Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: indoor gardening

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplants Are Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplants Are Secretly Judging Me



    We all know that plants respond to stimuli, right? Light, water, the occasional serenade of show tunes (just me?). But lately, I’ve started to suspect my leafy roommates are doing a little more than just photosynthesizing. They’re judging. Me. And honestly, who can blame them?

    The Dramatic Dieffenbachia and the Fiddle Leaf Fig

    It all started with Derek, my formerly thriving Dieffenbachia. One day he was the picture of plant perfection, the next he was wilting faster than my hopes and dreams after a bad Tinder date. I’m talking full-on dramatic swoon, leaves drooping like they hadn’t seen a drop of water in decades (it had been two days, max!).

    Now, I’ll admit, I’m not always the most attentive plant parent. I’m more of a “Whoops, forgot to water you for a week, but here’s a whole gallon to make up for it!” kind of gal. But Derek? Derek was different. He was thriving! Until, that is, I brought home that fiddle leaf fig everyone’s been raving about.

    Derek was clearly green with envy (pun intended). From then on, I swear I could feel his judgmental gaze every time I watered Fiona the Fiddle Leaf first. “Oh, so she’s the favorite now, is she?” his drooping leaves seemed to whisper. “Just wait until she sees what I do to your social media feed when you inevitably kill her with kindness.”

    The Silent Treatment: Passive-Aggressive Plant Behavior

    Derek isn’t the only one throwing shade (again, pun intended). My peace lily, Petunia, is a master of passive aggression. Forget the dramatic wilting – she goes straight for the silent treatment. Literally. This plant, known for its beautiful white blooms, has refused to flower since I accidentally left her outside during a freak hailstorm (it was one time, Petunia, get over it!).

    And then there’s Steve, my snake plant. Steve is the strong, silent type. He’s also incredibly low-maintenance, which I appreciate…most of the time. But sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I catch him shooting up a new leaf at an alarming rate. It’s like he’s saying, “See? I can thrive even with minimal effort. Step up your game.”

  • The Unexpected Life Lesson I Learned From a Potted Plant

    The Unexpected Life Lesson I Learned From a Potted Plant




    The Unexpected Life Lesson I Learned From a Potted Plant


    My Black Thumb and the Peace Lily

    Let’s be honest, I’m notorious for accidentally assassinating houseplants. I once managed to kill a cactus – a CACTUS! You know, those desert dwellers designed to thrive on neglect? Yeah, I’m that good.

    So, when a well-meaning friend gifted me a beautiful peace lily for my birthday, panic set in. It was like receiving a delicate, living creature destined to be accidentally smothered with misplaced affection (or more likely, forgotten entirely).

    Peace Lily Alive

    Determined to defy my plant-slaying reputation, I embarked on “Operation: Don’t Kill the Plant.” I consulted Google like the Oracle of Delphi, seeking guidance on watering techniques, ideal sunlight exposure, and the mysterious art of “fertilizing.”

    I became “that guy” – the one poking the soil for moisture, talking to his plant in hushed, encouraging tones (don’t judge!). I even downloaded a plant-tracking app because apparently, my brain couldn’t be trusted to remember “add water every week or so.”

    The Wilting Reality and a Surprising Revelation

    Despite my best efforts, my peace lily went through dramatic phases: “droopy and despondent,” “suspiciously yellowing leaves,” and my favorite, the “is that leaf starting to resemble a potato chip?” phase.

    Just as I resigned myself to another plant fatality, I had a revelation. Maybe, just maybe, I was trying too hard. I was so focused on following the “rules” that I forgot to relax and let nature do its thing.

    So, I eased up on the obsessive watering, stopped analyzing every leaf for imperfections, and just…existed in the same space as my leafy roommate. And guess what? It thrived! Turns out, a little benign neglect was all it needed.

  • 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 all have them – those friends who effortlessly nurture lush, green paradises in their homes. Their thumbs are emerald green, they whisper sweet nothings to their begonias, and their ferns probably give TED Talks on self-actualization.

    Me? I’m more of a “Whoops, did I forget to water you again?” kind of plant parent. Which is why I never expected to learn any profound life lessons from my houseplants. And yet, here we are.

    From Brown Thumb to Budding Philosopher

    My journey started, as most journeys do, with good intentions. I strolled into the garden center, brimming with optimism and a vague notion that having something green in my apartment would make me feel more sophisticated. I left with a peace lily named Percy (don’t judge, I was going through a phase) and a bruised ego after the cashier very kindly steered me away from the orchids (“They’re very high-maintenance, honey.”).

