Watching something grow because you chose to tend it rewires something
When the world contracted into four walls, many people discovered that life — stubborn, green, and quietly demanding — could still be cultivated within them. Across Brazil and beyond, the pandemic's enforced stillness turned windowsills and balconies into sanctuaries, as tending plants became a way to manage anxiety, mourn distance, and maintain a thread of connection to the natural world. What emerged as a coping mechanism is settling into something more permanent: a daily practice of care that outlasts the crisis that inspired it.
- Locked inside and stripped of routine, people confronted anxiety and depression with few outlets — and many found unexpected relief in the simple act of keeping something alive.
- A quiet surge swept through homes: balconies filled with succulents, living rooms acquired palms, and kitchens sprouted herb gardens as plant sales climbed alongside collective stress levels.
- Experts urge beginners to start with forgiving species — snake plants, philodendrons, cacti — and to learn the language of leaves before attempting more demanding varieties.
- A critical warning shadows the trend: dozens of popular houseplants, from lilies to dieffenbachia to azaleas, carry compounds toxic to children and pets, demanding research before any purchase.
- For those who began planting out of desperation, the habit is becoming a permanent one — a living ritual that connects people to nature, to memory, and to each other through shared cuttings and seedlings.
When lockdown arrived in 2020, Melissa Carmelo had already tried several ways to quiet her anxiety — sewing, music therapy, modeling. It was her therapist who pointed her toward plants. She began with lace ferns, the same variety her grandmother Beatriz had always grown, though she didn't realize the connection until later. Within weeks, her apartment held thirty pots and twenty species. She had, without fully knowing it, reached for her grandmother's hands.
The practice grew outward. Melissa began sharing cuttings with neighbors and friends — small gestures of connection in a moment when connection felt risky. When she contracted COVID-19, her grandmother sent her a pot of maidenhair fern, a cutting descended from a plant her late grandfather had once started. That single pot became an anchor during her recovery. She now considers plant cultivation a permanent part of her life.
She is not alone. Thaís Doblado Prodomo, a homemaker and trader, had kept succulents for seventeen years before the pandemic deepened her commitment. Every supermarket run became an opportunity to bring something green home. Today her house holds nearly 270 plants across every room. She calls it therapy — against stress, against depression, against the weight of isolation.
For newcomers, specialists recommend beginning with species that tolerate mistakes: succulents, cacti, heartleaf philodendrons. Orchids are more forgiving indoors than their reputation suggests. Snake plants thrive in low light. The key is learning each plant's signals — wilting leaves, darkening foliage, soil that clings or falls dry from a fingertip — before moving on to more demanding varieties.
But enthusiasm requires caution. Many beloved houseplants carry real dangers for children and pets. Lilies can damage a pet's kidneys. Azaleas affect the heart. Dieffenbachia, anthurium, and ivy each carry compounds that cause swelling, burning, or worse. Experts urge research before purchase — understanding what a plant needs, and what it risks, before it enters the home.
What the pandemic forced inward has, for many, become a lasting conversation with growth and patience. The plants remain long after the isolation ends.
When the world locked down in 2020, Melissa Carmelo found herself wrestling with anxiety and panic attacks. The 30-year-old journalist had tried cutting and sewing, modeling, even music therapy to manage her racing thoughts. Then, during a therapy session, plants emerged as an answer—not as a cure, but as a way to ground herself in something living and present. By August, she had four pots of lace ferns, the delicate Davallia fejeensis native to Fiji. Within two weeks, she had thirty pots across her apartment: begonias, hedera, philodendrons, azaleas, bromeliads, maidenhair ferns, Monstera, tradescantia, primrose. Twenty different species. She didn't fully understand why she'd chosen the lace fern first until memory surfaced: her grandmother Beatriz had always grown them. In choosing that plant, Melissa had unconsciously reached for her grandmother's hands.
What began as personal therapy became something larger. Melissa started sharing cuttings and seedlings with family, friends, neighbors—small acts of connection in an era when connection itself felt dangerous. When she contracted COVID-19 in March, her grandmother sent her a pot of maidenhair fern, a cutting from a plant her late grandfather had started years before. The gesture undid her. During her recovery, that single pot of green became an anchor to love and continuity. She now speaks of keeping plants as a permanent practice, a way to stay tethered to the natural world and to the people she cares for, even after isolation ends.
Melissa is not alone. Across Brazil, people confined to their homes discovered that tending plants offered what the outdoors could not: a pocket of nature, a daily ritual, a living thing that responded to care. For Thaís Doblado Prodomo, a 46-year-old homemaker and trader, the pandemic deepened a habit that had begun seventeen years earlier in an apartment balcony with three succulent pots. When lockdown began and she moved to a house, every trip to the supermarket or hardware store became an opportunity to bring home new cuttings. She returned with succulents, orchids, foliage plants, even a carnivorous sundew. Today, her home holds 25 medium planters, 7 large pots, and 239 smaller vessels scattered across her garage, bedroom balcony, kitchen, and bathrooms. She describes the practice as therapy against stress and depression—a way to beautify her home, comfort her family, and delight neighbors who pass her door and sometimes leave with a small plant of their own.
