Plants, my friends, are masters of passive aggression. They won’t yell at you for forgetting to water them, but they will subtly droop, brown, or even shed a leaf or two just to keep you on your toes. Consider it their way of adding a little drama to your life.

    Rule #2: One Person’s Trash is Another Plant’s Treasure (Literally)

    Remember that banana peel you were about to toss? Or those eggshells you thought were destined for the compost bin? Hold up! You’ve got plant food gold in your hands, my friend. From coffee grounds to used tea bags, everyday kitchen scraps can be transformed into nutrient-rich treats for your leafy companions.

    Not only will you be reducing waste and channeling your inner eco-warrior, but your plants will reward you with lush growth and maybe even a grateful nod (okay, maybe not the nod, but a girl can dream!).

    The Green Thumb Awaits

    So there you have it – the unspoken rules of plant parenthood, revealed! It’s a journey filled with ups and downs, triumphs and tribulations, but most importantly, a whole lot of leafy love. Now, tell me, what are some of the hilarious or heartwarming moments you’ve experienced as a plant parent? Share your stories in the comments below!


  • 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 Black Thumb to Budding Botanist (Well, Almost)

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have never been mistaken for emerald green. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could kill a cactus in a desert. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a supposedly “unkillable” ZZ plant – I accepted with a smile and a healthy dose of skepticism. Little did I know, this leafy green roommate would end up teaching me more about life than I ever expected.

    plant parenthood were, shall we say, overzealous. I watered the poor ZZ like it was a marathon runner in the Sahara Desert. Surprise, surprise, the leaves started to yellow. After some frantic Googling, I learned about the fine art of “less is more” when it came to watering. I apologized profusely to my plant, promising to do better. And you know what? It bounced back. Stronger, even.

    Seeing that little ZZ plant rally after my unintentional neglect was a powerful reminder that we’re all more resilient than we think. Life’s going to throw curveballs – bad days at work, relationship woes, that second helping of dessert you swore you wouldn’t eat. But just like my resilient ZZ, we have the strength to weather the storms and come out the other side, maybe a little battered, but still growing.

    Lesson #2: Finding Patience: A Virtue Learned From a Houseplant

    Now, I’m a bit of an instant gratification kind of gal. I like my coffee hot, my internet faster, and my results yesterday. So, imagine my surprise when my ZZ plant didn’t sprout new leaves every other day. It took weeks, sometimes months, to see any noticeable growth.

    At first, I’d stare at it, willing it to sprout faster. Then, I realized the absurdity of it all. Plants grow at their own pace. There’s no rushing the process. This realization was a tough pill to swallow, but a necessary one. It taught me the importance of patience, not just with my plant, but with my own life. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither are our dreams. Sometimes, the most rewarding things in life take time, dedication, and a whole lot of waiting (and maybe a little bit of fertilizer).

  • 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. Scrolling through social media, comparing our lives to perfectly curated feeds, and suddenly…bam. The crushing realization that even our houseplants are judging our life choices.

    Okay, maybe not. But hear me out.

    The Day My Plant Parent Guilt Took Root

    It all started innocently enough. I was watering Beatrice (yes, she has a name, don’t judge), my prize-winning peace lily, when I noticed something unsettling. Her leaves, once droopy and on the verge of a dramatic fainting episode, were now perky and vibrant, practically glowing with good health.

    Meanwhile, I was surviving on coffee and dry cereal, hadn’t seen the sun in days thanks to a brutal deadline, and couldn’t remember the last time I watered myself, let alone practiced self-care.

    choices.

    Exhibit A: My Friend’s Perfect Fiddle Leaf Fig (and Life)

    My suspicions grew when I visited my friend, Sarah. Now, Sarah is the epitome of organization and balance. Her life is a Pinterest board come to life, complete with a successful career, a fulfilling social life, and a home that looks like it belongs in a magazine.

    And her houseplants? Don’t even get me started.

    Her fiddle leaf fig, notoriously finicky and prone to drama, was a towering testament to her plant parenting prowess. It was practically touching her ceiling, its leaves a vibrant emerald green, with nary a brown spot in sight.

  • 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 Green Guilt

    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch in your oldest sweatpants, a half-eaten bag of chips dangerously close to becoming your dinner, binge-watching reality TV for the third hour straight. It’s fine, you tell yourself, everyone needs a night off. But then, you catch it. A flash of green in the corner of your eye. You turn your head slowly, and there it is: your plant, leaves perfectly perched, silently judging your every move.

