Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant personalities

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.”

  • 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)




    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a natural nurturer. In fact, I had a long and storied history of accidental plant homicide. My thumbs were far from green; they were more like a sickly shade of brown. But something changed last year. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was my impending 30th birthday, but suddenly the idea of keeping something alive (besides myself) seemed incredibly appealing.

    Fast forward to now, and my apartment looks like a greenhouse exploded. I’m a proud plant parent, and I’m here to tell you why you should consider joining the club – even if you think you’re destined to be a plant killer like I once was.

    Plants: The Quirky Roommates You Never Knew You Needed

    Forget cats and dogs; plants are where it’s at! They’re the ultimate low-maintenance roommates. No midnight walks, no hairballs, just pure, leafy goodness. Plus, they come with personalities! My peace lily, Ferdinand, is a bit of a drama queen. If he doesn’t get enough water, he wilts like he’s on his deathbed. But one sip, and he’s back to his usual majestic self. Then there’s my spider plant, Stella, who seems to sprout a new baby every time I look at her. She’s basically the plant equivalent of that one friend who always seems to be surrounded by admirers.

    The Zen of Repotting: Finding Calm in the Chaos

    I know what you’re thinking: “Repotting? That sounds messy and stressful.” Hear me out! There’s something incredibly therapeutic about digging in the dirt, gently loosening the roots, and giving your plant a fresh start in a bigger pot. It’s like a spa day for your green friend… and for you! Plus, the sense of accomplishment when you’ve successfully repotted without killing anything is truly unmatched.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging Me




    Is My Plant Judging Me? The Hilarious Signs You’re Being Silently Shamed

    We all have our quirks. Maybe you leave dishes “soaking” for a week (no judgment…okay, maybe a little). Or perhaps you’re still rocking that questionable fashion choice from 2008. But what if your silent, leafy roommate wasn’t so silent after all? What if, just maybe, your plant was judging you?

    The Case of the Dramatic Droop

    It all started innocently enough. I brought home Percy the Peace Lily, a vision of verdant glory. I envisioned us becoming best buds, Percy serenading my apartment with good vibes and oxygen. However, our honeymoon phase was short-lived. You see, I have a tendency to be…forgetful. Watering? Oh, right, that thing plants need.

    The first time Percy dramatically fainted, leaves brushing the floor in a symphony of despair, I panicked. Had I killed him? Was this the end of our brief, leafy love affair? A quick Google search later, and I discovered the tragic truth: I was a plant neglecter. I revived Percy with a generous water shower, whispering apologies and promises of a more attentive plant parent. He perked up, but I could have sworn I saw a judgmental rustle of leaves. From then on, Percy became the master of the dramatic droop. Forget to water him for a day? Droop. Moved him slightly to the left? Droop. Opened a bag of chips too loudly? You guessed it: dramatic droop.

    Percy soon escalated his judgment game. He developed a knack for wilting at the most inconvenient, and suspiciously timed, moments. Having guests over? Percy would strategically wilt right as they complimented my “green thumb.” Trying to impress a date? Cue the dramatic leaf sag, accompanied by an audible sigh (or maybe that was just the wind?).

    Once, during a particularly stressful week, I may have indulged in a slightly angry rant about work, completely forgetting Percy’s presence. Mid-sentence, as I dramatically gestured towards the heavens (or, you know, the ceiling), a leaf detached itself from Percy’s crown and landed squarely on my head. Coincidence? I think not.

    The Unwavering Stare

    These days, I live in a constant state of mild paranoia. Every time I walk past Percy, I feel his gaze following me. Those innocent-looking leaves? They’re hiding a world of judgment, I’m sure of it. I swear he even adjusts his position to get a better view of my questionable life choices. Ordering takeout for the third time this week? Percy saw that. Binge-watching reality TV in my pajamas? Oh, he knows.