Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant parenting

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

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



    We all have our quirks. Some of us talk to our pets (don’t judge!), others burst into song at the most inopportune times. Me? I swear my houseplant is judging me.

    The Side-Eye From a Spider Plant: A Plant Parent’s Journey

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a plant parent. I envisioned a lush oasis, a testament to my nurturing abilities. What I got was Horace the Spider Plant, a creature of apparent habit and, dare I say, opinions.

    Horace took to his new home quickly enough, sprouting new growth with gusto. But then, a shift. I was having a particularly rough week – deadlines looming, love life nonexistent, questionable pizza choices – and I noticed Horace seemed…droopy. Not just regular “I need water” droopy, but a full-on “I am deeply disappointed in the life choices you’ve made” droop.

    At first, I laughed it off. Plants can’t judge…right?

    The Curious Case of the Coincidental Wilt: A Pattern Emerges

    But then the coincidences (or were they?) began. A disastrous online date? Horace’s leaves practically curled in on themselves. A particularly triumphant work presentation? The plant practically did a victory dance, new growth unfurling like confetti.

    My friends, initially amused, now fuel the fire.

    • “Did you water Horace with your tears after that text from Dave?”
    • “Wow, Horace is THRIVING. You must have finally folded that laundry pile.”

    I mean, they’re not wrong. The evidence is compelling.

    My Houseplant Stages an Intervention: The Final Straw

    The peak (or should I say, the wilting point) came during a particularly epic procrastination session. I was supposed to be finishing an important project, but instead, I found myself four hours deep into a reality TV marathon, fueled by leftover birthday cake.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye



    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Swooned (In Disgust?)

    We’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re scarfing down leftover pizza in your pajamas at 2 PM on a Tuesday, and you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. It’s just sitting there, silently soaking up the sun… or is it judging your questionable life choices?

    I swear, my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, fainted dead away last week when I accidentally watered him with the remnants of my cold brew (don’t judge me, it was a Monday!). One minute he was standing tall and proud, the next he was dramatically drooping like he’d just witnessed a crime against nature.

    Which, let’s be honest, he kind of did. But still! Ferdinand’s dramatic reaction got me thinking… are our houseplants secretly judging us?

  • 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 Side-Eye from My Fiddle Leaf Fig

    It all started with a dramatic wilting episode. I had just returned from a weekend getaway, and there she was, my majestic fiddle leaf fig, slumped over like a disappointed duchess. “Oh, come on, Fiona,” I sighed, misting her leaves with a mixture of water and guilt. “It was just two days!” But Fiona remained unconvinced. Her silence, I swear, spoke volumes.

    That’s when it hit me: Fiona is judging me. And frankly, she has every right to.

    Plant: A Case Study

    Fiona isn’t the only one. My spider plant, Bruce, is a whole other story. Bruce thrives on neglect. I’m talking weeks without watering, accidental root-bound situations – you name it, he loves it. It’s as if he’s showing off, saying, “Look at me, I don’t need your constant attention!” Meanwhile, Fiona dramatically sheds a leaf if I look at her the wrong way.

    It’s gotten to the point where I analyze their every move:

    • New Growth: Am I being praised for my (slightly) improved plant parenting skills?
    • Drooping Leaves: Is this passive-aggressive disapproval of my takeout habit?
    • Suspicious Leaning: Are they plotting against me? (Okay, maybe I’m overthinking this one.)

    Plant Parenthood and the Silent Treatment

    What really gets me is their silent treatment. They can’t yell, they can’t complain, but they sure know how to make their feelings known through a strategically placed brown leaf or a mysteriously stunted stem. It’s like they’re saying, “We see your dusty shelves and your neglected watering can, and we’re not impressed.”

    And the worst part? They’re probably right.

  • 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, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, I’m pretty sure my houseplants have a group chat where they place bets on who’ll kick the bucket first. But then, something miraculous happened. I managed to keep a houseplant alive for longer than a month. Not just alive, but thriving. And in the process, this leafy little guru taught me some unexpected life lessons.

    Alive)

    My previous plant-parenting style could be described as “enthusiastic but misguided.” I treated watering like a competitive sport (more is always better, right?) and panicked at the first sign of a drooping leaf. This time, I decided to channel my inner sloth. I learned to pay attention to the subtle cues my plant was giving me – the slight droop before a drought, the perky leaves after a good watering.

    Turns out, just like humans, plants have their own rhythm. By slowing down and observing, I was able to understand its needs and adjust my approach accordingly. Who knew that patience, a quality I struggle with in every other aspect of life, would be the key to keeping a plant alive?