    Percy and I, we had a…complicated relationship. I’d remember to water him sporadically, usually only when his leaves started to resemble something out of a Tim Burton film. He, in turn, seemed to exist in a perpetual state of dramatic wilting, just to keep me on my toes.

    Lesson #1: Small Efforts Can Yield Big Results

    Now, you’d think that a plant constantly on the verge of dehydration wouldn’t have much energy for growth, right? But every so often, after a particularly enthusiastic watering session (fueled by guilt, mostly), Percy would surprise me. A new leaf would unfurl, a delicate green shoot reaching for the sunlight. It was a powerful reminder that even the smallest, most inconsistent efforts can sometimes yield results.

    Of course, there were also times when I’d diligently water Percy for weeks only to find him looking even more tragic than before. Which brings me to…

    Lesson #2: Learning to Let Go

    Turns out, there’s a fine line between nurturing and smothering. Who knew? I learned that sometimes, the best thing you can do is step back, assess the situation, and accept that you can’t force things to grow (or in Percy’s case, not die a slow and dramatic death). This newfound wisdom, surprisingly, extended beyond the realm of houseplants and into my personal and professional life. It was a revelation to realize that sometimes, letting go of control and accepting the natural flow of things is the most effective approach.

  • Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, folks. A few years ago, if you’d told me I’d be the proud parent of a thriving jungle of houseplants, I would have laughed (and then probably accidentally killed a succulent with too much love). I was the ultimate plant killer, leaving a trail of crispy leaves and wilted stems in my wake. But something changed. Maybe it was a global pandemic, maybe it was a quarter-life crisis, or maybe (just maybe) it was the undeniable allure of those cute little monstera leaves on Instagram. Whatever it was, I took the plunge, and let me tell you, the transformation has been remarkable.

    Plant Parenthood

    Here’s the thing about plants – they give back way more than they take. Sure, you gotta water them occasionally (and by occasionally, I mean definitely set reminders on your phone because you will forget), but the benefits far outweigh the minimal effort.

    Stress-Busting Green Therapy

    Remember that feeling of zen-like calm you experience when surrounded by nature? Turns out, you can recreate that in your very own living room! Caring for plants is surprisingly therapeutic. The simple act of watering, repotting, or even just admiring their growth can melt away stress and anxiety. Plus, studies have shown that being around plants can actually lower blood pressure and boost your mood. Who needs a therapist when you have a fiddle-leaf fig, am I right?

    Insta-Worthy Home Decor (On a Budget)

    Let’s face it, plants are the ultimate home decor hack. They add life, color, and texture to any space without breaking the bank. A strategically placed snake plant can instantly elevate your bookshelf game, while a trailing pothos can turn a boring corner into a green oasis. Plus, unlike that expensive designer chair you’ve been eyeing, plants actually appreciate in value (and size!) over time. Talk about a worthwhile investment!

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant



    My Descent into Accidental Plant Parenthood

    Let’s be honest, before last year, my thumbs were about as brown as my morning coffee. The only thing I’d successfully grown was a healthy crop of dust bunnies under the couch. But then, a well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a cute little succulent named Steve (yes, I name my plants, don’t judge!).

    “He’s low-maintenance,” she assured me, “practically thrives on neglect!” Famous last words.

    Even Low-Maintenance Friendships Need Nurturing

    Turns out, even succulents have standards. Who knew? I, in my infinite wisdom, took “low-maintenance” to mean “no-maintenance.” I’m talking weeks without a drop of water, zero sunlight (poor Steve resided in a dark corner because, aesthetics, duh!), and absolutely no conversation (do plants even like jazz?).

    Naturally, Steve staged a silent protest. His once-plump leaves started to resemble tiny, wrinkly fingers. He was basically a grumpy, miniature cactus giving me the side-eye. That’s when I realized, even low-maintenance relationships require effort. Just like we nurture our friendships with check-ins and shared experiences, plants, in their own silent way, need our attention and care.

    Lesson #2: Resilience is a Beautiful Thing (Especially for Houseplants)

    Determined to redeem myself (and save Steve from a tragic, crispy fate), I did my research. I learned about proper watering techniques (apparently, drowning is a thing!), the importance of sunlight (who knew!), and even invested in some plant food (turns out, Steve is a foodie!).

    And guess what? He rallied! Slowly but surely, Steve perked up. His leaves plumped, new growth emerged, and he even gifted me with a tiny, adorable flower. It was a powerful reminder that even after setbacks, even when we feel neglected or wilted, with a little care and attention, we can bounce back stronger than ever.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant



    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my history with plants is more accurately described as a graveyard of well-intentioned purchases. So, when my friend gifted me a sprightly little peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with a mix of gratitude and trepidation.

