Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: peace lily

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Become a Plant Parent Too)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Become a Plant Parent Too)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, my history with plants was less “green thumb” and more “leaves-turning-brown-on-contact.” I once managed to kill a cactus. A CACTUS. You know, the plant that thrives on neglect? Yeah, not even those desert warriors could survive my presence.

    So, imagine my surprise when, during the depths of lockdown boredom, I found myself inexplicably drawn to a sad-looking peace lily at the grocery store. It was like it was sending me an S.O.S. with its droopy leaves. Against my better judgment (and the warnings of my roommate), I took it home. And that, my friends, is how my journey into the wonderful world of plant parenthood began.

    The Unexpected Joys of Watching Things Grow (No, Really!)

    I’m not going to lie, the first few weeks were a nerve-wracking dance of Googling “how much water does a peace lily need” and frantically checking for signs of life. But then, something magical happened. My neglected peace lily, the one I was convinced I’d already murdered with kindness (or lack thereof), sprouted a new leaf.

    That tiny, green shoot filled me with an absurd amount of joy. It was like witnessing a tiny miracle, a testament to the fact that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t destined to be a plant grim reaper after all. And honestly, that feeling? It’s addictive. There’s something incredibly satisfying about nurturing another living thing and watching it thrive under your care.

    Plants: The Chillest Roommates You’ll Ever Have

    Unlike my actual roommate who tends to leave dirty dishes in the sink and blast terrible music at 2 a.m., my plants are the epitome of chill. They don’t require awkward small talk, they haven’t once complained about my questionable taste in reality TV shows, and they actually improve the air quality. Win-win!

    Plus, they’re excellent listeners. Having a bad day? Tell it to the succulents! Feeling stressed? Confide in your monstera! They won’t judge (or at least, I don’t think they will…).

    • Bonus: Plants are proven to reduce stress and boost your mood. Science says so!
    • Double Bonus: They can even make your home look more stylish. Forget expensive artwork, just get yourself a fiddle leaf fig and watch the compliments roll in!

    Ready to Embrace Your Inner Plant Parent?

    So, what are you waiting for? Ditch that black thumb and join the wonderful world of plant parenthood! Trust me, it’s way more fun (and less messy) than you might think.

    Now, tell me, what’s your biggest fear about becoming a plant parent? Let me know 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


    My Thumb Is Not So Green

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing nature. I’m more of a “forget to water myself” kind of person, let alone another living thing. So, when my well-intentioned friend gifted me a houseplant—a supposedly “easy to care for” peace lily—I accepted with a mix of skepticism and terror. I mean, I’d successfully killed a cactus once. A CACTUS!

    But this little plant, with its deep green leaves and surprisingly resilient disposition, ended up teaching me more than I could have ever imagined. Who knew such profound wisdom could sprout from a pot of soil?

    Plant Parents)

    My first lesson came in the form of a droopy, sad-looking plant. I’d overwatered it. In my enthusiasm to not be a plant murderer, I’d drowned the poor thing. Thankfully, after some frantic Googling and a whole lot of apologizing to the peace lily, I managed to revive it. It was a humbling experience, to say the least.

    Turns out, plants, like people, thrive on consistency, not sporadic bursts of attention. Who knew? (Okay, maybe everyone else, but I was clearly late to the plant-whispering party). Learning to be patient, to observe and respond to its subtle cues—a slightly wilted leaf, a drooping stem—was an exercise in mindfulness I didn’t know I needed.

    Growth Takes Time (and the Occasional Repotting)

    As the weeks turned into months, my little peace lily, much to my surprise, actually started to thrive. It sprouted new leaves, its roots grew strong, and it even graced me with a beautiful white bloom. I was ecstatic! But then, just as I was starting to think I’d graduated from Plant Killer to Plant Whisperer, it started to wilt again.

    Turns out, even with the best care, sometimes you need to shake things up a bit. My plant had simply outgrown its pot. It was time for a change, a chance to spread its roots and reach new heights.

