Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant humor

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

Let’s be honest, I used to be a walking, talking plant hazard. I’m talking crispy leaves, droopy stems, and enough guilt to fuel a small greenhouse. If plants had obituaries, mine would’ve said, “Died tragically from excessive love (or lack of watering, jury’s still out).”

plant parenthood another try. And let me tell you, it’s been a wild, wonderful, and surprisingly hilarious ride.

Discovering the Unexpected Benefits of Plant Parenthood

Turns out, caring for something other than myself (and my ever-growing to-do list) was exactly what the doctor ordered. Who knew that watching a tiny leaf unfurl could be so darn satisfying? Or that misting my ferns could feel like a meditative ritual?

Plant Community
One of the best parts about becoming a plant parent is the community. From online forums to local plant swaps, there’s a whole world of plant lovers out there just waiting to share their wisdom (and cuttings!). I’ve learned more from fellow plant enthusiasts than any gardening book could ever teach me, and the shared triumphs (and occasional “oops” moments) create a sense of camaraderie that’s both heartwarming and hilarious.

Plus, let’s be real, bragging rights are a thing. And showing off that rare monstera deliciosa you managed to propagate? Pure plant parent pride.

Ready to Embrace the World of Plant Parenthood?

Look, I get it. Plant parenthood can seem intimidating, especially if you’ve got a history of plant-related casualties (no judgment here!). But trust me, the rewards far outweigh the risks. You’ll discover new skills, connect with a supportive community, and find a sense of peace and accomplishment that only comes from nurturing another living thing.

So, what are you waiting for? Grab yourself a plant (maybe start with a low-maintenance one!), join the club, and get ready for a journey filled with unexpected joy, endless entertainment, and maybe even a little bit of dirt under your fingernails.

March 10, 2025
Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

Does My Houseplant Secretly Judge Me? A Hilarious Inquiry

We all have our little quirks, right? Maybe you talk to your pets like they’re tiny humans, or perhaps you sing along dramatically to show tunes when you think no one’s listening. Me? I’m convinced my houseplant is judging me.

The Side-Eye Incident: A Plant‘s Revenge?

It all started innocently enough. I was repotting Phil, my prized monstera deliciosa (don’t judge my plant-naming skills), when I accidentally ripped one of his largest leaves. I gasped, apologized profusely to Phil (yes, I talk to my plants), and quickly moved on, assuming the incident was forgotten.

Later that day, I could have sworn Phil’s remaining leaves were angled slightly downwards, casting a perpetual shadow over the spot where the unfortunate leaf once resided. It was as if he was eternally side-eyeing the empty space, silently accusing me of plant-based homicide. Okay, maybe I was being dramatic, but the seed of doubt had been planted (pun intended!).

March 10, 2025
Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (A Deep Dive)
Are My Plants Judging Me? (Hilarious Signs You’re Being Judged)

We’ve all been there. You’re on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on your stomach, when your eyes meet your houseplant’s. And in that moment, you just know. It’s judging you.

The Side-Eye Struggle Is Real (and Hilarious)

My personal descent into houseplant-judgement paranoia began innocently enough. I’d purchased a majestic fiddle leaf fig, its vibrant green leaves promising to bring life (and maybe some oxygen) into my apartment. I named him Ferdinand, naturally.

At first, our relationship was purely symbiotic. I watered Ferdinand, I gave him the perfect amount of sunlight, I even serenaded him with Beyoncé on cleaning day (don’t judge me, you know you do it too). In return, he… well, he existed. Lushly.
leaf when I ordered takeout for the third time that week. The way he seemed to strategically drop a leaf every time a dating app notification popped up on my phone.

Was I projecting? Probably. But the seed of doubt had been planted (pun very much intended).

Decoding the Silent Judgment: Signs Your Houseplant Is Judging You

Since my initial Ferdinand-induced epiphany, I’ve noticed a pattern. My other plant friends, a sassy succulent named Susan and a dramatic peace lily called Phil, have also joined the silent judgment party. Here’s the evidence:
- The Wilting Guilt Trip: Susan, my usually stoic succulent, starts to wrinkle dramatically whenever I forget to water her for a few days (okay, maybe a week). It’s like she’s saying, “See what happens when you prioritize happy hour over my hydration?”
- The Passive-Aggressive Leaf Drop: Remember Phil, my peace lily? He reserves his most dramatic displays for my messiest moments. Laundry explosion on the floor? Cue a dramatic leaf drop. Dishes piled high in the sink? Another leaf bites the dust. Coincidence? I think not.
March 9, 2025
Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

The Side-Eye Was Real

I swear it started with a side-eye. You know, that subtle yet unmistakable tilt of the head that says, “Seriously? You’re doing that again?” Except, it wasn’t my roommate or significant other giving me the look—it was Herbert, my peace lily.

