Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: Personal Essay

Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)
From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

Let’s be honest, before I became a plant parent, I was basically a plant grim reaper. I’m talking wilted leaves, droopy stems, the whole tragic opera. My succulents, those supposedly unkillable desert warriors? Toast. My poor peace lily, desperate for a little H2O? You guessed it – swimming with the fishes (metaphorically, of course). I was convinced I was cursed with a black thumb.

But then, something magical happened. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a desperate cry for something, anything, to live under my care. Whatever the reason, I decided to give this whole plant thing another shot. And guys, I’m here to tell you, it’s been life-changing.
Plants
Who knew those little green guys could bring so much joy (and chaos)? Here are just a few of the things I’ve learned on my journey to plant parenthood:

1. Plants Are the Chillest Roommates (Mostly)
- They don’t steal your food from the fridge (looking at you, past human roommates).
- They haven’t complained (to my face) about my questionable taste in music.
- They actually improve the air quality, unlike some people I know (again, past roommates, you know who you are).
Sure, they might require the occasional watering or repotting, but honestly, their demands are pretty minimal. Plus, have you ever seen a happier plant after a good shower? It’s like witnessing pure, unadulterated joy.

2. Plants: Your Tiny, Affordable Therapists

Okay, maybe don’t ditch your therapist entirely (unless your therapist is a cactus, in which case, maybe reconsider your life choices). But seriously, there’s something incredibly calming and therapeutic about caring for plants.

The act of watering, pruning, and just spending time observing their growth is surprisingly meditative. Plus, unlike some humans (ahem, me), plants are excellent listeners. They won’t judge you for that awkward thing you said in 2008, and they definitely won’t interrupt you with their own problems.

March 10, 2025
Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices?

We all have those moments. You know, the ones where you trip over thin air, spill coffee on your only clean shirt, and then accidentally like your ex’s new significant other’s vacation photos from three years ago. We’re only human, right? But lately, I’ve started to suspect that someone (or something) has been silently observing my string of unfortunate events with a mixture of amusement and judgment. And that something, my friends, is Herbert, my seemingly innocent houseplant.

The Case of the Crumbling Cookie

It all started with a particularly rough Tuesday morning. I was already running late when I decided to grab a quick breakfast—a decision that, in retrospect, was the catalyst for Herbert’s alleged judgment. As I attempted to multitask, balancing my laptop, phone, and a plate precariously stacked with a bagel and a very large, very crumbly cookie, disaster struck. You guessed it—crumbs everywhere. And not just a few stray crumbs. We’re talking a full-blown cookie massacre on my keyboard, desk, and, unfortunately, Herbert’s pot.

Herbert—a leaf that seemed to be positioned at the perfect angle to witness my shame. From that moment on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Herbert was watching my every move, silently critiquing my life choices one crumb at a time.

The Great Watering Incident of ’23

If the cookie incident was the spark, then the Great Watering Incident of ’23 was the fuel that ignited my suspicions into full-blown paranoia. See, Herbert is a bit of a drama queen when it comes to his hydration needs. Too much water? He wilts like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. Too little? Cue the dramatic leaf drop that leaves me convinced I’m a plant murderer.

So, on this particular day, armed with good intentions and a watering can, I approached Herbert with the aim of providing him with the perfect amount of life-giving liquid. But as I poured, I got distracted by—you wouldn’t believe it—a notification on my phone. It was a text from my landlord reminding me that rent was due. And just like that, my focus shifted, and I overwatered Herbert. Again.

As I sheepishly emptied the excess water from the plant saucer, I swear I heard a heavy sigh. Okay, maybe it was just the wind rustling the leaves. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Herbert expressing his disappointment in my inability to even master the simple task of watering a plant.

March 10, 2025
Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices?

Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices?

We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you wouldn’t watch, and you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. It’s just sitting there, silently photosynthesizing, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s judging you.

Okay, maybe it’s just me. But hear me out, because I’ve compiled some pretty compelling evidence that my seemingly innocent houseplant, Herbert (yes, he has a name), is actually a very opinionated roommate in disguise.

The Case of the Wilting Leaves

It all started innocently enough. Herbert, a majestic peace lily I’d adopted from the supermarket, was thriving. Lush, green, the picture of plant perfection. Then came my quarter-life crisis.

I’m talking career uncertainty, questionable dating app choices, the whole shebang. And guess what? Herbert started wilting. Not dramatically, mind you, but just enough to make me feel like I was failing at the one thing I thought I was good at: keeping a plant alive.