    This, I realized, applied to my own life too. There were times when I needed to step outside my comfort zone, to embrace new challenges and opportunities for growth, even if it meant feeling a little uncomfortable at first. Just like my peace lily, I needed space to blossom.

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Get Your Green Thumb On)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Get Your Green Thumb On)




    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Get Your Green Thumb On)


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Okay, confession time: I used to be a notorious plant killer. Seriously, I could wither a succulent in a sauna. Give me a cactus, and I’d somehow manage to drown it. It was a sad state of affairs. So, imagine my surprise when, during a particularly uneventful trip to the grocery store, I found myself inexplicably drawn to a droopy little peace lily.

    “Don’t do it,” my inner voice cautioned, “Remember Barry the begonia? And what about Steve the spider plant? Their demise still haunts my dreams!”

    But something about the lily’s sad little leaves called to me. Maybe it was the promise of some much-needed greenery in my life, or maybe it was the deeply discounted price tag. Whatever the reason, I caved.

    And that, my friends, is how my journey into the unexpected (and surprisingly delightful) world of plant parenthood began.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me



    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a cheesy reality show, a half-eaten bag of chips precariously balanced on your stomach. You glance up, and there it is: the judgment. From your houseplant.

    Is My Houseplant Giving Me the Side-Eye?

    It started subtly. I’d be rushing out the door, late for work, and catch a glimpse of my peace lily, Steve. (Don’t judge, I’m a firm believer in plants having dignified names.) It felt like he was… following me with his leaves.

    like he was disappointed.

    “Another takeout container in the recycling?” Steve seemed to sigh. “You know, composting is really not that hard.”

    Okay, maybe I was projecting. But the guilt was real.

    My Houseplant Judged My DIY Skills – I Swear!

    One particularly harried evening, I was attempting to assemble furniture using only a butter knife and sheer willpower (it was doomed from the start). I may have uttered a few choice words that would make a sailor blush. That’s when I saw it.

    Steve’s leaves did a full-body shudder.

  • 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 past attempts at keeping plants alive could be classified as “botanically challenged,” at best. I’m the queen of unintentional plant homicide. I once managed to kill a cactus. A CACTUS. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a sprightly little peace lily named Percy – I accepted with a smile and a silent prayer for the poor thing’s survival.

    Plant Care

    My first misconception was that Percy would thrive on benign neglect. Surely, a little water every now and then would suffice? Wrong. Percy quickly taught me the delicate dance of sunlight and hydration. Too much sun, and his leaves would crisp. Too little, and he’d droop like a disappointed parent.

    I learned to read his subtle cues: the gentle tilt towards the window, the slight browning at the leaf tips. This little plant, incapable of speech, taught me the art of observation and patience. Who knew that nurturing a living thing required, well, actual nurturing?

    Lesson #2: Silent Growth: The Power of Slow and Steady Progress

    For weeks, it seemed like Percy was stuck in a perpetual state of “just existing.” No new leaves, no dramatic growth spurts, just…being. I was convinced I’d failed him, destined to add another victim to my plant graveyard. Then, one morning, I noticed it – a tiny, tightly furled leaf, peeking out from the base.

  • 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 (Sort Of)

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing nature. I’m the queen of killing cacti and forgetting to water even the most low-maintenance succulents. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with a smile that was equal parts polite and panicked. “Peace lily? More like ‘please don’t die lily,’” I thought to myself.

    But something strange happened. Maybe it was the guilt of potentially sending another plant to its early demise, or maybe it was the sheer audacity of this green thing daring to thrive in my presence. Whatever it was, I decided to give this whole plant parenting thing an honest go.

    Plant Care)

    Turns out, plants operate on their own sweet time. They don’t care about my deadlines, my social life, or my need for instant gratification. My peace lily, which I affectionately named Ferdinand, grew at a pace that can only be described as glacial. I’m talking millimeters per month, people.

    At first, I was frustrated. I wanted to see dramatic results, flourishing leaves, maybe even a flower or two (a girl can dream, right?). But as the weeks turned into months, I started to appreciate Ferdinand’s slow and steady progress. I learned that real growth takes time, both for plants and for people. We can’t rush the process, no matter how much we might want to.

