The Not-So-Green Thumb: A Battle with Houseplants
It all started with good intentions. I thought, How hard can it be to keep a few houseplants alive? After all, I’d seen countless people on Instagram proudly showing off their thriving indoor jungles. It seemed easy enough: water, light, maybe a little talking to the plants if you’re feeling whimsical. Piece of cake, right? Wrong.
Let me introduce you to the biggest misconception about plants: they are liars. I learned this when I brought home my first batch of succulents—cute little desert dwellers that, according to the internet, “thrive on neglect.” They were supposed to be the perfect starter plant, a foolproof way to flex my non-existent green thumb. Well, I’ve come to realize there’s a big difference between “thriving on neglect” and “withering out of pure spite.”
The first one I named Hope, because I figured it was symbolic of my bright future as a plant whisperer. Hope lasted a grand total of six days. Apparently, succulents are allergic to being over-watered. So, I went to the opposite extreme with my second plant, Faith. I figured I’d let her go longer without water—she could tough it out, right? Nope. I starved Faith to death. What’s worse is that she dried out while I was right in front of her. It’s like she was taunting me: “Watch me shrivel, you clueless human.”
By this time, my roommate had started referring to my room as “The Plant Graveyard.” She would walk by and solemnly shake her head every time I brought a new victim through the door. I kept trying, though, undeterred by my growing collection of crispy leaves and shriveled stems. You’ve heard of pet cemeteries? Well, I had a plant cemetery. A shelf in the corner where my dreams of lush greenery went to die.
I got so desperate at one point that I joined a Facebook group for plant enthusiasts. I thought I’d ask for advice, maybe get some pointers from the pros. But when I posted my problem, I was hit with a barrage of suggestions that ranged from “Try singing to them” to “Buy an industrial humidifier.” Some well-meaning lady even told me to mist them with water and talk to them every morning like I was hosting a botanical TED Talk. I tried it—stood there misting and muttering sweet nothings to my latest plant, Miracle. Spoiler alert: Miracle did not live up to her name.
At this point, I was starting to believe my house was cursed. It wasn’t me; it had to be the environment, right? So, I started moving the plants around like they were chess pieces in some kind of elaborate sunlight-seeking strategy game. North window, south window, bathroom shelf—I even considered putting one on top of the fridge just to see if it liked the view. Nothing worked. Every plant met the same tragic fate, wilting away as if they’d rather die than endure my care.
The final straw came when I tried my hand at ferns. Ferns! Do you know what ferns are supposed to love? Humidity and indirect light—two things I definitely had. So, naturally, I assumed this would be a breeze. Fast forward three weeks, and my fern, Perseverance, was looking less like a vibrant, lush plant and more like a deflated green wig. I watered it, I spritzed it, I even bought a humidity meter like some sort of plant CSI. Didn’t matter. Perseverance gave up.
At this point, I’ve accepted my fate. I am not destined to be a plant goddess. My apartment now boasts a fabulous collection of artificial plants—ones that won’t shrivel up, wither away, or judge me silently from their little terracotta pots. I walk by them every day, give them a little nod, and say, “Thank you for not dying on me.”
Moral of the story? If you’re like me and can’t keep a plant alive to save your life, just embrace the fake greenery. It’ll save you the heartache—and the endless trips to the nursery. I mean after all, we can’t all be perfect in everything we do, but trying is always fun.