I’d frantically Google things like “Is my peace lily judging my life choices?” and “Can plants sense existential dread?” (The internet, as always, provided no definitive answers.)

March 10, 2025
The Great Phone Number Debacle: Why I Still Remember My Childhood Best Friend’s Landline
The Day My Social Life Died (and My Phone Was Nowhere Near It)

Remember when losing your phone meant misplacing a clunky device tethered to the wall? Yeah, me neither. Okay, maybe I do, vaguely, like a half-forgotten dream about dial-up internet and Blockbuster nights. But there’s one phone number seared into my memory like the lyrics to my favorite childhood song: 555-2368. My childhood best friend Emily’s landline.

Now, before you roll your eyes and launch into a ballad about the good old days (we all have that one relative, don’t we?), hear me out. This isn’t a nostalgic ode to rotary phones and phone cords that stretched longer than my patience for my brother. This, my friends, is a tale of tragedy, triumph, and the sheer terror of trying to navigate the social complexities of pre-teen life with only a landline as your lifeline.
Friend
Picture this: It’s the summer before sixth grade, the glorious stretch of freedom before the horror of puberty and algebra descended. Emily and I were inseparable – two peas in a pod, two cookies in a milk-deprived world. We spent our days building elaborate pillow forts, perfecting our best Spice Girls impressions (I was *so* Sporty Spice), and generally wreaking havoc upon the unsuspecting neighborhood.

Then, tragedy struck. Emily’s family moved. Not just down the street or to a neighboring town, mind you, but to another *state*. My world, as I knew it, imploded. Gone were our late-night whispered secrets, our shared bags of gummy bears, our synchronized dance routines to the Backstreet Boys (don’t judge).

But wait, there was hope! A lifeline in the form of a seven-digit number scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, clutched in my sweaty, pre-teen hand: 555-2368. Emily’s new phone number, my only link to sanity and friendship.

Operation: Phone Call Chaos (and Parental Interrogation)

Now, here’s where things get complicated. Remember what I said about pre-teen social complexities? Calling your friend’s house back then was a high-stakes game of chance. First, you had the parental interception.
- Scenario 1: The Interrogation. “Hello? Who is this calling for? What? You want to speak to Emily? What is this regarding?” Cue intense sweating and stammering.
- Scenario 2: The Busy Signal. The bane of my existence. Was Emily already on the phone with someone cooler than me? (The answer was inevitably yes).
- Scenario 3: The Jackpot. Emily actually answered! This, my friends, was rarer than finding a holographic Charizard card in a pack of Pokémon cards.
And even if, by some miracle, you did get Emily on the line, there was always the looming threat of…

The Long Distance Call That Still Haunts Me

It started innocently enough. I dialed 555-2368, my heart pounding like a hummingbird on a sugar high. A miracle! Emily answered! We were just catching up, lamenting the tragic separation of our friendship, when suddenly… a voice. Deep, gruff, and distinctly un-Emily-like.

“Emily! Dinner’s ready! And tell your friend it’s long distance!”

March 10, 2025
The Day I Realized My Plant Was Judging My Life Choices

Do Houseplants Judge Us? The Day My Peace Lily Stared Me Down

We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, when you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. No, it isn’t the shame gremlin reminding you about that unfinished to-do list (though he’s probably lurking nearby). It’s your plant. And it’s looking at you with a mixture of pity and disdain that would make even your grandma proud.

The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room

My own journey into the secret world of plant judgment began innocently enough. I, like many others during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a Plant Parent™. I envisioned a peaceful oasis filled with thriving greenery, a testament to my nurturing spirit and excellent taste in ceramic pots.

Fast forward through several months and a concerning number of Google searches like “Why are my plant’s leaves turning brown?” and “Is overwatering a thing?” and my once-perky peace lily, Phil, was… not thriving. He looked less like a symbol of growth and more like he was about to audition for a horror movie role as “Depressed Houseplant #4.”

plant-parenting skills to my friend over the phone. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” I sighed dramatically, gesturing with a limp piece of Phil’s foliage (don’t worry, I snipped it off after for optimal plant health).

That’s when I saw it. As I bemoaned my fate, Phil’s remaining leaves seemed to… shift. It was subtle, but I swear he was giving me the side-eye. A slow, deliberate tilt of his pot towards me that screamed, “You call this watering schedule ‘consistent’? Amateur.”

Plants: Silent Judges of Our Life Choices?

