Stop me if you’ve heard this one: A woman walks into her house after an eight-hour shift of answering ‘Why?’ 400 times, flings her bra toward the ceiling like a celebratory frisbee, and immediately starts whispering sweet nothings to a Peace Lily.
Spoiler alert: That woman is me.
I spent years being everyone’s favorite ‘Fixer-Upper,’ but I finally realized that humans are high-maintenance and rarely come with care instructions. So, I’ve officially retired from the drama department. These days, if you want my attention, you’d better be photosynthesizing or chirping like a bird. My schedule is fully booked with leaf-shining and soul-reclaiming, and honestly? The view from my indoor and outdoor jungle is way better than the view from a crowded bar.
If you had told me ten years ago that my weekly plans would involve a moisture meter and a spray bottle, I would have laughed in your face—probably while on my way to solve someone else’s life crisis.
I’ve always been a “fixer.” If you had a problem, I had a solution. If you were sad, I was your shoulder. But let’s be real: taking care of humans is exhausting. Humans have opinions. Humans talk back. Humans ask you for “favors” at 10:00 PM on a Tuesday.
Eventually, my nurturing soul reached its capacity. My internal “caregiver” battery hit 1% and stayed there. That’s when it happened. I traded the drama for dirt, and honestly? I’ve never been happier.
My day job involves working with young adults. I love them, truly, but they are … let’s just say it’s not for the weak. By the time that clock hits 4:30 PM, my social battery isn’t just dead—it’s been incinerated. Most educators know EXACTLY what I am talking about.
The commute home is my “pre-game” for relaxation. The second I walk through that door, the ritual begins:
- The Great Escape: The bra comes off immediately. If you know, you know. It’s the ultimate signal to my body that the outside world no longer has jurisdiction over me.
- The Welcoming Committee: My pets greet me like I’m a celebrity returning from a world tour. No drama, no “can you do me a favor?”, just pure, unadulterated “feed me and scratch my ears” energy.
- The Plant Rounds: I check on them every day during my rounds. In the morning and before I go to bed.
Checking on my Monstera feels like a high-stakes wellness check, but without the emotional baggage. “Oh, you’ve got a new leaf unfurling? Look at you go, girl! We love a self-starter!”
I used to think being alone was “lonely.” I thought I needed to be “on” to be valuable. But now? Being alone feels rejuvenating. It’s like I’ve finally been initiated into the ‘Secret Society of Introverts’. I get it now!
There is a specific kind of magic in a silent house. No one is asking me for a snack. I don’t have to clean up as much. No one is telling me a thirty-minute story that could have been a thirty-second text. It’s just me, my dogs, hubby, and my corn plant (who is currently being a bit of a drama queen about the humidity, but we’re working through it).
Pro Tip: Plants are the perfect friends. They listen to all your problems, they improve your air quality, and if they start to get on your nerves, you can just move them to a different room.
The most beautiful side effect of my gardening obsession? My patience for drama has withered away like a succulent in a dark closet.
I no longer have the bandwidth for “he-said-she-said” or high-pressure situations. If a conversation feels like it’s going to raise my blood pressure, I’m out. I’ve become a human “Do Not Disturb” sign. There is too much going on in the world for people to be so damn angry and mean to one another. I damn sure ain’t sticking around when I’ve been in a mentally and emotionally drained space for eight hours a day for damn near thirty years!
My energy is now reserved for things that grow and make me feel peaceful. My “caretaking” muscle is still working hard, it’s just redirected toward things that don’t drain my soul.
So, if you need me, I’ll be in my moomoo, lighting incense, smoking bra-less while talking to the plants. And I’ve never felt more sane.
Gray Hairs & Late Nights 