Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant growth

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    From Black Thumb to… Less Black Thumb?

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have always been a slightly concerning shade of charcoal gray. I’m drawn to the idea of a home filled with vibrant, oxygen-producing greenery, but my track record with plants was less “thriving jungle” and more “desolate wasteland.” So, imagine my surprise when my latest houseplant, a spunky little ZZ plant named Zephyr, not only survived but thrived under my care. Turns out, Zephyr wasn’t just adding to my home décor; he was dispensing some serious life lessons.

    Zephyr, in all his leafy wisdom, taught me the importance of patience. I’m a notorious instant-gratification seeker, but plant growth, as it happens, doesn’t really work that way. I’d stare at Zephyr for hours, willing him to sprout new growth.

    “C’mon, buddy,” I’d whisper, “Just a leaf? A little sprout? Anything?”

    Of course, Zephyr remained indifferent to my pleas. He grew at his own pace, teaching me that sometimes, the best things in life (like new leaves and personal growth) take time. And maybe a little less frantic whispering.

    Lesson #2: Tough Love is Still Love

    Now, I’m a natural-born nurturer. Give me a wilting flower or a sad-looking sourdough starter, and I’m there with words of encouragement and maybe a tiny pep talk. But Zephyr, bless his heart, taught me that sometimes, tough love is the way to go.

    I’m talking about resisting the urge to water him every time his leaves looked at me sideways. Overwatering, I learned the hard way, is a thing. Just like in life, sometimes we need to step back, give things space, and let them find their own strength. (Though, to be fair, I’m still working on applying this logic to my love of baking cookies at 2 a.m.)

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Are My Plants Judging Me? The Hilarious Reality of Plant Parent Paranoia


    The Side-Eye From a (Very) Dramatic Spider Plant

    It all started with a dramatic wilting. I’m talking theatrical, head-in-hands, Shakespearean levels of plant despair. My usually chipper spider plant, which I’d affectionately named Gerald, looked like I’d just canceled our beach vacation.

    “Okay, drama queen,” I muttered, grabbing my watering can. “Don’t tell me you need water again?”

    As I watered Gerald, I swear I felt his…disapproval. Like he was thinking, “Took you long enough, peasant.” From then on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Gerald was judging my every move.

    plant equivalent of someone binge-watching reality TV in their pajamas.

    Then, my mother-in-law came to visit.

    Now, my mother-in-law is lovely. She really is. But let’s just say we have…differing opinions on houseplant care. She believes in a “more is more” approach to watering, while I’m a cautious optimist who’d rather underwater than overwater (sorry, Gerald!).

    So, imagine my surprise when Beatrice suddenly sprouted a new leaf during my mother-in-law’s visit. And not just any leaf – this thing was practically the size of Texas! It was almost as if Beatrice was showing off, whispering, “See? This is what happens when I’m properly cared for!”

    Coincidence? I think not.

    The Silent Treatment and Other Passive-Aggressive Plant Behaviors

    Since then, I’ve noticed a pattern of passive-aggressive behavior from my houseplants. A few highlights:

    • My cactus, Steve, who’s usually quite prickly (pun intended), suddenly bloomed the day after I finished cleaning the entire apartment.
    • My succulent collection, which I swear rearranges itself when I’m not looking, seems to thrive when I’m feeling stressed. It’s like they’re mocking my inability to relax.
    • And don’t even get me started on the silent treatment. One wrong move – say, forgetting to mist my ferns – and it’s radio silence from the entire plant gang.
  • 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)




    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    I used to be a notorious plant killer. Seriously, I could take a cactus down in a matter of weeks. My thumbs weren’t just black, they were practically wearing tiny Grim Reaper costumes. So, when a friend gifted me a resilient snake plant a few years ago, I accepted with a mix of skepticism and dread. To my utter astonishment, not only did the plant survive, it thrived! That’s when my journey into the wonderful world of plant parenthood began, and let me tell you, it’s been a wild (and surprisingly joyful) ride.

    Witnessing the Miracles of Life (and Photosynthesis)

    There’s something incredibly rewarding about nurturing another living thing. And yes, before you roll your eyes, plants are very much alive and kicking (metaphorically, of course). Watching a tiny sprout emerge from the soil or a new leaf unfurl is like witnessing a tiny miracle unfold before your very eyes. Suddenly, you understand those proud plant parent Instagram posts. You, too, will feel the urge to document every new growth spurt and share it with the world (or at least your closest friends).

    And the best part? Plants don’t judge your photography skills (or lack thereof). A blurry photo of your monstera’s newest fenestration is still a thing of beauty in the plant parent world.

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

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

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club!)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a plant person. In fact, I was the human equivalent of a drought. My houseplants, bless their little stems, didn’t stand a chance. They wilted, they browned, they basically staged a silent protest against my neglect. It was a graveyard of good intentions, fertilized by my forgetfulness.

    But then something changed. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a sudden surge of adulting, but I decided to give plants another go. And let me tell you, I was not prepared for the joyride that came with being a plant parent.

    Leaf Fig Unfurled a New Leaf (and My Heart Exploded)

    You guys, I’m not exaggerating when I say that witnessing a new leaf unfurl on my fiddle leaf fig was akin to seeing my firstborn child take their first steps. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but the feeling was real!

    Suddenly, I understood the hype. That tiny leaf wasn’t just a leaf, it was a symbol of hope, growth, and my newfound ability to keep something alive for longer than a week (sorry, goldfish from my childhood). It was a victory against my former plant-killing self, and I was officially hooked.

    Plants: The Chillest Roommates You’ll Ever Have (Except for That One Time…)

    Let’s face it, human roommates can be…a lot. They leave dirty dishes in the sink, steal your food, and have opinions about your questionable taste in reality TV. Plants, on the other hand? Low-maintenance, drama-free, and they’ll never judge your questionable life choices.

    Except for that one time I almost killed my peace lily. You see, I thought I was being extra caring by giving it a generous amount of water. Emphasis on generous.

    Cue the dramatic wilting, the drooping leaves, the panicked Google searches. It turns out, even the chillest roommates have their limits. Luckily, after some emergency plant CPR (aka letting the soil dry out completely), my peace lily forgave me. Crisis averted.

  • Why I Started Talking to My Plants (and You Should Too)

    Why I Started Talking to My Plants (and You Should Too)




    Why I Started Talking to My Plants (and You Should Too)


    The Day My Thumb Turned Green (Well, Greener)

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have never been particularly green. I’m more of a “oops, forgot to water you for three weeks” kind of person. But everything changed a few months ago. My once thriving peace lily was looking decidedly un-peaceful – drooping, yellowing, sending out silent cries for help (or maybe that was just the creaking floorboards, I don’t know). Desperate, I did something completely out of character: I started talking to it.

    Plant Whisperer

    I know, I know. It sounds crazy. But I figured, what did I have to lose? I launched into a monologue about my day, the weather, my hopes for the future (mostly involving my peace lily making a miraculous recovery). I even serenaded it with a slightly off-key rendition of “You Are My Sunshine.” Don’t judge.

    The craziest part? It seemed to work! Okay, maybe “work” is a strong word. But I swear, my peace lily perked up a little. Maybe it was just the extra humidity from my frantic ramblings, but I choose to believe it was the power of conversation.