Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant symbolism

  • 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 Turns Green(ish)

    Let’s be honest, I’m about as skilled at keeping plants alive as a goldfish is at winning a marathon. I’m the queen of accidental overwatering, the master of forgetting fertilizer, and my idea of “sunshine” for a plant involves leaving the blinds closed on a cloudy day. So, naturally, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with the enthusiasm of someone handed a ticking time bomb.

    “It’s low-maintenance,” she assured me. “Just water it when the soil is dry.”

    Famous last words.

    Peace Lily and You Need a Good Drink (of Water…and Self-Care)

    My peace lily, which I optimistically named Percy, started strong. It sat on my windowsill, soaking up the (meager) rays of sunshine, its leaves a vibrant green. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Percy began to droop. His leaves, once proud and perky, now resembled sad, wilted lettuce. Panic set in.

    I did what any self-respecting plant killer would do: I consulted Google. After scrolling through countless articles on plant care (who knew there were so many?!), I stumbled upon a forum dedicated to the woes of peace lily owners. And that’s when it hit me: Percy was thirsty!

    I know, I know, groundbreaking, right? But in my defense, I was convinced I was overwatering him. Turns out, I was doing the opposite. I gave Percy a good soak, and within hours, he perked right up. It was like witnessing a botanical resurrection.

    This little episode got me thinking. How often do we, like my poor, parched peace lily, forget to give ourselves what we need? Whether it’s taking a break, setting boundaries, or simply allowing ourselves to rest, sometimes the answer to our problems is as simple as a good drink…of self-care.

    Lesson #2: Growth Isn’t Always Pretty (But It’s Always Worth Celebrating)

    As the weeks turned into months, I settled into a rhythm with Percy. I learned to read his subtle cues—a slight droop meant he needed water, a yellowing leaf meant it was time for fertilizer. But the biggest lesson came when Percy decided it was time to grow.

    Now, when I say “grow,” I don’t mean he sprouted a few extra leaves and called it a day. No, Percy went all out. He sprouted new shoots in every direction, his roots threatening to burst out of his pot. It was chaotic, it was messy, and frankly, it was a little bit ugly.

  • 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

    From Black Thumb to Budding Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have a history of being less than green. Okay, they were practically charcoal black. I’d managed to kill cacti, for crying out loud! Plants just didn’t seem to thrive in my presence. So naturally, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a cheerful little ZZ plant, I accepted it with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “This one’s impossible to kill,” she’d assured me. Famous last words, I thought.

    plant, whom I affectionately named Zephyr, was about to school me in resilience. I promptly overwatered him, mistaking his stoic silence for thirst. I left him in a dark corner, thinking he wouldn’t mind the lack of sunlight. Zephyr, however, took it all in stride. He persevered through my well-intentioned but misguided attempts at care.

    Slowly, I began to understand his subtle cues. Drooping leaves meant he needed a drink, not a whole swimming pool in his pot. Yellowing leaves meant he craved a bit of sunshine, not the shadowy depths of my living room. Zephyr taught me that even when faced with challenges, bouncing back is possible, often stronger than before.

    Lesson #2: Patience – The Root of All Growth

    Now, I’m a notoriously impatient person. I want instant gratification, immediate results. Zephyr, however, operates on plant time. He takes his sweet time to sprout new growth. I’d check him every day, convinced that today would be the day a new leaf would magically unfurl. And every day, I’d be met with the same, steady green.

    But then, one day, it happened. A tiny, tightly furled leaf emerged, a testament to Zephyr’s steady, patient growth. He taught me that good things take time. That sometimes, the most rewarding experiences come from waiting, from trusting the process, and from embracing the journey.