Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: indoor gardening

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices




    Do Houseplants Judge Us? My Leafy Roommates Seem to Think So

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, and the only witness to your shame-spiral is a leafy friend sitting on your windowsill. But what if that leafy friend wasn’t just a silent observer? What if, behind those vibrant green leaves, lived a judgmental roommate who chronicled your every move?

    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Takes Sides in Family Drama

    It all started innocently enough. I was chatting on the phone with my mom, a woman whose love language is unsolicited advice. As she launched into her weekly critique of my dating life (“Honey, you’re not getting any younger!”), I noticed a change in Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. His leaves, usually perky and full of life, began to droop. Was he…wilting?

    At first, I brushed it off. Maybe he needed water. But then, as my mother continued her well-intentioned but brutal assessment of my life choices, Ferdinand took it up a notch. One by one, his leaves began to yellow, like tiny, botanical surrender flags waving in the face of my existential crisis. It was as if he was saying, “She’s right, you know. Get your act together.”

    Choices

    Ferdinand isn’t the only one with opinions. Penelope, my peace lily, is a master of passive-aggressive judgment. Take, for instance, the Great Instant Ramen Incident of 2023. I was having a particularly harried week, fueled by deadlines and two-minute noodles. As I slurped down my fourth consecutive bowl of sodium-laden goodness, Penelope took a stand. Or rather, a slump.

    Her once-proud blooms, which usually resembled delicate white sails, shriveled up faster than my hopes of ever owning a home with my current dietary choices. I swear I even heard a faint, disapproving sigh coming from the general vicinity of her pot.

    Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting. Maybe Ferdinand was just thirsty. Maybe Penelope was battling a nasty case of aphids. But it’s hard to ignore the feeling that my plants are privy to my deepest insecurities, silently judging my every move from their ceramic pedestals.

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)



    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Okay, confession time. I used to be a notorious plant killer. Like, give-me-a-cactus-and-I’d-find-a-way-to-dehydrate-it kind of plant killer. My thumbs were anything but green. Then, something magical happened. I adopted a sad-looking peace lily from the grocery store clearance aisle. It was a total impulse buy, fueled by a potent mix of coffee and the delusional belief that this time would be different.

    And you know what? It was.

    That peace lily, bless its resilient little heart, not only survived but thrived under my care. That’s when I realized that being a plant parent wasn’t just about keeping something green alive—it was about the unexpected joys that came with it.

    plant parent is like that, but on a whole other level. Every new leaf unfurling, every bloom that bursts open, feels like a personal victory.

    And you better believe I document every milestone. My camera roll is basically a plant photoshoot waiting to happen. “Oh, you got a promotion? That’s cool. My monstera just sprouted TWO new leaves!”

    But seriously, there’s something incredibly rewarding about nurturing another living thing and watching it flourish. It’s like having a tiny, silent roommate who communicates solely through growth spurts and the occasional dramatic leaf droop (more on that later).

    Joy #2: Embracing Your Inner Plant Whisperer (and the Occasional Crisis Aversion)

    Before becoming a plant parent, I never thought I’d be the type to have full-blown conversations with inanimate objects. Now? I’m basically fluent in plant.

    • “Hmm, your leaves are looking a little droopy. Thirsty?” Waters generously
    • “Oh, you’re leaning towards the window? You must be craving some sunshine!” Strategically repositions plant for optimal light exposure

    It’s amazing how quickly you learn to read the subtle cues of your plant children. And let me tell you, the sense of accomplishment when you diagnose a problem (is it overwatering? Underwatering? Pest infestation?) and successfully nurse your plant back to health? Pure. Gold.

    Plus, there’s the added bonus of developing a superhuman ability to spot a spider mite from a mile away. Trust me, your non-plant parent friends will be amazed (and slightly terrified) by your newfound skills.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Ever feel like your houseplant is silently judging your messy life? You’re not alone! This hilarious take on plant parenthood will have you laughing along with your leafy roommate.

    Okay, I know this might sound crazy, but hear me out. I think Gerald, my prized monstera deliciosa, is judging my life choices. And not just a little side-eye judgment either. I’m talking full-on, withering-glare, “I can’t even” energy.

    The Time Gerald Staged a Silent Protest

    It all started a few weeks ago. I was having one of those weeks, you know? The kind where you survive on coffee, dry shampoo, and the sheer will to exist. Laundry piled up, dishes took over the sink, and the only green thing I consumed was a questionable spinach smoothie from three days prior.

