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When it comes to house plants, my apartment is historically more of a burial ground than a safe haven. While I've tried and failed to become a green-thumbed millennial plant mom over the years, that aspiration intensified during the pandemic. Working from home for the first time in my life, I became smitten with the idea of making my space lush and aesthetically-pleasing, a comforting incubator safe from the unholy mess outside my walls. That meant investing in, and subsequently euthanizing, some in-home flora. My vacant ceramics heckled me from the sill.
Beyond the wasted money and dirty nails this habit wrought, caring for houseplants always caused me deeper frustration. It didn't just reinforce my inability to make my own space restorative; it was another example of a simple task I couldn't seem to complete. I grew up internalizing the decades-old, pop culture stereotypes of the common neurodevelopmental disorder that is Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, or ADHD. You know the tropes: an adolescent, disruptive class clown — always, always a boy — yammering incessantly, running around in circles until he spots a "pretty bird" out the window. ADHD was Dana Carvey air-drumming himself into a frenzy in a Saturday Night Live sketch, Mike Myers shouting at him to take his Ritalin. Today, the scientific community acknowledges that ADHD presents much differently in kids assigned female at birth than male, but many millennial women grew up with ADHD that was never recognized.
"ADHD is historically and chronically underdiagnosed in girls and women," says Katherine Reid LMSW, a New York City-based therapist at the Hallowell ADHD Center. "It's often missed because girls may present as inattentive rather than disruptive, and they're typically better at compensatory behaviors like hyper-organization, working longer hours, and triple-checking their work. That can bring self-doubt and isolation that really builds." Those strategies, unbeknownst to me, had kept me going until adulthood. I overcompensated for my inability to concentrate and remember tasks in school, but luckily, this drive was often interpreted by others as "overachieving." I'd aced my SATs and college applications, yet still found myself finishing homework at 4 a.m., mysteriously losing hours like an alien abductee (a destructive study habit I can now attribute to time blindness, an underreported symptom of ADHD.) Good grades lined my report cards, but my absentmindedness had to leak out somewhere: misplaced textbooks and forgotten essays, lost in a locker that looked like a seagull's nest made from found beach debris. I left college as a Division 1 athlete with internships, two theses, a master's degree, and a stacked social life. Mentally, I was barely treading water.
By the time I started a career in an industry that seemed to value the eccentricity and creativity that made my messiness feel worth it, I was exhausted. Every degree, award, and byline felt less like a victory medal and more like a foil blanket donned after a marathon: proof for watching eyes that I'd made it to the finish line, as my legs were giving out underneath me. I now know that I'm far from the only woman with that story, both while growing up and living through an anxiety-inducing, routine-busting pandemic. Last fall, I finally broke down and made the doctor's appointment that confirmed the suspicion my TikTok algorithm and career in wellness had eventually led me to: I have ADHD, and I probably always have.
It was a relief more than anything, and a long-overdue Adderall prescription has changed life for the better. Hours and minutes have slowed to the pace I always felt the rest of my peers were operating on, unexpected tasks don't divert my entire day, and, most surprisingly, my plants are alive and well. The lushness of my in-home garden is the single most tangible example of my treatment in action. Plant-care has become self-care practice, and it's helped me establish the kind of wellness routine that my brain craves.
"As a house plant's ability to thrive is based upon the caretaker's dedication and maintenance. Tending to our green friends can act as a means to build personal discipline," says licensed psychotherapist Jennifer Grant Schliessman, LCSW. "Becoming accountable to these plants can help model a sense of self-caretaking that can allow one to more deeply commit to themself and their own needs, which can often be neglected." The discipline plant-care instills isn't just beneficial for people with ADHD. Anyone whose routine has been disrupted by the pandemic, or is even just looking for a gentler way to tend to themselves, can benefit from wellness rituals based in nature. "Plant-care can serve as a vehicle for us to witness our own ability to nurture," says Schliessman.
The mental and social benefits of plant care go far beyond beautifying your own space. Horticultural therapy, or HT, "is an evidence-based therapy that uses plants and plant maintenance to help people recover from physical and mental challenges," says Joanne D'auria, School Workshops Coordinator at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. The therapy is often conducted in hospitals, rehab centers, schools, and community gardens, and the sessions can be as simple as tending to and learning about plants. HT can help improve memory, cognitive abilities, task initiation, language skills, and socialization, according to the American Horticultural Therapy Association. Each of these skills is equally beneficial for those with ADHD.
Even if you're simply looking to make your dwelling more placid, some living, breathing new roommates can boost your mood. "The more calm, serene, and peaceful your external space, the more grounded and calm your internal experience will feel," says Schliessman. "Creating a home environment that feels safe, is curated with intention, and is pleasurable to the eye can reduce anxiety and depression. Organizing plants along a windowsill with ceramic pots to reduce clutter can illicit structure and safety," she explains further. "Choosing colors that elicit a sense of serenity and feel attractive [to you] allow for a more serene headspace, conducive to effective productivity levels, especially if working from home, and can [actually] regulate the nervous system."
Armed with the knowledge that my brain isn't broken and a now-dexterous green thumb, I'm finally master of my domain. I've got bags of soil and lava rocks on reserve for re-potting, and I've recently downloaded Planta, an app that logs each individual plant's specific lighting and soil needs, reminds me to water and mist them according to their treatment plans, and helps diagnose any health issues (listen, majesty palms are testy!). After I water and prune them in the mornings, I sip my coffee (which I now remember to finish, thanks so much) on the couch and take in the lush view of my chlorophyll-filled crew. Fresh palm fronds fan out wide to floppily face the sun and lacy baby monstera leaves sprout and unfurl like palms opening to be read. Pothos vines stretch and sprawl along my window, seemingly limitless in their reach, maturing in the nurturing environment I've created. We are all at peace in our verdant sanctuary — thriving, even.
Read more about plant care here:
- 6 Low-Maintenance Houseplants Even Beginners Can Keep Alive
- How Keeping Houseplants Alive Can Contribute to Your Mental Health
- 7 Air-Purifying Shower Plants That Keep Your Bathroom Fresh
Now, watch a pro bodybuilder's daily routine:
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