    The Shameful Stare of a Fiddle Leaf Fig

    My personal journey into the secretly judgmental world of plants began with Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand isn’t just any plant. He’s a drama queen, a diva, a green-leafed emperor who demands constant attention and the perfect amount of indirect sunlight. I, on the other hand, am… well, let’s just say my life doesn’t always scream “responsible plant parent.”

    It was a Tuesday, I think. Or maybe a Wednesday? Honestly, the days all blur together when you’re existing solely on caffeine and the promise of ordering takeout later. I was in my usual state of post-work slump, scrolling through social media with the attention span of a goldfish. Ferdinand was basking in his usual spot by the window, looking effortlessly elegant as always.

    Suddenly, I felt a shift in the atmosphere. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I looked up, and that’s when I saw it. Ferdinand’s leaves seemed to be… drooping? Was he wilting? Panicking, I scrambled for my watering can, only to realize I’d forgotten to refill it (again). As I sheepishly filled the can, I could have sworn Ferdinand let out a dramatic sigh. Okay, maybe not a sigh, but there was definitely some serious side-eye happening.

  • 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, Once Brown, Now Slightly Green

    I’ll admit, I wasn’t always a plant person. In fact, I was the human equivalent of a drought. My track record with anything leafy was less than stellar, marked by a trail of crispy leaves and silent accusations. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a cheerful little peace lily, she claimed – I accepted with feigned enthusiasm and a mental countdown to its inevitable demise.

    But something strange happened. Maybe it was the pity I felt for the poor thing, or maybe it was the sheer determination to prove my friend wrong, but I found myself actually trying. And you know what? My plant thrived! It sprouted new leaves, bloomed with unexpected flowers, and even seemed to perk up when I walked into the room (or maybe I was just projecting). The point is, this little plant, this green symbol of my past failures, became my unlikely teacher, imparting valuable life lessons I never expected.

    Lesson 1: Cultivating Patience Through Plant Parenthood

    One of the first things I learned from my plant is that patience isn’t just a virtue; it’s a necessity. You can’t rush growth, no matter how much you might want to. Just like you can’t force a bud to bloom, you can’t force progress in life. Sometimes, you just have to wait, water consistently, and trust the process.

    There were times when I’d stare at my plant, willing it to grow faster, willing it to sprout new leaves overnight. But nature, as they say, takes its time. And in that time, I learned to appreciate the subtle changes, the slow but steady progress. I learned that the most rewarding things in life, like lush foliage and personal growth, take time and consistent effort.

    [IMAGE_DESCRIPTION: Humorous image of the author
  • 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 Journey From Plant Killer to (Slightly) Less Brown Thumb

    Let’s be honest, my history with plants was less than stellar. I’m pretty sure I could kill a cactus in a desert. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a perfectly healthy peace lily, I accepted with a grimace disguised as gratitude. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “I’ve totally turned over a new leaf!” (Pun intended, of course). Little did I know, this leafy green roommate would teach me more than just how to keep something alive.

    Peace Lily

    The first few weeks were a crash course in Plant Parenthood 101. I overwatered, underwatered, and nearly repotted the poor thing in a fit of misguided enthusiasm. Just when I thought all hope was lost, my droopy, yellowing peace lily taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes, you just need to breathe.

    Turns out, plants are pretty good at signaling their needs. Wilting leaves? Needs water. Brown spots? Too much sun. By paying attention to these subtle cues, I learned to slow down, observe, and respond thoughtfully, not just to my plant‘s needs but to my own as well. Who knew a little mindful observation could be so grounding?

    Lesson #2: Cultivating Patience – The Slow, Sweet Reward of New Growth

    Now, I’m a pretty impatient person. I like instant gratification, quick results, and the ability to fast-forward through the boring parts of life (and movies, let’s be real). But my peace lily, bless its heart, operates on its own sweet time.

    Waiting for new growth became a lesson in delayed gratification. It taught me to appreciate the small victories – a new leaf unfurling, a subtle shift towards the sunlight. This newfound patience even spilled over into other areas of my life. Suddenly, I wasn’t as fazed by long lines at the grocery store or traffic jams on the freeway.