When My Plants Are Happy, I’m Happy

I never thought I’d be that person, the kind whose mood is disturbingly tied to their houseplants.

But here we are. I mean, some people have partners for that. You know the drill: the boyfriend wakes up in a strop, and suddenly it's awkward mumbles over tea, passive-aggressive one-word replies by lunchtime, and a full day written off because, well, the vibes are off.

Me?

It’s not a partner’s mood that gets me, it’s my plants.

I wake up, and the routine is to check on them. And if one of them is sulking—droopy leaves, maybe a bit yellow...urrrgggh.

I’ll be thinking about that plant all day. 

Did I overwater?

Underwater?

Hopefully these money plants will fulfil their brief VERY soon…

Is it unhappy with its spot by the window?

Is my flat too cold? (Answer: yes, sometimes it’s bloody freezing.)

And that spirals into questions like;

Are any of them truly happy?

Am I giving them what they need?

This very real internal discussion with myself about light levels and soil health that would sound absurd to anyone else.

But when they are happy, when I see those vibrant green leaves and new little shoots, it’s like a hit of serotonin.

And no, I don’t think of them as my “plant babies.” I’m not out here talking to them or naming them. (If you are, honestly, respect—it’s just not me.)

Ok, that is a lie, I have named one of them, because she is, well she is something else...

I just want nature to thrive in my home.

That’s all.

There’s something incredibly grounding about seeing life flourish because of the attention I pay, even if that life just needs decent potting soil and some sunlight.

Recently, I’ve been in a good spot with them. I rearranged a few, repotted a couple, and they seem to be loving it.

Repotting isn’t exactly my favourite thing to do.

It’s messy, fiddly, and I always manage to get soil in places I didn’t even know soil could go.

But I’m good at it now.

I get it.

I know what my plants need, and they respond.

It feels good, really good. I want to be good at something that matters, even if that something is keeping my cheese plant dying a slow death on my windowsill.

So yeah, here’s to thriving plants and the weird joy they bring.