Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: indoor gardening

  • 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 Was Real

    I swear it started with a side-eye. You know, that subtle yet unmistakable tilt of the head that says, “Seriously? You’re doing that again?” Except, it wasn’t my roommate or significant other giving me the look—it was Herbert, my peace lily.

    Okay, maybe I was projecting a little. It’s not like Herbert has eyes, let alone the capacity for judgment… right? And yet, ever since I adopted this leafy green companion, I’ve felt a distinct shift in our dynamic—one where I’m pretty sure I’m the one under scrutiny.

    know the kind—deadlines looming, laundry piling up, existential dread creeping in. I plopped down on the couch, microwaved some questionable leftovers, and proceeded to wallow in my own self-pity.

    That’s when I noticed it. Herbert, usually a beacon of verdant glory, was drooping. I’m not talking about a gentle lean—this was a full-on theatrical wilt, leaves practically kissing the floor. Naturally, I panicked. Had I forgotten to water him? Was he getting too much sun? Was this the plant equivalent of a dramatic sigh?

    Turns out, I had overwatered him. As I diligently sopped up the excess water, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Herbert was sending a message: “Get it together, human. This pity party is so two weeks ago.”

    Exhibit B: The Flourishing Success

    But here’s the thing that really seals the deal. Remember that deadline I mentioned? Well, I powered through it. Fueled by caffeine and sheer determination, I finished the project a day early, even impressing my notoriously hard-to-please boss.

    Basking in the glow of accomplishment (and maybe that extra shot of espresso), I glanced over at Herbert. And wouldn’t you know it, the little guy was practically glowing. His leaves were perky, his color vibrant, practically radiating an aura of “See? I knew you could do it.”

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

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




    The Time My Fiddle Leaf Fig Almost Called Me Out

    I swear it happened. I was about to indulge in my third consecutive night of takeout pizza (don’t judge, adulting is hard!) when I caught my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, subtly shaking his…leaves? Branches? Whatever you call them. It was the kind of shake a disappointed parent gives when their child announces they’re dropping out of med school to pursue a career in mime artistry. Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the judgment felt real, people.

    Exhibit A: The Dramatic Wilt

    Ferdinand is a drama queen trapped in a leafy green body. Forget forgetting to water him for a day; a slight dip in humidity sends this guy into a tailspin of despair. His leaves droop lower than my motivation on a Monday morning, practically begging for a therapist and a glass of plant-based Pinot Grigio. And you know what the worst part is? I swear he perks up just a little too quickly after I water him, like he’s saying, “Oh, NOW you decide to pay attention to my needs?”

    Ferdinand magically transforms from a sulky teenager into a thriving botanical masterpiece. New leaves unfurl overnight, his stems stand tall, and he practically glows with an “I woke up like this” confidence. Coincidence? I think not. It’s like he’s trying to impress my friends and whisper, “See, she’s not a complete disaster. Sometimes.”

    Ferdinand isn’t about to pen a tell-all exposé on my questionable life choices (though the thought is terrifyingly amusing), there’s something undeniably relatable about feeling silently judged by our houseplants. Maybe it’s their stoic silence, their unwavering presence in our messy lives, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the tiny voice in the back of our heads reminding us to eat a vegetable every now and then.

    So, tell me, dear readers, am I alone in this hilarious delusion, or have your leafy companions also mastered the art of silent judgment? 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


    We’ve all heard the saying, “Stop and smell the roses.” But what about, “Stop and appreciate the… uh… Ficus?” Yeah, doesn’t have the same ring to it. But hear me out! My journey to becoming a plant parent has been full of unexpected twists, turns, and, dare I say, wisdom.

    My Brown Thumb Redemption Arc

    I’ve never been particularly gifted in the plant 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 for the poor thing. I named him Percy (because, you know, peace lily… get it?), and I was determined to prove my brown thumb wrong.

    Percy looking like he was drowning in his pot. It was a whole thing.

    Lesson #1: Sometimes, Less is More (With Houseplants and Life)

    Through trial and error (mostly error, let’s be honest), I learned that Percy thrived on neglect. Okay, not neglect, but definitely a more hands-off approach than I was giving him. It turned out that my constant fussing and overwatering were doing more harm than good. Who knew?

    Turns out, this lesson translates to real life too. Sometimes, the best thing we can do for ourselves (and our loved ones) is to take a step back, give ourselves some space, and avoid drowning them in our anxieties. Deep, right? All thanks to Percy the Peace Lily.

    Lesson #2: Embracing the Subtle Growth of Your Houseplant (and Yourself)

    One day, I was about to give up on Percy altogether. He just wasn’t looking so hot. But then, I noticed something amazing. A tiny, little sprout emerging from the soil. It was small, almost insignificant, but it was there. Percy was growing!

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

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



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

    The Side-Eye Started With a Spider Plant

    Let me preface this by saying I’m a reasonably responsible plant parent. I don’t overwater, I don’t underwater (much), and I even attempt to mimic the tropical humidity my plant children crave. But lately, my spider plant, Herbert, has been acting…off.

    It started subtly. A slight droop on days I slept in. A perky resurgence when I finally unpacked that box of “decorative gourds” I’d been meaning to display. But then things escalated.

    Exhibit A: The Case of the Dramatic Wilt

    Remember that “decorative gourd” display? Turns out, it was less “charming autumnal vignette” and more “breeding ground for fruit flies.” I battled those tiny winged demons for a solid week, a period during which Herbert staged what can only be described as a theatrical performance of despair.

    plant equivalent of “I haven’t slept in days.” The moment the last fruit fly met its demise? Herbert perked up like he’d just won the plant lottery. Coincidence? I think not.

    Exhibit B: The Suspicious Growth Spurt

    Now, I’m not saying I need validation from a houseplant, but I’d be lying if I said a little plant-based ego boost didn’t feel nice. Which brings me to Herbert’s suspicious growth spurt.

    It happened after I successfully propagated a new plant from a cutting. One day, Herbert was your average, slightly judgmental spider plant. The next? He was a verdant fountain of foliage, practically bursting with new growth and even – dare I say it – pride.

  • 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 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 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 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.