Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: monstera

  • My Monstera is Judging Me (and Honestly, It Has Every Right To)

    My Monstera is Judging Me (and Honestly, It Has Every Right To)




    My Monstera Is Judging Me (and Honestly, It Has Every Right To)

    From Houseplant Parent to Paranoid Plant Person

    Let me preface this by saying I love my plants. I mean, I REALLY love my plants. I sing to them, I give them personalized care routines, I even whisper words of encouragement when they sprout new leaves (don’t judge me, you do it too). But lately, something’s changed. My Monstera, affectionately named Monty, has begun looking at me…differently.

    It all started with a misplaced watering can. I was running late (as usual), and in my haste, I may have accidentally drenched Monty a little more than intended. As I rushed out the door, I caught a glimpse of Monty’s face (or, well, where its face would be if plants had faces) and could have sworn there was a subtle eye roll. Okay, maybe I was imagining things. But then it happened again. And again. And again.

    Monstera Judging My Interior Design Choices?

    One particularly sunny afternoon, I decided to treat myself to a little midday nap. I drew the curtains halfway, creating the perfect amount of dappled sunlight for my precious plant children. Or so I thought. As I drifted off to sleep, I swear I heard a heavy sigh, followed by the distinct rustle of leaves. I opened one eye to see Monty, bathed in a sliver of direct sunlight, its leaves pointed accusingly towards the slightly askew blinds.

    I mean, come on, Monty! It’s called “aesthetic lighting,” look it up.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    We all have them, those little quirks that make us human. Maybe you leave the dishes “soaking” for a suspiciously long time, or perhaps you’ve mastered the art of wearing the same pair of pajamas for three days straight (no judgment here). But what if, and hear me out on this, our houseplants are silently observing these quirks? Judging them, even?

    The Side-Eye From My Monstera

    It all started innocently enough. I was gifted a beautiful Percy, naturally, and placed him on my bookshelf, imagining our future filled with leafy companionship and Instagram-worthy photoshoots.

    However, my idyllic vision of plant parenthood quickly took a turn. I’d be curled up on the couch, shamelessly binge-watching reality TV in my rattiest sweatpants, when I’d catch Percy‘s leaves subtly angled towards me. Was it my imagination, or was that a silent judgment on his velvety green face?

    Percy‘s leaves quiver. Was he…disgusted? Appalled by my lack of baking prowess? I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but still. It felt personal.

    The Curious Case of the Wilting Fern

    And let’s not forget about Fiona, the fern who met an untimely demise. Now, I’m not saying Percy had anything to do with it, but the timing was suspicious, to say the least. Fiona started wilting the day after I accidentally blasted her with hairspray (it was a windy day, okay?).

    While I mourned Fiona’s crispy fronds, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Percy was somehow… smug? Was he secretly relieved to be rid of the competition for my (admittedly sporadic) attention?

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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 Day My Monstera Raised an Eyebrow

    Let’s be honest, plant parents. We’ve all been there. That moment when you lock eyes with your leafy companion and swear you see a flicker of judgment in their… well, lack of eyes. It happened to me last Tuesday. I was sprawled on the couch, shamelessly devouring a bag of chips, reruns of a reality TV show I’m too embarrassed to name playing on the screen. As I reached for another chip, my hand brushed against my majestic Monstera Deliciosa, Phil.

    And that’s when it happened. One of Phil‘s giant, perforated leaves tilted. Ever so slightly. Like a judgmental eyebrow raised in a silent, “Seriously?”

    Phil‘s silent scrutiny, and frankly, it’s making me re-evaluate my life choices.

    Exhibit A: The Case of the Unwatered Succulent

    Remember Gary, the succulent I adopted with promises of a bright future and well-drained soil? Yeah, about that. Gary didn’t fare so well. Apparently, “low-maintenance” doesn’t mean “no-maintenance” (who knew?). One overwatering incident (or three) later, Gary went to the great plant shop in the sky. And you know who witnessed the whole sorry saga? Phil. He sat there, silently observing as I over-compensated with affection, then ultimately, failed Gary.

    I swear, I saw a new leaf unfurl the day after Gary went to succulent heaven. Coincidence? I think not.

    Exhibit B: The Great Unwashed Dishes Debacle

    We all have those days. The ones where even the thought of putting on pants feels like a monumental task, let alone tackling the Mount Everest of dirty dishes piled precariously beside the sink. One such day, I was feeling particularly unmotivated. I shuffled past Phil, takeout container in hand, and swore I heard a rustle of disapproval. Okay, maybe it was just the air conditioning vent, but still. The timing was uncanny.