    Little did I know, this unassuming houseplant, which I optimistically named Ferdinand, would end up teaching me more about life than any self-help book ever could.

    From Brown Thumb to Budding Plant Parent

    My journey with Ferdinand started out rocky, to say the least. I managed to overwater him within the first week, turning his once vibrant green leaves into a droopy, yellow mess. I was ready to admit defeat, convinced I was a plant-killing machine. But then, a funny thing happened.

    I confessed my horticultural sins to my friend, a true plant whisperer, expecting judgment. Instead, she burst out laughing. “Oh honey,” she chuckled, “plants are dramatic, but they’re also forgiving. Just give him some space, less water, and he’ll bounce back.”

    Ferdinand was back to his vibrant self! That’s when I learned my first lesson: We all make mistakes, but with a little patience and the willingness to learn, we can recover and grow stronger.

    Finding Growth Outside My Comfort Zone

    As the months went by, I settled into a comfortable routine with Ferdinand. I learned to read his subtle cues—drooping leaves meant he was thirsty, while a slight tilt meant he was reaching for more light. I even started talking to him (don’t judge, we all have our quirks!).

    Then came the day I accidentally knocked him off the windowsill. I was horrified! One minute, Ferdinand was basking in the afternoon sun, the next he was sprawled across the floor, pot shattered, soil scattered everywhere. “This is it,” I thought, “I’ve finally finished him off.”

    But as I surveyed the damage, I noticed something surprising. Despite the tumble, Ferdinand’s leaves were still green and perky. He was a little worse for wear, but he was alive! With a newfound determination, I repotted him, giving him fresh soil and a cozy new home on my bookshelf.

    To my amazement, Ferdinand not only survived the fall, he thrived! He sprouted new leaves and seemed happier than ever in his new spot. That’s when I learned my second lesson: Sometimes, being shaken out of our comfort zones can lead to unexpected growth and resilience.

    The Power of Patience and a Little Green Therapy

    It’s been a few years since Ferdinand came into my life, and in that time, he’s gone from a near-death experience to a thriving symbol of perseverance. He’s taught me the importance of patience, forgiveness, and adapting to change.

  • 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

    Let's be honest, I'm about as far from a "plant person" as you can get. My idea of plant care involved a hopeful glance every few days and a splash of water when I remembered (which, let's be real, wasn't often). So, when my well-intentioned friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with a smile and a healthy dose of internal panic.

    I mean, what did I know about keeping something alive? I was basically a plant grim reaper, leaving a trail of wilted basil and crispy succulents in my wake. But, determined to prove I wasn't a complete botanical disaster, I decided to give this whole plant parenting thing a shot. Little did I know, my journey with Percy the Peace Lily (yes, I named him) would teach me more than just how to keep a plant alive.

    Plant Care)

    Oh, sweet summer child, I was in for a rude awakening. Used to instant gratification and the fast pace of city life, I expected Percy to flourish overnight. I envisioned a lush, green oasis in my living room, all thanks to my newfound plant prowess.

    Instead, Percy remained stubbornly...Percy. No dramatic growth spurts, no instant jungle vibes. Just steady, consistent growth that I almost missed if I wasn't paying attention.

    It was a humbling experience. I realized that real growth, whether it's a plant or a personal goal, takes time and consistent effort. There are no shortcuts, just a lot of small, seemingly insignificant steps in the right direction.

    Lesson #2: Learning Resilience from a Drooping Peace Lily

    And then, disaster struck. Okay, maybe "disaster" is a bit dramatic, but Percy started to droop. His leaves, once vibrant and green, began to sag, and I'm pretty sure he was judging my plant parenting skills with every wilting stem.

    Turns out, I'd been overwatering him. (Who knew plants could have too much of a good thing?) I felt like a failure, ready to toss in the trowel and embrace my plant-killing destiny.

    But then, just when I was about to give up hope, something amazing happened. After some frantic Googling and a little TLC (read: letting the soil dry out completely), Percy perked up. And not only did he bounce back, but he also surprised me with a beautiful white bloom.

  • 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 Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have a history of being less than green. Okay, they were practically charcoal black. I’d managed to kill cacti, for crying out loud! Plants just didn’t seem to thrive in my presence. So naturally, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a cheerful little ZZ plant, I accepted it with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “This one’s impossible to kill,” she’d assured me. Famous last words, I thought.

    plant, whom I affectionately named Zephyr, was about to school me in resilience. I promptly overwatered him, mistaking his stoic silence for thirst. I left him in a dark corner, thinking he wouldn’t mind the lack of sunlight. Zephyr, however, took it all in stride. He persevered through my well-intentioned but misguided attempts at care.

