Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant lady

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)



    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a true crime documentary marathon, a half-eaten bag of chips precariously balanced on your stomach. Suddenly, you glance at your perfectly poised peace lily, its leaves a vibrant green, its posture impeccable. And you swear, you see it… judgment.

    Do Houseplants Judge Us? My Fiddle Leaf Fig Seems to Think So

    Okay, maybe “judgment” is a strong word. But I’m telling you, these houseplants, they see things. Take my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, for example. Now, Ferdinand is a drama queen of the highest caliber. Give him an inch of direct sunlight and he’s throwing a fit. Forget to water him for a day? Cue the dramatic leaf drop.

    So, imagine my surprise when, after a particularly rough day (read: burnt dinner, missed deadline, accidentally liked my ex’s new girlfriend’s post from three years ago), I found myself confiding in Ferdinand. And as I’m pouring my heart out, lamenting my questionable life choices, what does he do? He drops a leaf. Right at my feet. It was like he was saying, “Honey, you think you’ve got problems?”

    Houseplant is Judging You (and Other Hilarious Observations)

    Ferdinand isn’t the only culprit. My friend swears her cactus, Carlos, gives her the side-eye every time she orders takeout for the third night in a row. And my aunt’s peace lily, Priscilla, apparently wilts dramatically whenever my uncle forgets to take out the trash.

    Is it all in our heads? Probably. But there’s a certain comfort in imagining our houseplants as silent, leafy observers of our lives. They’ve seen our best moments (triumphant plant parent selfies!) and our worst (that unfortunate karaoke incident…).

    Why Your Routine Might Be the Key to Your Houseplant’s Happiness

    Here’s the thing about plants: they thrive on routine. Consistent watering, adequate sunlight, the occasional pep talk – these are the ingredients for a happy houseplant. And maybe, just maybe, when we’re not living our best lives, our inconsistent routines and chaotic energy throw them off their game.

    Or maybe, they just really hate it when we sing in the shower.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices




    Do Houseplants Judge Us? My Leafy Roommates Seem to Think So

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, and the only witness to your shame-spiral is a leafy friend sitting on your windowsill. But what if that leafy friend wasn’t just a silent observer? What if, behind those vibrant green leaves, lived a judgmental roommate who chronicled your every move?

    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Takes Sides in Family Drama

    It all started innocently enough. I was chatting on the phone with my mom, a woman whose love language is unsolicited advice. As she launched into her weekly critique of my dating life (“Honey, you’re not getting any younger!”), I noticed a change in Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. His leaves, usually perky and full of life, began to droop. Was he…wilting?

    At first, I brushed it off. Maybe he needed water. But then, as my mother continued her well-intentioned but brutal assessment of my life choices, Ferdinand took it up a notch. One by one, his leaves began to yellow, like tiny, botanical surrender flags waving in the face of my existential crisis. It was as if he was saying, “She’s right, you know. Get your act together.”

    Choices

    Ferdinand isn’t the only one with opinions. Penelope, my peace lily, is a master of passive-aggressive judgment. Take, for instance, the Great Instant Ramen Incident of 2023. I was having a particularly harried week, fueled by deadlines and two-minute noodles. As I slurped down my fourth consecutive bowl of sodium-laden goodness, Penelope took a stand. Or rather, a slump.

    Her once-proud blooms, which usually resembled delicate white sails, shriveled up faster than my hopes of ever owning a home with my current dietary choices. I swear I even heard a faint, disapproving sigh coming from the general vicinity of her pot.

    Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting. Maybe Ferdinand was just thirsty. Maybe Penelope was battling a nasty case of aphids. But it’s hard to ignore the feeling that my plants are privy to my deepest insecurities, silently judging my every move from their ceramic pedestals.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Ever feel like your houseplant is silently judging your messy life? You’re not alone! This hilarious take on plant parenthood will have you laughing along with your leafy roommate.

    Okay, I know this might sound crazy, but hear me out. I think Gerald, my prized monstera deliciosa, is judging my life choices. And not just a little side-eye judgment either. I’m talking full-on, withering-glare, “I can’t even” energy.

    The Time Gerald Staged a Silent Protest

    It all started a few weeks ago. I was having one of those weeks, you know? The kind where you survive on coffee, dry shampoo, and the sheer will to exist. Laundry piled up, dishes took over the sink, and the only green thing I consumed was a questionable spinach smoothie from three days prior.

    Gerald, usually a beacon of lush, tropical vibes, started to droop. At first, I brushed it off. “He’s just dramatic,” I thought, misting him with some lukewarm tap water (because let’s be real, boiling water for a plant when you haven’t even showered in two days is a Herculean task). But the drooping turned into a full-on wilt. He looked like a defeated feather duster.

    It was then that I swear I saw it – a judgmental tilt to his largest leaf, as if to say, “This is your life now? Really?”

    My Plant Thrives When My Life is Together (Coincidence? I Think Not!)