    Lesson #2: Learning a Plant’s Needs is Like Understanding Yourself

    Here’s a newsflash: plants are actually pretty simple creatures. They need a few basic things to survive: sunlight, water, and nutrients. Who knew, right?

    I quickly discovered that Ferdinand was a bit of a drama queen when it came to his basic needs. Too much sun? Wilted leaves. Not enough water? Droopy disposition. I learned to pay attention to his subtle cues, deciphering his nonverbal language like some sort of plant whisperer (okay, maybe not quite).

    This newfound attentiveness translated to other areas of my life. I started paying closer attention to my own needs, recognizing the signs of burnout and making time for self-care. Who would have thought that a houseplant could teach me the importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing my well-being?

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)




    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent: My Story

    Let’s be honest, folks. For the longest time, my thumbs were about as green as a lump of coal. I’m talking succulent homicide, peace lily massacre – you name it, I’d accidentally offed it. So, naturally, the thought of becoming a “plant parent” filled me with a special kind of dread, usually reserved for trips to the dentist and doing my taxes.

    But then, something magical happened. My well-meaning but misguided friend gifted me a scraggly little peace lily for my birthday. Figuring it was already half-dead, I did the bare minimum: watered it occasionally, whispered apologies when I forgot, and basically hoped for the best.

    plant. That’s when it hit me: maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t destined for a life of horticultural homicide. Maybe, with a little effort (and a lot of Google searches), even I could experience the joys of plant parenthood.

    Why You Should Become a Plant Parent: Joy #1 – Plants are the Chillest Roommates

    Forget noisy neighbors, passive-aggressive roommates, or significant others who leave dirty socks on the floor. Plants are the ultimate low-maintenance companions. They don’t care if your apartment is a mess, they won’t judge your questionable taste in music, and they’ll never steal your leftovers.

    Seriously, all they ask for is a little sunlight, some water, and maybe a pep talk now and then (don’t judge, it works for me!). In return, they’ll purify your air, add a touch of life and color to your space, and make you feel like a domestic goddess/god who has their life together (even if you secretly don’t, like me!).

    Benefit #2 of Plant Parenthood: Watching Your Plant Babies Grow is Therapeutic

    Remember that feeling of accomplishment you got from completing a 1,000-piece puzzle? Or finally finishing that Netflix series you were binge-watching? Well, watching your plant babies sprout new leaves, unfurl delicate blooms, or even just stubbornly cling to life is surprisingly similar.

    It’s like a tiny reminder that even amidst the chaos of everyday life, growth and beauty are still possible. Plus, there’s something incredibly therapeutic about tending to your plants – it’s a chance to slow down, reconnect with nature, and forget about your worries for a while (unless, of course, you’re worried about overwatering, but that’s a story for another time).

  • 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…Less Black?

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing abilities. I once killed a cactus. A CACTUS. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with the same enthusiasm one might have for a tax audit. I figured it was only a matter of time before I added “plant murderer” to my list of questionable talents.

    plant’s persistent perkiness, or maybe I was just tired of watching succulents spontaneously combust in my care, but I decided to actually try this whole “keeping something alive” thing.

    Lesson #1: Resilience Is About More Than Just Bouncing Back

    Turns out, peace lilies are pretty dramatic. Forget to water them for a few days? They wilt like a heartbroken teenager. Give them a little H2O? BAM! Back to life, good as new. This cycle repeated itself several times (okay, maybe more than several) before it finally sunk in: even after a major droop, a little TLC goes a long way.

    Who knew this applied to more than just thirsty flora? We all have those “wilting” moments, those times when we feel like we’re running on empty. But just like my little green roommate, we’re capable of bouncing back. Sometimes, all it takes is recognizing what we need (a good night’s sleep, a vent session with a friend, a whole pizza eaten in one sitting…no judgment here) and giving ourselves permission to recharge.