    Slowly, I began to understand his subtle cues. Drooping leaves meant he needed a drink, not a whole swimming pool in his pot. Yellowing leaves meant he craved a bit of sunshine, not the shadowy depths of my living room. Zephyr taught me that even when faced with challenges, bouncing back is possible, often stronger than before.

    Lesson #2: Patience – The Root of All Growth

    Now, I’m a notoriously impatient person. I want instant gratification, immediate results. Zephyr, however, operates on plant time. He takes his sweet time to sprout new growth. I’d check him every day, convinced that today would be the day a new leaf would magically unfurl. And every day, I’d be met with the same, steady green.

    But then, one day, it happened. A tiny, tightly furled leaf emerged, a testament to Zephyr’s steady, patient growth. He taught me that good things take time. That sometimes, the most rewarding experiences come from waiting, from trusting the process, and from embracing the journey.

  • 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: My Houseplant Journey

    Let’s be honest, my history with plants was less than stellar. In fact, I was basically the plant grim reaper. I’m pretty sure I saw a cactus shudder once as I walked by. So, naturally, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a perfectly healthy peace lily, I accepted with a mix of terror and feigned enthusiasm. “Don’t worry,” I told her (and myself), “This one will be different.”

    Spoiler alert: it wasn’t different, at least not at first.

    Plant Parenting

    My initial approach to plant parenting was a chaotic blend of neglect and overwatering—two equally deadly sins in the plant world. I’d forget about it for days, then drown it in a tidal wave of guilt-water. Unsurprisingly, my poor peace lily started to resemble a sad, wilted salad.

    One day, while scrolling through countless “How to Not Kill Your Houseplants” articles (don’t judge), I had an epiphany: maybe I wasn’t cut out for the intuitive, zen-like approach to plant care. Maybe I needed hard facts, specific instructions, and a schedule I could set on my phone.

    Turns out, my peace lily thrived on routine. Who knew? A little research revealed it only needed watering once a week, preferred indirect sunlight, and actually enjoyed a bit of plant food now and then. Who would’ve thought? So I set reminders, invested in a watering can with measurements, and even downloaded a plant-tracking app (yes, really).

    And guess what? It worked! Slowly but surely, my leafy roommate perked up. New leaves unfurled, vibrant and green. It was a miracle! Or, you know, just the result of following basic instructions. The point is, I felt like a proud plant parent for the first time ever.

    Lesson #2: Slow and Steady: Embracing the Subtleties of Growth

    Here’s the thing about plants: their progress is subtle. You won’t see them sprouting new leaves every day. But if you pay close enough attention, you’ll notice the tiny changes. The way it stretches towards the sunlight. The subtle deepening of green in its leaves. The way it seems just a little bit taller than it was last week.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into the Mind of My Monstera

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into the Mind of My Monstera

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into My Monstera‘s Mind

    The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    It happened again this morning. I was, let’s just say, not looking my finest. You know, the post-sleep hair, mismatched pajamas, pre-coffee haze kind of morning. As I stumbled past my Monstera, Monty for short, I swear I saw it. A slight shift of its largest leaf, a subtle turn towards the window, and that unmistakable vibe that screamed, “Seriously, Sharon? This is how you live your life?”

    Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. But ever since Monty sprouted its third new leaf this spring, I’ve been convinced it’s developed something of a judgmental streak. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy (plant?). But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel like I’m living under the watchful, leafy gaze of a botanical Supreme Court judge.

    Monty for, oh, about two weeks? I know, I know, plant parent of the year right here. Anyway, when I finally remembered and rushed over with the watering can, Monty’s leaves were drooping lower than my enthusiasm for Monday mornings. As I poured the life-giving water, I could practically hear a heavy sigh, followed by a muttered, “It’s about time.”

    Look, I get it. Plants need water. But was that dramatic sigh really necessary, Monty? Couldn’t we have just moved on with our lives? Apparently not. The memory of that disappointed droop still haunts me (and probably fuels my occasional overwatering, but that’s a story for another day).

    Exhibit B: The Great Takeout Container Debacle

    We’ve all been there. It’s been a long day, you’re exhausted, and the last thing you want to do is cook. So, you order takeout. Again. And maybe you leave the empty containers on the counter a little longer than you should. Okay, maybe a lot longer.

    Well, one morning, as I was finally tackling the leaning tower of takeout containers, I caught Monty’s reflection in the window. Or rather, what I perceived as a reflection of my own shame staring back at me. It felt like Monty, with its perfectly positioned leaves and air of quiet dignity, was silently judging my less-than-perfect culinary habits.