Okay, maybe I was projecting a little. It’s not like Herbert has eyes, let alone the capacity for judgment… right? And yet, ever since I adopted this leafy green companion, I’ve felt a distinct shift in our dynamic—one where I’m pretty sure I’m the one under scrutiny.

know the kind—deadlines looming, laundry piling up, existential dread creeping in. I plopped down on the couch, microwaved some questionable leftovers, and proceeded to wallow in my own self-pity.

That’s when I noticed it. Herbert, usually a beacon of verdant glory, was drooping. I’m not talking about a gentle lean—this was a full-on theatrical wilt, leaves practically kissing the floor. Naturally, I panicked. Had I forgotten to water him? Was he getting too much sun? Was this the plant equivalent of a dramatic sigh?

Turns out, I had overwatered him. As I diligently sopped up the excess water, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Herbert was sending a message: “Get it together, human. This pity party is so two weeks ago.”

Exhibit B: The Flourishing Success

But here’s the thing that really seals the deal. Remember that deadline I mentioned? Well, I powered through it. Fueled by caffeine and sheer determination, I finished the project a day early, even impressing my notoriously hard-to-please boss.

Basking in the glow of accomplishment (and maybe that extra shot of espresso), I glanced over at Herbert. And wouldn’t you know it, the little guy was practically glowing. His leaves were perky, his color vibrant, practically radiating an aura of “See? I knew you could do it.”

March 9, 2025
Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye

The Time My Fiddle Leaf Fig Almost Called Me Out

I swear it happened. I was about to indulge in my third consecutive night of takeout pizza (don’t judge, adulting is hard!) when I caught my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, subtly shaking his…leaves? Branches? Whatever you call them. It was the kind of shake a disappointed parent gives when their child announces they’re dropping out of med school to pursue a career in mime artistry. Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the judgment felt real, people.

Exhibit A: The Dramatic Wilt

Ferdinand is a drama queen trapped in a leafy green body. Forget forgetting to water him for a day; a slight dip in humidity sends this guy into a tailspin of despair. His leaves droop lower than my motivation on a Monday morning, practically begging for a therapist and a glass of plant-based Pinot Grigio. And you know what the worst part is? I swear he perks up just a little too quickly after I water him, like he’s saying, “Oh, NOW you decide to pay attention to my needs?”

Ferdinand magically transforms from a sulky teenager into a thriving botanical masterpiece. New leaves unfurl overnight, his stems stand tall, and he practically glows with an “I woke up like this” confidence. Coincidence? I think not. It’s like he’s trying to impress my friends and whisper, “See, she’s not a complete disaster. Sometimes.”

Ferdinand isn’t about to pen a tell-all exposé on my questionable life choices (though the thought is terrifyingly amusing), there’s something undeniably relatable about feeling silently judged by our houseplants. Maybe it’s their stoic silence, their unwavering presence in our messy lives, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the tiny voice in the back of our heads reminding us to eat a vegetable every now and then.

So, tell me, dear readers, am I alone in this hilarious delusion, or have your leafy companions also mastered the art of silent judgment? Share your stories in the comments below!

March 9, 2025
Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Hilarious Proof!)

From Green Thumb to Green Judge

Remember those blissful days when you thought adopting a houseplant would bring peace and serenity? Fast forward to now, and instead of channeling your inner plant whisperer, you’re convinced your Monstera Deliciosa is silently judging your every move. Don’t worry, you’re not alone!

plant for a few days (or maybe a week…or two). Life gets hectic! But while most plants show their thirst with a gentle wilt, some take it to another level.

Like that time after a particularly grueling week fueled by takeout and procrastination, when your plant‘s leaves were practically sweeping the floor. It felt less like a cry for water and more like a passive-aggressive comment on your self-care routine.

“Look at you,” they seem to sigh, “barely keeping yourself alive, let alone another living organism.”

Exhibit B: The Case of the Curious Curl

Now, you consider yourself a relatively positive person. But even you have your moments, right? And it’s during these moments – when you’re spiraling over a work deadline or lamenting your nonexistent dating life – that your plant decides to unleash its most potent weapon: The Leaf Curl.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible. But if you look closely (which, let’s be honest, you do now with alarming frequency), you’ll notice the leaves curling inwards ever so slightly, as if recoiling from the negativity.

March 9, 2025
The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

Confessions of a Plant Whisperer (Wannabe)

Let’s be honest, folks. We all have that one friend who seemingly breathes life into any leafy friend they adopt. Their ferns are lush, their succulents are plump, and their air plants…well, they haven’t floated away yet, which feels like a win in itself.

I, on the other hand, have a history. A slightly embarrassing, brown-thumbed history. I once killed a cactus. A CACTUS! How does that even happen, you ask? I have no logical explanation, but I’m here to tell you, it happens.