    Gerald, usually a beacon of lush, tropical vibes, started to droop. At first, I brushed it off. “He’s just dramatic,” I thought, misting him with some lukewarm tap water (because let’s be real, boiling water for a plant when you haven’t even showered in two days is a Herculean task). But the drooping turned into a full-on wilt. He looked like a defeated feather duster.

    It was then that I swear I saw it – a judgmental tilt to his largest leaf, as if to say, “This is your life now? Really?”

    My Plant Thrives When My Life is Together (Coincidence? I Think Not!)

    The guilt trip worked. I cleaned my apartment, ate a vegetable, and even managed to sleep for a solid eight hours. The next morning, Gerald was practically glowing. His leaves stood tall, proud, almost smug. Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the difference was undeniable.

    And it wasn’t just a one-time thing. I’ve noticed a direct correlation between the state of my apartment (and let’s be honest, my life) and Gerald’s overall mood.

    • Weekends spent binge-watching reality TV and ordering takeout? Gerald gets a little crispy around the edges.
    • Productive week of work, balanced meals, and maybe even a yoga class? Gerald unfurls a new leaf, like a green high five celebrating my achievements.

    The Struggle is Real, But So Is the Greenery

    Now, I’m not saying Gerald is some kind of plant deity here, judging my every move. (Okay, maybe I am a little.) But there’s something oddly motivating about knowing that my houseplant thrives when I do too. It’s like having a leafy life coach who communicates solely through passive-aggressive wilting and the occasional triumphant new leaf.

    So, tell me, am I crazy, or are our plant friends silently judging our life choices? Share your plant parent stories in the comments below! Let’s unravel this botanical mystery together.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant



    plant parenthood could be politely described as “noble failures.” So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a sprightly little ZZ plant, I accepted it with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “This one’s impossible to kill,” she assured me. Famous last words, I thought.

    But something unexpected happened. Not only did my ZZ plant thrive (despite my best efforts to accidentally drown it), but it also started teaching me some surprisingly profound life lessons. Yes, you read that right – life lessons from a houseplant! Who knew?

    Lesson #1: Patience is a Virtue (and a Watering Schedule)

    One of the first things I learned from my ZZ plant was the importance of patience. Unlike my impatient self, who craves instant gratification, this plant was perfectly content to grow at its own pace. It didn’t sprout new leaves every day, or even every week. But when it did finally unfurl a new shoot, the sense of satisfaction was immense.

    Plant)

    Remember when I mentioned my tendency to overwater? Well, let’s just say my ZZ plant has seen its fair share of soggy soil. But here’s the thing: it always bounced back. Even when I thought I’d drowned it for good, it would perk right back up after a little drying-out period.

    This resilience was incredibly inspiring. It reminded me that even when life throws curveballs (or overzealous watering cans), we have the inner strength to weather the storm. Just like my ZZ plant, we can adapt, recover, and come back stronger than ever.

  • 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 Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    It happened again this morning. You know that feeling when you’re rushing around, trying to make coffee, find your keys, and not trip over the laundry mountain, all while sporting questionable bedhead? Yeah, that feeling. As I scrambled past, coffee mug sloshing precariously, I swear I saw it. A slight shift in the leaves of my monstera deliciosa, a barely perceptible tilt of its stem. Was that…judgment?

    Okay, maybe I’m being a tad dramatic. But ever since I became a plant parent (a term I use loosely, considering my track record), I can’t shake the feeling that my houseplants are silently observing my every move. And honestly, I’m not sure they like what they see.

    Brenda, my peace lily. Now, Brenda arrived with a reputation. “Low-maintenance,” they said. “Almost impossible to kill.” Challenge accepted, I thought.

    Turns out, Brenda thrives on routine. She likes her water on Tuesdays and Thursdays, a gentle misting every other day, and absolutely no direct sunlight between the hours of 1 pm and 3 pm. I, on the other hand, am a creature of chaos. I water when I remember (which, let’s be honest, is usually when Brenda’s leaves start to droop dramatically), and my concept of routine is remembering to brush my teeth twice a day (most days).

