During the pandemic, two camps formed: the ones who baked sourdough bread and the ones who became obsessed with plants. I was in the latter category, I checked cuttings in jam jars filled with water every day to see if new roots sprung or not. I got super excited whenever I spotted a new leaf, especially if it was on my monstera. But once my human babies arrived, I had less attention to spare and I regularly forgot to care for them. I even forgot to water them on most weeks. And inevitably, lots of yellow leaves appeared, most of my plants stayed the same volume for years and they started to look rather sad. I hated that I was doing this but I had no idea how to get out of this funk.
A few months ago, I had finally found the courage and time to repot some of these sad babies. One day, I felt down on energy and some creative rest sounded refreshing. I picked out the ones with the yellowest of leaves, I dug out some soil and pots from our storage, I put on some 60s-70s music and then I got my hands dirty. And it got me thinking… Why did I stop caring for my plants? Why is it so hard for me to water them once or twice a week? It takes literally 10 minutes. I mean I have time for other things like writing 1500-2000 word long substack posts with several rounds of edits. Why do I look at my plant babies and refuse to do anything about them?
Well, hello perfectionism and its twin siblings, procrastination, self-doubt and resistance. Ever since I started to have indoor plants, my dream was to have a lush plant-arena where our flat was like a jungle, gorgeous plants flowing down from every corner. That dream never materialised. I killed so many plants I am not proud of. I get ashamed and look away from even one yellow leaf. And jumping to the next thought, I am the failure who did this. And that’s a hard one to swallow so I turn away instead. And this angst stays with me and still hinders me from plunging into full plant mama mode.
I thought perfectionism was not my problem. I thought perfectionists were always doing the things that they loved and weren’t content until it was perfect. But the word perfectionism only captures one half of the concept behind it. For me personally, it’s more about being mistake-averse than being hellbent on doing something perfectly and pushing through towards it. I love that the word ‘meticulous’ has origins in the latin word ‘metus’ meaning fear, essentially meaning overcareful about detail. And if you are like that it’s not sustainable. Aaand cue to resistance and procrastination. I avoided doing things out of fear. I wanted to be an expert whenever I did something for the first time. I wanted to jump ahead to being great, perfect, whatever you call it. I thought (and my body still thinks this way) that’s when I would be secure in my position, that’s when I would be safe. Even though I never experienced that something external would do that to me. I was a software engineer with 6 years of experience and I still felt like I was a failure all the time when I didn’t know something from the back of my mind. And even though I accumulated a lot of experience and knowledge, I still felt like a nobody who knew nothing. Being a perfectionist is anti-growth, a killjoy and a struggle. It’s a cruel voice in your head who’s both shaming you for not doing something you love and shaming you for making a mistake. You want to do it but it feels like tremendous work because you have to do things the perfect way. The perfect way that’s so far away from the moment you’re at. In the case of having indoor plants, if you fall short of having the perfect little jungle in your home, you’re a failure. Or I am.
Procrastination vs stepping away for a bit
Procrastination could disguise itself like a break. You are just so exhausted, you want to switch off, you want to watch that movie or series that will give you some ease. Or at least you thought it would, only you feel that guilty pang in your stomach throughout and could not even fully enjoy it. You do some fun thing that’s distracting you without truly immersing yourself in the fun part of it because you’re in the dread of not doing something you ought to do. I do believe some things need to ferment in the back of your mind (like a story for a novel or a yoga practice) but procrastination is arriving at a wall you built up for yourself and not seeing the door on it. Or seeing the door and turning immediately around. It is a dire place to be at. I feel down the most whenever I resist doing something. When I’m stuck at the stage where I’m afraid to take a step that’s hovering in my mind for the millionth time. And all this is intricately linked with self-doubt. If I would believe that I could make a lush apartment then I would just simply do it step by step, not obsessing on immediate results because I know that’s not how it works. I didn’t start a blog before or got active on social media because I feared that if I did something bad there, it would ruin me for the rest of my life. It is such a debilitating mindset and I want to let go of it. Procrastination whispers in your ears that you’re not ready. You’re not in that ‘perfect’ state to do something, either. Even though that ‘perfect’ state is virtually nonexistent or pretty elusive. I actively don’t care now if I am anxious or a bit sad, I just sit down to write or do something I ought to do and the rest will take care of itself. I just have to show up💖 What I’m also trying to do is step away for a bit and deliberately come back. I got anxious writing this post and I took a break when I clocked that. I went to the toilet as I usually do after sitting for 1-1.5 hrs and because I moved and I got out of that space, I instantly had an idea that I wanted to put in here. I call these instances the Toilet Moment. I have the most amazing ideas when I flush the toilet or put the dishes in the dishwasher. It’s powerful to step away but it’s debilitating to procrastinate.
I have other tiny attempts to let go of my perfectionism. I always wanted to sing. It was a secret desire of mine for so long and recently I started learning to sing with an app and I got more and more open to just let myself sing (mostly off-tune) to the music I listen to while I do the washing up. It feels expansive and empowering and I have glimmers of hope that I could one day sing beautifully. I also didn’t set a GoodReads Reading Challenge this year because I did not want to read 24 books because I put an artificial number on it. I did not want the “you’re 2 books behind your schedule” to ruin my readings and get obsessed with how many books I need to read to get this achievement of “Congrats! You read 21 books of your goal of 20!”. It’s embarrassing to admit but there were times where I was just looking at that text feeling proud instead of reading something. And I also felt intense shame whenever I clicked on 2021 (the year I was pregnant and gave birth to.. TWINS!) and I saw I didn’t complete my challenge. I mean, why did I even care? To get this message on my phone? No way, I’m letting that in anymore. And also what I’m trying out now: commitment and just plainly doing it. Like writing this substack, writing my novel, finding opportunities to instruct a yoga class and see where it takes me.
I loved repotting my plants that day. Not all of the time but some of the time. I got anxious about the mess the soil would make on our living room floor and I felt a tight knot in my stomach whenever I looked at a yellow leaf but once I let that feeling in, it dissipated. I was a caring person when I had lovingly wiped dust off from leaves and the end result was so much better than the one I started with. It felt great to nourish them. I only wish for myself to not beat myself up so much still. I want to embrace gardening but I’m not fully there yet. But I can imagine myself to be.
Did you enjoy this piece? It would be very lovely if you could hit the heart button below or share this post to potential readers.💖 And if you would like to support my writing career and the work I put into this publication then consider becoming a paid subscriber.💜
Mazsi, I resonated with this so much. I’ve always been a bit ashamed that I became neither a sourdough baker nor a plant momma during the pandemic 😔 I have a few plants that just won’t grow and even in Arizona, someone I manage to kill succulents. I certainly struggle with perfectionism and your post illuminated how this unnecessary bully is ruining things that I do just for me and my family, just for joy. Starting to feel that loosen as I feel less alone in this.
This is your first post that actually makes me feel at unease in the best possible way. I look at my plants and feel similarly (especially the one I got from you to take care of it instead of you, remember? 😅), and I'm just so angry with myself for neglecting them. I water them, though, and occasionally feed them with Vitaflóra, I just never bother focusing on their more special needs. I bought low-maintenance plants and I really love them, I'm just basically not a good plant mama, pretty much the way I don't cook well. I cook and it's edible, it's just never really good I think, and I don't like cooking. I think I still grasp to the plants because I really love them and whenever they seem to feel okay, it warms my heart, and I'm so happy for them. I just don't think I'm as good a plant mama as they would deserve :(