But here’s the thing: I persevered. I learned, I adapted, and I’ve even managed to keep a few green things alive (thriving might be a strong word, but we’re getting there). And through this journey, I’ve stumbled upon some unspoken rules of plant parenthood, rules no one tells you but everyone seems to know. So, buckle up, fellow plant enthusiasts, and let’s dive into the wonderfully weird world of unspoken plant parent etiquette.

The Art of Plant Pep Talks & Other Ritualistic Behaviors

Rule number one, and arguably the most important: never underestimate the power of a good pep talk. Yes, you read that right. Plants, like any other living being (allegedly), appreciate a good dose of encouragement.

I’m not saying you need to launch into a Shakespearean monologue about the importance of photosynthesis (although, if that’s your thing, go for it!). But a simple “You got this, little buddy!” or a whispered “Please don’t die, I beg you” can go a long way.

And while we’re on the topic of slightly eccentric behavior, let’s talk about rituals. We all have them. Maybe you water your plants with the leftover water from your morning coffee (guilty!), or perhaps you play them your favorite Spotify playlist. Whatever your jam, these little rituals become our way of connecting with our plant babies and, let’s be real, injecting a little magic into the mundane.

March 9, 2025
Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

The Side-Eye Started With a Spider Plant

Let me preface this by saying I’m a reasonably responsible plant parent. I don’t overwater, I don’t underwater (much), and I even attempt to mimic the tropical humidity my plant children crave. But lately, my spider plant, Herbert, has been acting…off.

It started subtly. A slight droop on days I slept in. A perky resurgence when I finally unpacked that box of “decorative gourds” I’d been meaning to display. But then things escalated.

Exhibit A: The Case of the Dramatic Wilt

Remember that “decorative gourd” display? Turns out, it was less “charming autumnal vignette” and more “breeding ground for fruit flies.” I battled those tiny winged demons for a solid week, a period during which Herbert staged what can only be described as a theatrical performance of despair.

plant equivalent of “I haven’t slept in days.” The moment the last fruit fly met its demise? Herbert perked up like he’d just won the plant lottery. Coincidence? I think not.

Exhibit B: The Suspicious Growth Spurt

Now, I’m not saying I need validation from a houseplant, but I’d be lying if I said a little plant-based ego boost didn’t feel nice. Which brings me to Herbert’s suspicious growth spurt.

It happened after I successfully propagated a new plant from a cutting. One day, Herbert was your average, slightly judgmental spider plant. The next? He was a verdant fountain of foliage, practically bursting with new growth and even – dare I say it – pride.

March 9, 2025
Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Botanical Side-Eye

From Green Thumb to Green Judgment?

The other day, I was shamelessly devouring a bag of chips, still in my pajamas at 2 PM, when I caught my Monstera Deliciosa’s giant, perforated leaf seemingly turned towards me. It felt like it was judging me. And not the gentle, “you should probably eat a vegetable” kind of judgment. No, this felt like a deep, philosophical “what are you doing with your life?” kind of stare-down.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “She’s lost it. It’s a plant.” But hear me out! Plants are more perceptive than we give them credit for. They literally turn towards the sun. Who’s to say they aren’t absorbing our chaotic energy too? This marked the beginning of my descent into the hilarious (and slightly concerning) possibility that my beloved houseplants are, in fact, incredibly judgmental roommates.

Peace Lily
My peace lily, usually a beacon of tranquility (hence the name, right?), started throwing some serious shade (pun intended) recently. After a particularly stressful week—filled with deadlines, burnt coffee, and forgotten Zoom meetings—my once-lush lily was drooping lower than my enthusiasm for doing laundry.

Coincidence? I think not. It was as if it was saying, “Get it together, Sharon! Inner peace starts with a tidy apartment and a semblance of a sleep schedule.” I swear it perked up a little after I finally unpacked that suitcase from last month’s trip.

March 9, 2025
The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

My Brown Thumb Redemption Arc (Or So I Thought)

Remember that time I swore off plants because I accidentally murdered a cactus? Yeah, well, past me clearly didn’t anticipate the siren song of a clearance-aisle fiddle leaf fig. Fast forward to present day, and my apartment looks like a greenhouse exploded. But becoming a bonafide plant parent? Oh honey, that’s not just about keeping things alive—it’s about navigating a whole set of unspoken rules.

The Drama of a Dramatic Leaf Drop

Listen, I’m a rational human being. I understand that plants shed leaves. It’s natural. But catch me dramatically mourning a single yellowed leaf like I’m Ophelia in Hamlet? Absolutely. We, as plant parents, are contractually obligated to engage in this theatricality. It doesn’t matter if our plant is thriving with new growth, a fallen comrade sends us spiraling into a vortex of self-doubt and frantic Google searches. “Why is my plant shedding leaves?! Is it dying?! Is it me?! Am I the drama?!”

And don’t even get me started on the art of the “subtle brag.” We pretend to lament the loss of a leaf while subtly angling the conversation towards the vigorous new growth sprouting from the top. It’s a delicate dance, really.

March 9, 2025