    So, it should come as no surprise that Brenda and I have a…complicated relationship. Every time I walk by, her leaves seem to wilt just a little lower, as if to say, “You call this plant care? My previous owner used to serenade me with Mozart while watering with rainwater collected at dawn.” The guilt is real, people.

    The Saga of the Overwatered Spider Plant

    If Brenda is the stoic, silently judging roommate, then Steve, my spider plant, is the passive-aggressive one. He never outright complains, but he lets his feelings be known in subtle, yet undeniable ways.

    Like, remember that time I went through a phase of “being a good plant parent” and diligently watered everything in sight? Steve was not impressed. He responded by growing roots that burst out of the drainage holes, snaking their way across my bookshelf like some kind of botanical escape attempt.

    “Too much, too soon,” his roots seemed to whisper. “Chill out, Linda.” (Yes, I realize I gave my spider plant a human name and then assigned it an entirely different human name in my head. Don’t judge me, you haven’t met Steve.)

  • 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 Turns Green: A Houseplant Journey

    We’ve all been there. You walk into the grocery store for milk and eggs and walk out with a brand new houseplant. It seemed like a good idea at the time, right? “This time will be different,” I told myself, my eyes wide with hope and a healthy dose of naiveté. My track record with plants was, let’s just say, less than stellar. I was the Grim Reaper of greenery, the destroyer of delicate ecosystems contained in terracotta pots.

    But this little guy, a sprightly peace lily with leaves like dark green satin, stole my heart. I named him Percy (don’t judge), and vowed to break the curse of my brown thumb. Little did I know, Percy was about to break more than just that.

    Percy on schedule, made sure he got enough sunlight, even serenaded him with the occasional show tune (again, don’t judge). But then, the inevitable happened. I got busy, life got in the way, and poor Percy started to wilt. His leaves, once proud and perky, drooped like forgotten party streamers. I was sure this was it, the end of Percy and another notch on my plant-killing belt.

    But then, something unexpected happened. After a particularly enthusiastic watering (okay, maybe I panicked), Percy perked back up. He didn’t just bounce back; he thrived. His leaves were greener, his stems stronger. He even sprouted a new leaf, a tiny green flag waving in the face of adversity.

    That’s when it hit me: resilience isn’t just about bouncing back; it’s about growing stronger from the experience. It’s about taking the tough times and using them to fuel your growth. Percy, in his quiet, leafy way, taught me that even when we’re knocked down, we have the strength to come back stronger than before.

    Lesson #2: The Importance of TLC – For Plants and People

    As Percy continued to flourish, I realized something else: he wasn’t just surviving; he was responding to my care. When I took the time to prune away dead leaves, he rewarded me with new growth. When I gave him a little plant food, his leaves seemed to shine a little brighter. It was like he was saying, “Hey, thanks for noticing! I appreciate the effort.”

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant






    My Little Green Guru: A Houseplant‘s Wisdom

    Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. More like a “brown thumb of doom,” if you ask my partner. So when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant for my birthday, I accepted it with a grimace disguised as gratitude. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “I’ll keep it alive…ish.” Little did I know, this little pot of foliage would become my unlikely life coach, teaching me valuable lessons I never expected.

    Lesson 1: Patience is a Virtue, Even for Houseplants

    Now, I’m a bit of an instant gratification kind of gal. I like my coffee brewed in seconds, my emails answered yesterday, and my Amazon deliveries, well, you get the picture. So imagine my surprise when my plant didn’t magically sprout new leaves and flowers overnight. I watered it, I gave it sunlight, I even sang to it (don’t judge), but still, it seemed content to just…exist.

    Then, one day, I noticed it. A tiny, unfurling leaf, pushing its way towards the sun. It was a slow and subtle change, but it was progress! That’s when it hit me: real growth takes time. Just like my little plant, some things in life can’t be rushed. Whether it’s a personal goal, a relationship, or even just learning to make the perfect sourdough bread, patience is key.

  • 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)



    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer

    Let’s be honest, I haven’t always had the greenest thumb. In fact, my history with plants was more of a graveyard than a garden. I once managed to kill a cactus. A cactus, people! You practically have to try to achieve that level of plant neglect.

    But something changed last year. Maybe it was the pandemic-induced desire for some living, breathing company. Maybe it was the sheer aesthetic appeal of a well-placed fiddle leaf fig. Whatever it was, I found myself drawn to the world of indoor plants. And you know what? I haven’t looked back since.

