The Nurturing Life: Houseplants and Mental Health

I often think that you make discoveries just when you need them most. Words fall into your lap at a time that’s right for you. A time when they are the only words that will help you. These are the words that resonate with your soul. Words that speak to you long after they leave your lips.

Some years ago I was aimlessly flicking through a magazine, waiting for the hands on the clock to turn and wondering how I would move forward in my life.

I came across a short column all about new research that showed that looking after houseplants helped with low mood. I sat up a little straighter in my chair and read on. Nursing home patients that had been given a plant to look after had shown a marked improvement in their mood than those without a plant.

At that time my mood was definitely low and days were characterised by the black cloud above my head. The smallest of tasks seemed overwhelming and days stagnated into weeks.

My low mood told me that I was not capable, that everything was beyond my reach. Despite the lack of confidencein my abilities, I let the question swirl into the air: could I give this plant lark a try? I decided that a plant was a small thing and that I could manage that. Pleased I’d made a positive decision, I felt buoyed and searched the internet for the hardiest houseplants.

Some days later I brought home from the supermarket a small Kalanchoe plant that had cost only two pounds. The plant was not much larger than a boiled egg. It had tight glossy green leaves and a single bud. Cradling the new life in my hands, I placed the plant onto my bedroom windowsill so that I’d see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

Over the weeks, the plant afforded me a little responsibility. Silly though it may sound, I knew that the plant needed me.

Asking for no more than a sunny position and a little water, the plant began to flourish. I observed the taller stem and marvelled at the new leaves. I’d spend time checking the plant’s water levels, grinning like a loon at the openiing of one of the buds – bright cerise starbursts of wonder.

Despite my problems, I had to ensure the plant was watered so that it could continue to flourish. Day after day. And I was rewarded with flowers and a sense of achievement. I think it’s the same for those with pets; they force you to get up in spite of a low mood.

Within a year the plant had grown to six times its original size. Gently, alongside the slow budding of the plant, the roots of confidence began to push through the dank low mood that had plagued me for months. Taking root, this confidence breathed life back into my weary mind and I began to gain strength.

I learned that plants take time. Nature will not be rushed. She does not worry or try too hard, yet things that need to happen, happen. There was something comforting in that. Something about trusting in the process.

These days my living room is full of houseplants. Spider Plants trail the length of the deep windowsill in the living room, Peace Lillies stand tall on small tables and a miniature rose gifted to me by a friend provides sweet perfume when in flower. Parlsey and Lemon Basil fight for attention on my kitchen windowsill, next to a Christmas Cactus and a Venus Fly Trap. Even the bathroom houses plants; the small aloe plant flourishes in the humid environment and the ferns enjoy the shade.

My love for plants extends out into my south-facing back yard. Bees hover round fragrant Lavendar and butterflies alight from the colurful Cosmos, while Nemesia provides a honey scent as I brush past to hang out the washing on a sunny day.

In our technological and connected world, it’s easy to underestimate the power of the natural world on our wellbeing. But for those who have experienced the joy in cultivating new life, of nurturing plants, the natural world is a source of wonder, nourishment and gratitude. It is not an afterthought but a necessity for mindful living.

My advice for choosing a houseplant

Pick a hardy species:

  • Ferns love shaded areas.
  • Spider plants are happy in most places but like a little indirect sunlight.
  • Peace lillies will flower in indirect sunlight.
  • Cactus plants or aloe plants are very hardy and require minimal water.

Connection

On the evening of the Summer Solstice I found myself standing before the tall iron gates to what looked like a secret garden. Beyond the concrete threshold I imagined trees, flowers and perhaps an ancient crumbling house full of long-buried secrets. My imagination often runs away with me in this way.

As the warm air tousled with my hair, I felt my shoulders drop a little and I forced myself to focus on the present moment. Sunlight cast dappled shadows on the soft earth beneath a canopy of trees. Trees spiralled upwards, arms outstretched, seeking the sun, seeking life.

Standing before the hidden woodland I hoped to find everything I loved about the world; connection. Connection with others, with mother nature and with my creativity. I was ready to embrace all that’s special about the summer solstice; reflection, gratitude and growth.

After a refreshing drink of homemade botanical water, the group of summer solstice seekers sat in a circle on the woodland floor, eyes shining with expectation. Soon enough we began our yoga session on what was the International Day of Yoga. There’s something meditative in in itself about yoga. Bending to the will of the caramel-toned voice, words commanding the body, gently coaxing the stresses of the day out and into the air. Being guided through a series of poses, thinking suspended, the body just fluid movements and the breath. There’s something freeing in the act of offering the body, connecting the mind with the body and harnessing the energy of the natural world. For someone who is very often stuck in their own head, this was an incredibly relaxing yoga session.

With limbs suitably loosened, we were guided through the steps to make our own willow crown, complete with woodland detritus. Sitting beneath the safety of the trees with a group of strangers, very quickly I felt my soul unburden as I discussed things I hadn’t shared with anyone outside of my close family. Very quickly I felt that I was among friends.

Soon we were asked to write something in response to our surroundings and were urged to follow our instincts. I felt a need to explore the woodland. My eyes fell upon a plant, whose stems were naked and had once held delicate sprays of tiny white flowers. The shape of its waning form reminded me of the four seasons. I let my instinct take over. Too often I overthink things, especially when it comes to writing. I wonder if they’d like that phrase? Will anyone read this? Is that the right word? It was freeing to let my mind flow and to trust that my instinct would drive the pen forward.

This is what I wrote:

Summon the seasons with one stem

There is all of life on this here stem.

Tiny spring growths have nourished forth,

Outstretched spines cradle creamy white flowers

bright as the rays of the sun.

Plump pods house next year’s life,

Skeletal tendrils cast delicate silouettes in the crisp moonlight.

With creativity unbidden, ideas flowed freely from my pen. Without the usual overactive mental commentary, my subconscious was able to run with its instincts.

By the end of the session my mind was brimming with ideas, my body was nourished from the wonderful food and my soul was imbued with the energy of the sun.

Our last task was to create an intention for ourselves for the coming months. Something that would guide and motivate us through the remainder of the year. My intention centered on the connection between our actions and our journey through life and how one is dependent on the other. After an evening full of connection, I now know that I have the ability to summon the strength of this special Summer Solstice whenever I need it.

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