    Lesson #2: Embracing Imperfect Growth in Ourselves and Our Plants

    Remember how I said I’m not exactly a natural in the plant-parent department? Yeah, well, that learning curve was steep. There was accidental overwatering (RIP, bottom leaves), a near-death experience involving a heat vent, and let’s not even talk about the Great Repotting Fiasco of 2023.

    But through it all, my little plant persevered. It sprouted new leaves (some a little wonky, but hey, nobody’s perfect), and even—dare I say it—thrived. It was a messy, chaotic journey, but with each new leaf, I learned to embrace the process, imperfections and all.

  • 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 Hilarious Descent into Plant Parenthood

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my previous attempts at nurturing plant life could be politely described as “optimistic” with outcomes ranging from “wilted disappointment” to “crispy oblivion.” So, when a friend gifted me a peace lily, my initial reaction was a healthy mix of delight and terror. This beautiful, leafy creature was now my responsibility, and I was determined not to add it to my plant graveyard.

    Plant Parents)

    One of the first things I learned was that plants, unlike my demanding inbox, operate on their own schedule. This realization hit me, quite literally, when my peace lily started to dramatically droop a week after I brought it home. Panicked, I frantically Googled “droopy peace lily” and discovered the culprit: dehydration. Turns out, even the most low-maintenance plants need a little H2O every now and then. Who knew?

    After a thorough watering (and a silent apology), I watched in amazement as the leaves slowly perked back up, seemingly forgiving my forgetfulness. It was a powerful reminder that patience, both with ourselves and others, can work wonders.

    Lesson #2: Embracing Growth (and the Messy Process of Repotting)

    As weeks turned into months, my peace lily thrived. It sprouted new leaves, each one a tiny victory in my journey as a plant parent. But then came the inevitable: repotting. The very idea filled me with dread. What if I damaged the roots? What if it hated its new home? Yet again, I consulted the all-knowing Google and discovered that sometimes, a little “tough love” is necessary for growth.

    Armed with a larger pot, fresh soil, and a surprising amount of determination, I successfully repotted my peace lily. It wasn’t pretty (I may or may not have gotten dirt everywhere), but we both survived. Seeing my little plant adapt and thrive in its new environment taught me that embracing challenges, even the messy ones, can lead to incredible growth and resilience.

  • 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

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my thumbs are more of a “wilted brown” when it comes to keeping plants alive. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a sprightly peace lily, I accepted it with a mixture of cautious optimism and impending doom. I named him Percy (because, obviously) and placed him on my windowsill, bracing myself for the inevitable plant funeral.

    Percy and I got off to a rocky start. I overwatered him, underwatered him, and even managed to scorch a few of his leaves with too much direct sunlight. He was drooping, browning, and frankly, looked ready to give up the ghost. Feeling like a plant-murderer in the making, I was ready to toss him in the compost bin. But then, a glimmer of hope appeared. A single, tiny leaf unfurled, a vibrant green beacon against the brown.

    Something shifted within me. If Percy could rally after my less-than-stellar care, couldn’t I do the same in my own life? We all have moments where we feel wilted and defeated, but Percy reminded me that even in the face of adversity, the potential for growth and renewal remains. From then on, I vowed to be more attentive to Percy’s needs (and downloaded a plant care app—no shame!).

    Lesson #2: Patience: A Plant’s Pace of Growth

    As Percy slowly began to recover, I found myself impatiently waiting for him to flourish. I wanted to see lush leaves, vibrant blooms, the whole shebang! But Percy, in his infinite wisdom, had other plans. He took his sweet, green time. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and still, there were no dramatic transformations.

    Then, one morning, while watering him (on schedule, thanks to my app!), I noticed something magical. A single, elegant bloom had emerged, its white spathe unfurling like a delicate flag of victory. It was a subtle change, easily missed if I wasn’t paying attention. And that was the lesson. Real growth, true transformation, rarely happens overnight. It’s the small, incremental changes, the subtle shifts in perspective and effort, that ultimately lead to the most beautiful outcomes.