From that moment on, I couldn’t unsee it. Every time I reached for the takeout menu instead of cooking a nutritious meal, Phil’s leaves seemed to droop a little lower. When I spent an entire Saturday binge-watching true crime documentaries instead of, you know, being a productive member of society, I could practically hear him sigh in exasperation.

And it wasn’t just Phil. My previously innocuous succulent collection began to resemble a jury of my peers, their spiky exteriors radiating silent judgment with each questionable decision I made.

March 10, 2025
The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why You Should Join the Club)
From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent: My Story

Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always the crazy plant lady I am today. In fact, my thumbs were practically charcoal black. I’m talking about the kind of track record that could make a cactus cry. But then, something magical happened. I got a pothos. Yes, a pothos, that unkillable champion of the plant world.

And guess what? It thrived! Not only did it survive my neglectful watering habits (oops!), but it actually grew… a lot. Seeing that little green warrior flourish under my care (or lack thereof) sparked something in me. It was a sense of accomplishment, a connection with nature, and maybe even a tiny bit of bragging rights.
Plant Care (and Why It Doesn’t Matter)
Now, before you think I’m some plant whisperer, let me assure you, I’m not. I still have conversations with my leafy roommates that probably sound like gibberish to them. “Are you thirsty? Or maybe too sunny? Wait, are you more sunny over there?” The struggle is real, people.

But that’s part of the fun! It’s like having a pet that speaks a different language—except plants don’t judge your terrible attempts at communication. They just sit there, looking all green and glorious, silently thanking you for the (hopefully) adequate care. And when they sprout a new leaf? Pure joy, my friends, pure joy.

Benefits of Being a Plant Parent: More Than Just Pretty Leaves

Beyond the sheer joy of keeping something alive (a feat in itself for some of us), being a plant parent comes with a surprising number of perks. Here are just a few:
- Stress relief: Caring for plants is surprisingly therapeutic. Studies even show that being around nature can lower stress levels. Plus, it’s hard to stay stressed when you’re admiring your monstera’s latest fenestration.
- Improved air quality: Plants are like little air purifiers, filtering out toxins and releasing fresh oxygen. So, not only do they look good, they help you breathe better too!
- Home decor upgrade: Let’s be real, plants are the ultimate home decor hack. They add life, color, and texture to any space, instantly making it feel more welcoming and vibrant.
March 10, 2025
Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Green Cult)
From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

Okay, let’s be real – I used to be the grim reaper of greenery. Seriously, I could kill a cactus in a desert during a monsoon. Give me a bouquet of flowers, and I’d somehow manage to turn them into a science experiment gone wrong within 24 hours. It was a sad state of affairs.

But then, something magical happened. My well-meaning friend (who clearly hadn’t witnessed my plant-slaying abilities) gifted me a succulent. A succulent. You know, those practically indestructible desert dwellers? I was terrified.

To my absolute shock (and my family’s utter disbelief), that little succulent thrived. And so began my journey from plant assassin to, dare I say it, a plant parent.
plant parent comes with some pretty awesome perks:
- Instant Zen Master: Forget expensive meditation apps – repotting a plant is my therapy. There’s something incredibly grounding about getting your hands dirty (literally) and nurturing something green and glorious.
- Air So Fresh, You’ll Ditch the Air Freshener: Plants are basically nature’s air purifiers. They suck in all the bad stuff and release lovely, fresh oxygen. It’s like having a tiny rainforest in your living room (minus the monkeys… usually).
- Interior Design on a Budget: Forget expensive art prints – a few strategically placed plants can instantly transform your space from “blah” to “botanical chic.” Plus, they’re way cheaper than that abstract painting you’ve been eyeing.
Confessions of a Plant Parent (My Hilarious Plant-tastrophes)

Okay, okay, I’ll admit it – my plant parenting journey hasn’t been without its hiccups. There have been moments of overwatering, underwatering, and let’s not forget the time I nearly gave my peace lily a sunburn (who knew they liked indirect sunlight?). But hey, that’s all part of the adventure, right?

My biggest piece of advice? Don’t be afraid to fail! Plants are surprisingly resilient (except maybe my first fern – RIP, Ferdinand). Embrace the learning curve, laugh at your mistakes, and celebrate the little victories. Like the time my monstera finally unfurled a new leaf, and I swear, I heard angels singing.

March 10, 2025
The Unexpected Joy of Missing My Train

The Day My Schedule Went Off the Rails (Literally)

We’ve all been there. You’re rushing through the station, coffee sloshing precariously, heart pounding to the rhythm of the announcement: “The train departing for…” My moment arrived just last week. There I was, a frantic mess, only to witness my train chugging merrily away without me. My initial reaction? Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.

