And why I’m finally keeping more than three alive.

For most of my adult life, my houseplants have had a short but meaningful relationship with me.

I’d bring them home full of hope, give them a sunny spot, water them lovingly… and then watch them slowly wilt, drop leaves, and dramatically die a little more each time I walked by. I tried. I really did. But most of the time, they didn’t make it.

Except for three.

Somehow, no matter what, my pothos, African violets, and shamrock plants just keep going (aside from that one time Wally used the shamrock pot as a litter box—not my fault!!). Through my forgetfulness, overwatering, underwatering, random relocations, and complete neglect… they thrive. Or at the very least, survive.

And recently, I realized something weird:
The rest of my plants are doing better now too. Like, way better.

The rubber plant I’ve owned for months is suddenly sprouting new leaves. The spider plant isn’t on the verge of death. Even the jade and peace lily seem stable, and that’s saying something.

It got me thinking: maybe this post isn’t just about plants.

Some plants refuse to die.
So do some parts of us.

My pothos is the definition of resilient. It has every reason to give up—seasons of neglect, sudden repottings, forgotten waterings—and yet it pushes out new leaves like it’s in a race. Honestly? Same. I may be worse for wear some weeks, but I’ll always get back up and keep growing. It’s just in me.

Then there’s the African violet. It’s beautiful and full of life, but oh is it particular. It wants just the right balance of light and water. It doesn’t do well with change. It needs consistency. I feel that. There are parts of me that thrive when things are just right. I like my routines, my comfort zone. But once I’ve got what I need? I can shine.

And the shamrock plant? Light, airy, unpredictable in the best way. Its delicate stems reach out in all directions. It blooms tiny flowers out of nowhere. It’s the part of me that still believes in wonder. The part that gets giddy over little surprises, like a stranger’s compliment or a quiet moment with my coffee.

What’s changed?

That’s what I keep asking myself lately. Why are all my other plants suddenly alive and well?

Is it the environment?
The quality of the plants?
My evolving ability to take care of them? (yeah, no)
Or… is it just me?

Am I more present? More grounded? A little less frantic than I used to be?

Maybe I’m just making this up. But maybe not.

What are you keeping alive?

This post isn’t about plants, not really. It’s about what thrives under your care.

Because whether we realize it or not, the things that survive in our lives—habits, relationships, roles, responsibilities—do so for a reason. Some are like my pothos: resilient, reliable, willing to grow even in hard conditions. Others might be wilting at the edges, just waiting for a little more light, a better spot, or some steady nourishment.

And sometimes? We don’t even realize how much has changed… until we look around and everything’s blooming.

So maybe take a look at your own “plant shelf,” whatever that means for you.
What’s thriving?
What’s barely hanging on?
And what does that say about you, your season, and where your energy is going?

Because if I’ve learned anything from these leafy little mirrors, it’s this:
The way we care for our world tells a quiet story about how we’re learning to care for ourselves.

Janel Stewart

Let’s Begin

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