    The guilt trip worked. I cleaned my apartment, ate a vegetable, and even managed to sleep for a solid eight hours. The next morning, Gerald was practically glowing. His leaves stood tall, proud, almost smug. Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the difference was undeniable.

    And it wasn’t just a one-time thing. I’ve noticed a direct correlation between the state of my apartment (and let’s be honest, my life) and Gerald’s overall mood.

    • Weekends spent binge-watching reality TV and ordering takeout? Gerald gets a little crispy around the edges.
    • Productive week of work, balanced meals, and maybe even a yoga class? Gerald unfurls a new leaf, like a green high five celebrating my achievements.

    The Struggle is Real, But So Is the Greenery

    Now, I’m not saying Gerald is some kind of plant deity here, judging my every move. (Okay, maybe I am a little.) But there’s something oddly motivating about knowing that my houseplant thrives when I do too. It’s like having a leafy life coach who communicates solely through passive-aggressive wilting and the occasional triumphant new leaf.

    So, tell me, am I crazy, or are our plant friends silently judging our life choices? Share your plant parent stories in the comments below! Let’s unravel this botanical mystery together.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re surrounded by laundry piles that resemble Mount Everest, your diet consists primarily of instant ramen, and you haven’t watered your plants in… well, you can’t quite remember. It’s in these moments of utter chaos that I swear my seemingly innocent houseplant, Herbert, stares at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

    Herbert and the Crumbling Takeout Container

    It all started innocently enough. I brought Herbert home from the plant store, a vibrant little peace lily promising to add a touch of serenity to my apartment. I imagined us becoming the envy of plantfluencers everywhere. We were going to be that good.

    photo of a healthy peace lily in a terracotta pot | Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    However, life, as it often does, got in the way. Deadlines loomed, social engagements piled up, and Herbert’s once-perky leaves began to droop lower than my enthusiasm for doing laundry. One particularly rough evening, as I shamelessly scavenged the fridge for leftovers (spoiler alert: there were none), I caught Herbert’s eye. Or at least, I imagined I did. There he sat, stoic and green, silently judging me from atop the fridge as I demolished a week-old takeout container with the finesse of a starving raccoon. It was then I knew. Herbert had seen too much.

    The Curious Case of the Neglected Watering Can

    Time marched on, and while my life choices didn’t necessarily improve, my ability to ignore Herbert’s judgment did. That is, until the Great Watering Can Debacle of 2023. I’d optimistically filled the watering can days prior, intending to quench Herbert’s thirst. But, alas, that was before the three-day Netflix binge marathon commenced. As I sat there, bleary-eyed and questioning my life decisions (again), my gaze fell upon the neglected watering can. It was dusty, bone dry, and positioned just so that a particularly judgmental sunbeam could illuminate its emptiness.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me


    The Day My Fiddle Leaf Fig Raised an Eyebrow

    We all have them, right? Those moments where you catch your pet giving you the side-eye, silently questioning your life choices. Well, last week, I swear my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, did the same. It was one of those mornings – you know the kind – mismatched socks, coffee breath, frantically searching for my keys. As I pivoted in a whirlwind of chaos, I caught Ferdinand’s shadow in my peripheral vision. And let me tell you, that shadow was definitely judging my morning scramble.

    Ever since that moment, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that Ferdinand is silently critiquing my every move. Don’t believe me? Let me present the evidence.

    Ferdinand has a way of making me feel extra guilty about my forgetfulness. I swear, the moment I remember his need for hydration, his leaves droop just a tad lower, as if to say, “Oh, you finally noticed me? I was starting to think I’d turn into a desert plant over here!”

    And the worst part? Once I do remember to water him, I can practically hear the internal monologue: “About time. Honestly, the nerve of some people, letting a perfectly good plant get so parched.” Okay, maybe I’m projecting a bit, but the judgment is palpable!

    Exhibit B: The Curious Case of the Dropped Croissant Crumb

    I’ll admit, I have a tendency to be a bit messy. Crumbs on the counter, clothes on the floor – you know, the usual signs of a life lived to the fullest (or at least that’s what I tell myself). But Ferdinand seems to have a sixth sense for my messy habits. One time, I dropped a stray croissant crumb near his pot (okay, maybe it was more than one crumb, but who’s counting?).

    Later that day, I swear I caught him leaning ever so slightly towards the fallen crumbs, leaves rustling as if sighing in exasperation. It was as if he was saying, “Really? Again? Must you turn my humble abode into a breadcrumb wasteland?” The judgment was real, my friends. Real and slightly terrifying.

  • Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (A Very Serious Investigation)

    Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (A Very Serious Investigation)




    Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (A Very Serious Investigation)


    Okay, hear me out. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m starting to think Beatrice, my prize-winning peace lily, is judging me. And not just a little side-eye judgment – I’m talking full-on, disapproving-aunt-at-Thanksgiving levels of judgment.

