I held a funeral for my plants
What grows when we learn to let go
Living in a Chicago high-rise during the pandemic came with a kind of confinement I wasn’t prepared for.
My “outdoor space” was limited to a modest balcony, which was sufficient for sunset views and a breath of outside air, but not enough to quiet the longing I felt for an actual yard, particularly when seeing the plethora of backyard sanctuaries on social media.
And leaving the building came with its own challenges. Every trip outside meant navigating close proximity with hundreds of residents in elevators, stairwells, the parking garage, and the lobby. At the height of COVID, I had to weigh every outing.
I wasn’t moving to Florida (like half of New York), and I wasn’t heading back to California. So…I did the only thing that felt restorative: I created an oasis of my own, one plant at a time.
The making of a rainforest
What started as a cluster of 4 to 5 plants grew into a 100-piece collection. Learning through experimentation offered the best foundation for expanding my green thumb, and before I knew it, my home transformed into a rainforest of my own making.
My “watering day” also grew. What began as a 5-minute task became a full Netflix episode. However, it wasn’t daunting at all; instead, it was cathartic and therapeutic.
The water kept the plants living while the ritual kept me centered.
The plants introduced new textures, shapes, colors, and movement into my urban landscape of concrete and glass. They became a source of insulation, peace, beauty, and inspiration.
Watering plants can lower blood pressure, produce brainwave patterns linked to relaxation, and increase happiness. (BMC Psychology)
A new kind of growth
After several years, life shifted — and so did I.
The self-appointed “plant lady” fell in love with an incredible human, and when he asked me to marry him, I knew the rainforest couldn’t come with me. Our combined space required a different kind of curation.
After the movers left, I looked around our home at the extensive assemblage of plants sprawled across the floor, it was obvious that something had to give. My husband could see the conflict on my face, and that’s when he offered something that cut through the moment with tenderness:
“What if we honored them…with a funeral?”
We came together and said a few words for the plants I chose to part with. There was a mix of laughter and gravity. The emotion I felt wasn’t just about the plants themselves, but about the new season I was entering, where my understanding of care expanded.
While the rainforest was built for my previous lifestyle, I needed to consider its impact on my spouse.
There’s interesting research on the threshold of indoor greenery. A 2025 study conducted by Stanford University found that when it comes to indoor nature, there can, in fact, be too much. The journal Sustainable Cities and Society describes Stanford’s findings:
Indoor greenery enhances wellbeing, but too much can overwhelm people. A greenery dose of about 20% is optimal for restoration and sense of belonging. (Sustainable Cities and Society)
The lessons rooted in care
Plants are resilient and have the power to adapt to their surroundings. They can often survive repotting, moving, lack of light, lack of water, and pests. While total neglect isn’t sustainable, plants only need a few essential things to thrive, starting with consistency.
As I was adjusting to a post-pandemic world, my plants were adjusting as well. Some of them outgrew their pots and needed a larger foundation, others bloomed flowers once or twice a year, and others changed color as they matured.
Plant care has its own quiet lessons. Internal growth is possible when pouring into the growth of nature.
From my years of cultivation, I’ve come to understand six principles worth sharing:
Observation (plants can communicate, non-verbally of course)
If you slow down enough to observe and monitor your plants, they will often tell you what they need (e.g., our Peace Lily will dramatically droop its leaves when it’s in need of water, so I wait for the start of the droop before I water it again).
Propagation (creating new from old)
Propagation is the ultimate power move. You can create new life from a branch or leaf of the parent plant. The process for propagation differs by plant, requiring you to truly understand the mechanics of how it grows and multiplies.
Sunlight (plants are living and need sun, just like we do)
There are plants that can survive with limited sunlight (e.g., Snake Plant) while others require several hours of direct sunlight (e.g., Monstera). Learning the optimal conditions for your specific species is what will increase the chances of not just survival but flourishing.
More isn’t always better (a universal truth, really)
We know plants need water but how much water is key. More water is not always better, especially if your plant is showing signs of distress. You could be watering too much or too little. The same is true for sunlight. For some plants, too much sun will scorch their delicate leaves (e.g., Calathea).
Start small (and free your mind)
I advise people to start with just one plant, in order to focus and cater to its specific needs. Success with one can build confidence and momentum with plant care overall. Once you get the feel for it, the ritual of care becomes an opportunity to free your mind and decompress.
When to let go (and trust the reset)
One of the most difficult aspects of plant care is knowing when you’ve reached the end of the road with a plant you’ve put time and effort into. Perhaps the plant couldn’t adapt to a new environment, became infected, or simply suffered from user error. It’s okay to reset and start again — plants do it all the time.
Care, in all its forms, is a practice of attention and intention. Letting go of my rainforest wasn’t about loss; it was about making space for the next chapter I was choosing. Care is dynamic, always shifting with us, and the more we practice it, the more we grow through it.