But as I stood there, shoulders slumping, a strange calm washed over me. My carefully constructed schedule lay in ruins, and you know what? It was oddly… liberating. I was free, untied to the rigid timetable I’d imposed on myself. And that, my friends, is when the adventure began.

Discovering Hidden Gems: A Bookstore and a Second Breakfast

With time suddenly on my side, I noticed a charming bookstore nestled on a side street I’d always zipped past. Drawn in by the promise of literary treasures, I discovered a haven of overflowing shelves and the intoxicating scent of old paper. I spent a delightful hour browsing, stumbling upon a forgotten classic I’d been meaning to read for years.

March 10, 2025
Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a true crime documentary marathon, when you suddenly feel a presence. You glance around, expecting to see a nosy neighbor peering through the window, but then you lock eyes with… your houseplant. And in that moment, you just know it’s judging you.

Does Your Houseplant Give You the Side-Eye?

Okay, maybe “judging” is a strong word. But I swear, my Monstera Deliciosa, Ferdinand, has perfected the art of the side-eye. It’s especially potent when I’m indulging in my less-than-ideal habits. You know, like attempting (and failing) to make three-course meals from those meal kit services, or letting laundry pile up until it resembles Mount Washmore.

Ferdinand‘s leaves drooping lower than usual. Coincidence? I think not. He’d heard my cynical commentary and decided love was officially dead.

My Plant’s Perfect Routine vs. My Chaotic Life

Another reason for my suspicions? Ferdinand is the epitome of consistency. He thrives on routine, soaking up his weekly watering and basking in the sunlight streaming through my living room window. I, on the other hand, am more of a “fly by the seat of my pants” kind of gal. My sleep schedule is a suggestion, my diet is questionable at best, and my apartment cleaning routine? Let’s just say Ferdinand has witnessed things…

He’s like the silent, leafy embodiment of all the things I should be doing: drinking enough water, getting eight hours of sleep, maybe even developing a green thumb of my own (a girl can dream, right?).

Did My Houseplant Just Show Signs of Approval?

And then there’s the evidence that really solidified my theory. A few weeks ago, after a particularly productive day where I actually, you know, adult-ed, I noticed something amazing. Ferdinand had sprouted a new leaf! It was vibrant green, reaching towards the sunlight like a tiny, triumphant flag.

March 10, 2025
The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

The Day My Elevator Etiquette Died (and I Didn’t Care)

It all started with a rogue sneeze. I was crammed into a stuffy elevator, sandwiched between a man who looked vaguely like he was about to announce a hostile corporate takeover and a woman delicately dabbing at her upper lip with a napkin. The sneeze hit me like a freight train, a full-body convulsion that probably rattled the fillings in everyone’s teeth. And you know what? It felt amazing.

As I basked in the post-sneeze euphoria, I realized something profound: I had just broken one of the cardinal rules of elevator etiquette. I had acknowledged my fellow passengers’ existence. I had, dare I say, interacted with them. And the world hadn’t ended. In fact, the woman with the napkin actually cracked a smile.

That, my friends, is when I decided to wage war on the oppressive silence of elevator rides. I became a self-proclaimed Elevator Rebel, committed to injecting a little humanity into these metal boxes of awkwardness.

Elevator Etiquette Rule #1: Thou Shalt Not Make Eye Contact (Seriously?)

This is Elevator Etiquette 101. You know the drill: eyes straight ahead, fixed on the glowing numbers above the door, pretending with all your might that you’re not hurtling through space in a metal box with a bunch of strangers.

But here’s the thing: we’re all human. We all crave connection, even if it’s just a fleeting moment of shared amusement with a stranger over a particularly wonky elevator music rendition of “Despacito.” So I say, make eye contact! Offer a smile. You might be surprised at the positive ripple effects it can have.

Elevator Etiquette Rule #2: The Sound of Silence (Unless We’re Talking Profits)

Apparently, the only acceptable topics of conversation in an elevator are work-related and utterly devoid of personality. Heaven forbid you should mention the weather, your adorable new puppy, or the existential dread you feel when contemplating the vastness of the universe.

I, however, am a firm believer in the power of small talk. I’ve had surprisingly delightful conversations in elevators about everything from the best local coffee shops to the latest season of “Stranger Things.” Sure, not every conversation will be a winner, but at least I’m not contributing to the soul-crushing silence.

March 10, 2025