    The Case of the Wilting Leaves (and My Crumbling Life)

    It all started innocently enough. I’d been neglecting Beatrice a tad – okay, maybe more than a tad. Life got busy, deadlines loomed, and watering my plant slipped my mind (along with basic hygiene and the concept of a balanced meal). One morning, I stumbled past Beatrice, bleary-eyed and fueled by coffee, only to find her usually perky leaves drooping like a sad, green fountain.

    Beatrice!” I cried, rushing to give her a generous shower in the sink. “Forgive me?” As I preened her neglected leaves, I swear I saw a judgmental glint in the way they slowly unfurled. That’s when the paranoia set in.

    Exhibit B: My Houseplant’s Suspicious Growth Spurt

    Now, I’m not one to brag (okay, maybe a little), but I am not known for my green thumb. My thumbs are more of the “accidentally-kills-cacti” variety. So, imagine my surprise when, after the Great Wilting Incident of 2023, Beatrice took off like a rocket. New leaves unfurled with alarming speed, each one seemingly greener and glossier than the last. She was thriving…while I was barely surviving on instant ramen and the dregs of ambition.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me



    The Day the Leaves Turned on Me

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a Plant Parent™. I envisioned a sun-drenched living room, overflowing with lush greenery, where I, a domestic goddess, gracefully watered my leafy companions. Cut to 2023, and let’s just say reality didn’t quite stick to the script.

    Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t completely descended into plant-killer territory (yet). But there’s a certain…energy coming from Herbert (yes, I named him, don’t judge). It’s like ever since I forgot to water him for two weeks straight (I swear it was a stressful time!), he’s been harboring some serious resentment.

    plant owner?”

    The worst part? It works every time. I see his pathetic display, immediately drown him in guilt-water, and apologize profusely. Herbert, of course, remains stoic, leaves slowly perking up as if to say, “This is the bare minimum you could do, Brenda.” (He doesn’t know my name, but I’m pretty sure he’s figured it out by now).

    Is My Houseplant Giving Me the Side-Eye?

    Exhibit B: The Side-Eye. Yes, you read that right. Herbert has perfected the art of the leafy side-eye. It happens whenever I’m doing something remotely questionable, like ordering takeout for the third time this week or attempting (and failing) to follow a yoga tutorial. It’s a subtle shift of the leaves, a barely perceptible tilt towards the window, as if he’s longing for the company of more responsible plant owners.

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

    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 in your oldest sweatpants, haven’t showered in a day (or two…), and you catch a glimpse of your perfectly poised houseplant. Its leaves are gleaming, its posture impeccable. And in that moment, you just know it’s silently judging your life choices.

    The Time My Fiddle Leaf Fig Threw Shade

    My suspicions began with Fiona, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. I’d showered her with love (and a carefully calibrated amount of filtered water), yet she remained stubbornly aloof. Then, one particularly chaotic morning, as I was frantically searching for my keys, I swore I saw it—a single leaf, ever so slightly, tilted in judgment.

    peace. But whenever I commit a plant-care faux pas—like forgetting to water him for a week (or two…)—he clams up completely.

    No new growth. No subtle lean towards the light. Just pure, unadulterated sulking. It’s enough to make you question your entire existence.

    My Peace Lily: Encouragement or Condescension?

    It’s not always judgment, though. Sometimes, it feels more like encouragement—albeit, a slightly condescending kind. Take my peace lily, Penelope, for example. She’s a dramatic soul, prone to wilting dramatically if I’m even a day late with her watering schedule.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent (and Why I Break Them All)





    Confessions of a Serial (Almost) Plant Killer

    Remember that time I confidently declared, “This snake plant is going to thrive in my care!”? Famous last words. My track record with plants was less “green thumb” and more “brown thumb of doom.” I overwatered, underwatered, and even managed to give a succulent sunburn. (Don’t ask.) I was ready to resign myself to a life of plastic greenery.

    But then, something magical happened. I stopped listening to the unspoken rules.

    Rule #1: Thou Shalt Not Kill the Peace Lily

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

    Is My Houseplant 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 reality TV marathon you swore you’d never watch, and your eyes meet those of your houseplant. You know, the one you PROMISED you’d water regularly and re-pot when it got rootbound? Yeah, that one. And in that moment, you just KNOW. It’s judging you.

    When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Threw Shade (Literally)

    My personal journey into the secret world of judgmental houseplants began with Ferdinand, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand is a drama queen of the highest order. Give him a little too much sun? Scorched leaves. Not enough humidity? Cue the dramatic leaf drop that would make a soap opera star proud.

    But this time was different. I was in the midst of a particularly disastrous online dating spree, fueled by questionable wine choices and even more questionable swiping decisions. As I recounted the latest cringe-worthy date story to my friend, I noticed Ferdinand’s leaves seemed…droopy. Not just regular thirsty-droopy, but a special kind of I-can’t-even-look-at-you-right-now droopy.