    Lesson #2: Growth Isn’t Always Obvious (But It’s Always Happening)

    For weeks, I swore my plant wasn’t growing. I even considered buying a measuring tape to track its progress (or lack thereof). But then one day, I noticed something: the pot seemed smaller. And upon closer inspection, I realized my little buddy had sprouted new leaves, reaching towards the sunlight with quiet determination.

    It was a powerful reminder that growth isn’t always loud and obvious. Sometimes, it happens slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments when we’re not looking. Just like my plant, we, too, are constantly growing and evolving, even when we don’t realize it.

  • 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 Was More “Maybe” Than “Green”

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my gardening prowess. In fact, I’m pretty sure my old cactus collection ran away screaming the moment I brought them home. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a vibrant peace lily, I accepted with a smile that was equal parts grateful and terrified.

    “Just don’t kill it,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of doubt that I chose to ignore. “They’re pretty easy to take care of.”

    Famous last words, right?

    peace lily started to droop. Its once-perky leaves turned a sickly shade of yellow, and I was pretty sure I saw a tear roll down its stem (okay, maybe not, but it felt that dramatic!).

    Panicked, I did what any self-respecting millennial would do: I Googled it. Turns out, peace lilies like their space. They don’t need to be watered constantly, and they definitely don’t need a daily concert. Who knew?

    So, I reluctantly backed off. I gave my plant some breathing room (literally), and I only watered it when the soil was dry. And you know what? It worked! Slowly but surely, my peace lily perked back up. It was a little worse for wear, but it was alive. And it taught me a valuable lesson about the importance of setting boundaries and not suffocating the things (or people) we love.

    Lesson #2: You’re Stronger Than You Think, Even When Life Gets Rough

    Just when I thought I had this whole plant parenting thing down, disaster struck. I accidentally left my peace lily outside during a freak hailstorm. When I found it the next morning, it looked like it had gone through a blender. Leaves were shredded, stems were broken, and I was pretty sure it was a goner.

  • 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 Greener (Slightly)

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, I’m pretty sure my presence actually makes plants wilt. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily, I accepted it with a smile and a silent prayer. “Don’t worry,” I whispered to the unsuspecting plant, “I’ll try my best not to kill you.”

    Little did I know, this seemingly innocent houseplant would soon become my unlikely life coach, teaching me valuable lessons about resilience, patience, and the importance of a little sunshine (both literally and figuratively).

    Lesson 1: Bouncing Back from Wilting

    My journey with Lily (yes, I named her, don’t judge) started out rocky, to say the least. Within weeks, her vibrant green leaves had transformed into droopy, yellowing versions of their former selves. I was devastated. Had I already managed to kill the poor thing?

    Lily. Like, significantly overwatering. Who knew plants could be so dramatic? Thankfully, after some emergency plant surgery (read: repotting and a stern talking-to about personal space), Lily made a miraculous recovery. She taught me that even when we feel wilted and defeated, with a little care and attention, we can bounce back stronger than before.

    Lesson 2: Patience and Growth in Life (and Fertilizer)

    Once I’d mastered the art of not drowning Lily, I eagerly awaited her triumphant return to her former glory. But progress was slow. Like, really slow. I’d stare at her for hours, willing her to sprout new leaves, but to no avail. It was frustrating, to say the least. Wasn’t I doing everything right?

    That’s when I learned that growth, much like life, takes time. You can’t rush the process. Sometimes, you just have to be patient, trust the journey, and maybe invest in some high-quality fertilizer. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Lily rewarded my patience with a brand new leaf. It was small, but it was a start. And it taught me that the most rewarding things in life are often worth waiting for.

    Lesson 3: Finding Your Sunshine

    As Lily continued to grow (slowly but surely!), I noticed she seemed particularly fond of the sunbeams that flooded my living room each morning. She’d actually lean towards the light, soaking it up with what I can only describe as pure plant joy. It was then I realized that I, too, am a sucker for a bit of sunshine, both literally and figuratively.

  • 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 Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant





    My Black Thumb Gets a Green Makeover

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing abilities. I’m the queen of accidentally leaving empty coffee mugs on shelves for weeks (don’t judge!) and my idea of “watering” plants involves a frantic splash every other Tuesday (or was it Wednesday?). So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily, I accepted it with a mix of forced enthusiasm and impending doom.

    “It’s practically impossible to kill!” she chirped, completely oblivious to the graveyard of succulents and cacti littering my past.

