I Think My Houseplants Are Running a Democracy

What My Houseplants Whisper When I Leave the Room

My houseplants are thriving, which sounds good until you realize I’m not entirely sure it’s because of anything I’ve done.

They might have simply evolved.

At this point, they’ve formed a small democratic society in my living room, one where they vote on when to wilt for dramatic effect and who gets the best patch of sunlight.

I’m just the tall, occasionally useful creature who pays the electricity bill and sprays them with water like a confused rain god.

My watering schedule is best described as “chaotic.”

Sometimes twice a day, sometimes not for three weeks.

The plants have learned to budget accordingly.

I used to talk to them because I read somewhere that it helps them grow. Now I’m convinced they’re humouring me.

They probably whisper to each other after I leave the room.

“Poor thing,” says the fern. “Still thinks he’s in charge.”

The spider plant nods sympathetically. “Should we tell him we’ve been doing fine on our own for months?”

“Nah. Let him have this.”

Every few weeks, I’ll repot one, not because it needs it, but because I need to feel involved.

The plant plays along, pretending to be weak and grateful, while secretly planning its next growth spurt.

I move it to a bigger pot. It doubles in size within days. I’m basically their real estate agent at this point.

I have one cactus that hasn’t been watered in months and still looks magnificent.

Just standing there, spiky and unbothered, thriving on neglect. If the cactus had a dating profile, it would say “Looking for someone who forgets I exist for weeks at a time.”

Meanwhile, I’m over here setting phone reminders to drink water and still forgetting. The cactus is winning at life while I’m Googling “is two coffees before 9am too many?”

Then there’s the succulent that I definitely killed three times, and yet somehow it keeps coming back.

I don’t know if it’s resilient or just refuses to give me the satisfaction of failure. At this point I think it’s coming back purely out of spite.

It’s the plant equivalent of “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”

I’ve tried to establish dominance. I rearranged them once, putting the fern in a less desirable corner to remind it who’s boss.

It responded by growing toward the window at a passive-aggressive angle. Message received.

The monstera has developed a habit of dropping leaves whenever I have guests over, like it’s making a statement.

“Look what you’ve done,” it seems to say, as another leaf hits the floor during dinner.

The timing is suspicious.

The only plant that seems to respect me is the fake one on the bookshelf.

It never complains, never needs anything, and stays exactly where I put it. We have an understanding.

It’s also the only one I haven’t accidentally overwatered, underwatered, or named and then immediately felt weird about.

I’ve stopped trying to be their caretaker. I’m more of their roommate now, the one who doesn’t really contribute much but occasionally brings home groceries (plant food).

They handle the oxygen production. I handle the rent.

And between us, I think they’re winning.