    Plants: More Than Just Pretty Green Things

    What I didn’t expect was the sheer joy that came with plant parenthood. Sure, they look beautiful, adding a touch of life and vibrancy to my home. But the benefits go far beyond aesthetics:

    • Stress Relievers: There’s something incredibly therapeutic about tending to plants. Watering, pruning, even just misting their leaves—it’s all strangely calming. It’s like meditation, but with more chlorophyll.
    • Air Purifiers Extraordinaire: Forget those fancy air purifiers! Plants are nature’s own little oxygen factories, cleaning the air and making your home feel fresher and more inviting.
    • Conversation Starters: Forget boring small talk. Plants are the ultimate icebreakers. Everyone from your chatty aunt to the shy delivery person suddenly has something to comment on (and maybe even ask for care tips!).

    The Unexpected Joy of Plant Parenthood: Bragging Rights Included

    And then there’s the sheer pride. Remember that cactus I mentioned earlier? Well, now I can confidently nurture a peace lily through its entire flowering cycle. And let me tell you, when those elegant white blooms emerge, it’s a victory dance moment.

    Suddenly, you’re that person posting #plantparenthood updates on Instagram. You’re fielding questions from friends and family about the best way to propagate a pothos. You’re even considering joining your local plant swap group (yes, they exist, and they’re awesome!).

  • 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 Little Green Guru

    Let’s be honest, I’m about as far from a “plant person” as you can get. My thumbs are decidedly not green – more like a pale, indecisive beige. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant, I accepted it with the same enthusiasm I’d reserve for a tax audit. “Don’t worry,” my friend chirped, “It’s practically unkillable!” Famous last words.

    Little did I know, this unassuming pot of greenery (a ZZ plant, I later learned – very dramatic name) would become my unlikely life coach. Sure, it didn’t offer sage advice or motivational quotes, but through its silent, leafy existence, it taught me more about life than I ever expected.

    Lesson #1: Plant Resilience – More Than Just a Buzzword

    I’m embarrassed to admit how quickly I almost killed the poor ZZ plant. I overwatered it, forgot about it in a dark corner, and generally treated it like a piece of furniture (that occasionally got a splash of water when I remembered). But here’s the thing about ZZ plants: they’re practically superheroes of the plant world.

    Despite my best (or worst?) efforts, the plant bounced back. It lost a few leaves, sure, but its core remained strong. It was a living, breathing testament to the power of resilience. It made me realize that even when life throws shade (pun intended!), we have the capacity to adapt, recover, and come back stronger.

  • 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 Day My Fiddle Leaf Fig Raised an Eyebrow

    We all have them, right? Those moments where you catch your pet giving you the side-eye, silently questioning your life choices. Well, last week, I swear my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, did the same. It was one of those mornings – you know the kind – mismatched socks, coffee breath, frantically searching for my keys. As I pivoted in a whirlwind of chaos, I caught Ferdinand’s shadow in my peripheral vision. And let me tell you, that shadow was definitely judging my morning scramble.

    Ever since that moment, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that Ferdinand is silently critiquing my every move. Don’t believe me? Let me present the evidence.

    Ferdinand has a way of making me feel extra guilty about my forgetfulness. I swear, the moment I remember his need for hydration, his leaves droop just a tad lower, as if to say, “Oh, you finally noticed me? I was starting to think I’d turn into a desert plant over here!”

    And the worst part? Once I do remember to water him, I can practically hear the internal monologue: “About time. Honestly, the nerve of some people, letting a perfectly good plant get so parched.” Okay, maybe I’m projecting a bit, but the judgment is palpable!

    Exhibit B: The Curious Case of the Dropped Croissant Crumb

    I’ll admit, I have a tendency to be a bit messy. Crumbs on the counter, clothes on the floor – you know, the usual signs of a life lived to the fullest (or at least that’s what I tell myself). But Ferdinand seems to have a sixth sense for my messy habits. One time, I dropped a stray croissant crumb near his pot (okay, maybe it was more than one crumb, but who’s counting?).

    Later that day, I swear I caught him leaning ever so slightly towards the fallen crumbs, leaves rustling as if sighing in exasperation. It was as if he was saying, “Really? Again? Must you turn my humble abode into a breadcrumb wasteland?” The judgment was real, my friends. Real and slightly terrifying.