For those beginning this journey, the entry point matters. Regina Bazani, a specialist in ornamental plants and flowers at MilPlantas in São Paulo, recommends starting with species that forgive neglect: succulents, cacti, philodendrons like the heartleaf plant. These teach you the rhythm of watering and light before you attempt more demanding varieties. Orchids, particularly the phalaenopsis with its rounded flowers in white, pink, yellow, or purple, are surprisingly forgiving indoors if kept in indirect light and moved to terracotta pots that drain better than plastic. The croton, with its large, twisted leaves in shades of red, yellow, green, and orange, demands direct sunlight and cannot tolerate air conditioning. The snake plant thrives in low light and requires almost no fertilizer. Bromeliads come in countless colors and forms but prefer shade to direct sun. The raphia palm, tall and elegant, suits living rooms and tolerates lower light. Even a simple kitchen herb garden can begin with self-watering containers on a balcony or patio.
But care requires knowledge. Succulents signal their needs through their leaves: if they wilt, increase water gradually; if the base rots, decrease it; if they thin and drop leaves, they're starving for light—at least four hours of direct sun daily keeps them healthy. Orchids darken when they're receiving too much light and should be moved. The simple test for any plant: press your finger into the soil. If it comes away clean and dry, water. If soil clings to it, wait. Bazani emphasizes research before purchase: understand what each species needs before it arrives in your home.
Yet not all plants belong in every household. Homes with children and pets require vigilance. Anthurium contains calcium oxalate crystals that cause vomiting, diarrhea, throat swelling, and potentially fatal airway closure in animals. Azalea contains andromedotoxin, which triggers digestive and cardiac problems in dogs. The parrot's beak plant produces a milky latex that causes skin lesions and conjunctivitis in pets and eye irritation in humans. Snake plant produces compounds toxic to both humans and animals, causing breathing difficulty and intense salivation. Lilies are entirely toxic—all parts—and can damage a pet's kidneys and nervous system after ingestion. Hydrangea contains hydrangine, causing nausea, skin irritation, abdominal pain, and vomiting. Dieffenbachia, Caladium, and calla lily cause lip and mouth swelling, burning sensation, vomiting, and difficulty swallowing. Night-blooming jasmine's unripe fruit and leaves trigger nausea, vomiting, behavioral disturbance, and hallucinations in pets. Ivy's urushiol oil irritates mucous membranes, causing excessive itching and breathing difficulty. Begonia causes mouth and lip irritation and intense burning sensation. The list is long and specific because the consequences are real.
What began as isolation has become, for many, a lasting practice. Melissa speaks of continuing plant cultivation as a form of therapy and activism, potentially involving herself in environmental projects that protect green spaces. Thaís intends to maintain her collection for life. The pandemic forced people indoors and, in doing so, brought the outdoors in—not as decoration, but as a daily conversation with growth, patience, and the small miracle of something thriving because you chose to tend it. The plants remain long after the isolation ends.
Citações Notáveis
During a therapy session, plants emerged as a way to rescue comforting childhood memories and as a safe activity that allowed her to step away from the present moment. Following a plant's development connects us to our own processes and ideas, creating a bond of learning and care.— Melissa Carmelo, journalist
Plant cultivation serves as therapy against stress and depression, beautifies the home, creates comfortable spaces, brings joy and comfort to family, and delights neighbors who sometimes receive small plants as gifts.— Thaís Doblado Prodomo, homemaker and trader
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
What made plants specifically work when other activities didn't?
I think it's because plants don't demand performance. You can't fail at them in the way you fail at a hobby. You just show up, water, observe. And they respond. That feedback loop—seeing something grow because of your care—it rewires something in your nervous system.
Melissa mentioned her grandmother's plant. Is that connection to memory part of what makes it therapeutic?
Absolutely. The plant becomes a bridge. It's not just green leaves; it's her grandmother's hands, her grandfather's attention from years ago. That's why she didn't consciously choose the lace fern—her body remembered it before her mind did.
But Thaís has 239 pots. That seems like it could become compulsive rather than healing.
Maybe. But she describes it as ongoing therapy, not obsession. Each trip to the store is a small ritual that interrupts the heaviness of isolation. The abundance itself—the fact that her home is alive with growth—that's the medicine. It's not about having the perfect collection; it's about the act of tending.
What about the danger? All those toxic plants—how do people navigate that?
With intention and knowledge. You don't ban beauty from your home; you place it carefully. A hydrangea in a high shelf, away from curious hands. It's about respect for what plants actually are—not just decoration, but living things with chemistry that can harm.
Do you think this stays with people after the pandemic ends?
The source suggests it will. Melissa and Thaís both speak of it as permanent. I think once you've felt what it's like to have something alive depend on you, to watch it respond to your care, you don't easily let that go. The isolation forced people to slow down enough to notice it.