    Even Low-Maintenance Plants Need Love

    Turns out, “practically impossible to kill” doesn’t mean “completely invincible.” Who knew? (Spoiler alert: everyone but me.) After a few weeks of my haphazard care (or lack thereof), my poor peace lily started to resemble a sad, droopy salad. Its once vibrant green leaves were turning an alarming shade of yellow, and it looked about as lively as a disco ball at a funeral.

    That’s when I realized even low-maintenance beings need some level of maintenance. Just like friendships require effort and goals need consistent action, even the simplest living things thrive with a bit of attention and care. So, I rolled up my sleeves (figuratively, I was wearing a tank top), did some research, and embarked on a journey to revive my wilting friend.

    Lesson #2: Finding Your Sunshine (and Watering Schedule)

    It turns out, my peace lily wasn’t a fan of my bathroom’s dim lighting and my inconsistent watering schedule. Go figure! After relocating it to a sunnier spot and setting reminders on my phone (yes, I even set reminders for a plant), I watched in amazement as it slowly began to spring back to life. New leaves unfurled, the droopy ones perked up, and it even graced me with a beautiful white bloom! I was officially a plant whisperer (or at least, a plant listener).

  • 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, my thumbs have never been mistaken for those of a seasoned gardener. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could kill a cactus in a desert. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a supposedly “easy to care for” ZZ plant – I accepted it with the enthusiasm of someone handed a ticking time bomb.

    And tick it did. Or rather, wilt it did. Rapidly.

    plant-parent failure, ready to chuck the whole pot (plant and all) into oblivion.

    Learning From My Houseplant: A Lesson in Tough Love

    But then, something in me snapped. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of this plant to wither under my care, or maybe it was the shame of admitting defeat to a houseplant. Whatever it was, I decided to fight back. I channeled my inner plant whisperer (or at least Googled one) and discovered the error of my ways. Turns out, ZZ plants, despite their reputation, don’t appreciate being drowned in affection (read: water). Who knew?

    Armed with this newfound knowledge, I repotted my sorry excuse for a houseplant, gave it a good talking to (because why not?), and vowed to be a better plant parent. I researched its needs, learned its subtle cues, and even started talking to it like a rational person (don’t judge, it works!).

    Cultivating Resilience: My Plant’s Journey & Mine

    Slowly but surely, my plant rallied. New growth sprouted, the leaves perked up, and it even started looking…dare I say…happy? It was a long process, filled with moments of doubt and the occasional near-drowning (old habits die hard), but we got there. And in that process, I learned something invaluable: resilience is a beautiful thing.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplants Are Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplants Are Secretly Judging Me



    We all know that plants respond to stimuli, right? Light, water, the occasional serenade of show tunes (just me?). But lately, I’ve started to suspect my leafy roommates are doing a little more than just photosynthesizing. They’re judging. Me. And honestly, who can blame them?

    The Dramatic Dieffenbachia and the Fiddle Leaf Fig

    It all started with Derek, my formerly thriving Dieffenbachia. One day he was the picture of plant perfection, the next he was wilting faster than my hopes and dreams after a bad Tinder date. I’m talking full-on dramatic swoon, leaves drooping like they hadn’t seen a drop of water in decades (it had been two days, max!).

    Now, I’ll admit, I’m not always the most attentive plant parent. I’m more of a “Whoops, forgot to water you for a week, but here’s a whole gallon to make up for it!” kind of gal. But Derek? Derek was different. He was thriving! Until, that is, I brought home that fiddle leaf fig everyone’s been raving about.

    Derek was clearly green with envy (pun intended). From then on, I swear I could feel his judgmental gaze every time I watered Fiona the Fiddle Leaf first. “Oh, so she’s the favorite now, is she?” his drooping leaves seemed to whisper. “Just wait until she sees what I do to your social media feed when you inevitably kill her with kindness.”

    The Silent Treatment: Passive-Aggressive Plant Behavior

    Derek isn’t the only one throwing shade (again, pun intended). My peace lily, Petunia, is a master of passive aggression. Forget the dramatic wilting – she goes straight for the silent treatment. Literally. This plant, known for its beautiful white blooms, has refused to flower since I accidentally left her outside during a freak hailstorm (it was one time, Petunia, get over it!).

    And then there’s Steve, my snake plant. Steve is the strong, silent type. He’s also incredibly low-maintenance, which I appreciate…most of the time. But sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I catch him shooting up a new leaf at an alarming rate. It’s like he’s saying, “See? I can thrive even with minimal effort. Step up your game.”