I have a cactus, small and crooked in shape, whom I joke has scoliosis but really he faced the sun the wrong way for too long. I named him Prickly for his golden dipped thorns. As the name suggests he hurts to touch, but if you’re careful and you stroke down then you can pet him. He was the first. A gift from my sister. My little tree, Sprout, was born from an avocado. He’s had a rough growth but he’s so strong now. My little strongman. The next two were a pair. Another cactus, a rounder and meaner one with long thick thorns and tinier ones, tinier than a splinter, hidden in his hair. His name was Clyde, though his unofficial name was Asshole. He once fell on my foot and since then I’ve affectionately nicknamed him as such. The one with him, his sister, is a Bonsai tree with an unoriginal name: Bonnie. But it was fitting. Another cactus, who acts like a toddler who comes home every day caked in mud, was adopted by me when a family member couldn’t keep him anymore. His name is Bob. He is small but healthy and playful. My newest addition to the family is a snake plant named Hiss. He is taller than the rest of our family and bears his leaves like they’re his weapons. Perhaps it is because he is the newest, or because his blades are positioned in a way that looking at him from above gives him the illusion of a rose, but I love to watch him. I had a coral cactus, and her name was Bella. Her head, full of tiny thorns that couldn’t hurt you, curled as if her head was a wave in the ocean and sat upon a long and elegant body. She was incredibly confident. But now she is gone because of past mistakes. I love my plants, my children, with my whole heart. But I am not sure if they love me as much back. 

Bonnie has dried and missing leaves from drying out so, so many times. They fall in tune with my own tears. She used to grow flowers back when things were easier. The first time I saw one it was a surprise and I cried. White like snow and smaller than my fingertip, but its beauty was greater than anything I’ve seen before because it was hers. She used to grow them every day. Like every time I’ve blinked, there would be a new one there saying hello to me. They’d fall just as fast, like snowflakes. I used to have to vacuum every other day because there would be so many on the ground. I could tell Bonnie was proud of her flowers too. I haven’t seen one in forever. 

Prickly used to be a full cactus with a rounded top like any other. But anxiety can ruin things like that; Flooding your heart, infecting your veins, and soaking into your brain. His spines would get to dry and I would overthink. I thought he might have rot. On a day where overwhelming emotions, stress, and anxiety, hiding behind short-lived happiness and calm, were high I did something rash. I thought I would find rot but instead, I found a healthy inside. Now Prickly sits in his pot with Bob, who has started to shrink himself, with a flat and scabbed head and his top in the compost.

Sprout is an avocado tree. I grew him from a pit all on my own. I thought he wouldn’t grow but he proved me wrong. He’s so strong, my little sprout. He grew to be 8 inches tall, with leaves the size of my hand in length. But avocado trees are extra sensitive to salt, and his leaves started to turn brown and crunchy. I don’t have time or motivation to help him, and I’m mad at myself for it every day. It made me upset seeing him in such a state, so now he sits with no leaves. Half the tree he used to be in hopes of growing with a stronger stem.

It didn’t take very long for me to mess up with Hiss. Only the first day. Snake plants are very strong plants. They resist most diseases and pests and can go for long periods of time without sunlight or water. But they don’t like it when the sunlight they do get is direct. I didn’t listen to Hiss’s needs, though, and placed him on my windowsill with the rest of my kids. Now he hides on my bed during the day, healing from burns and mushy spots.

Bella died a while ago. I left them all out in the rain after watering them to the point of drowning. I was lucky enough to keep the others alive, but Bella didn’t make it. I watched with a pained heart as weeks flew by and she never got better. She only turned more brown and rotted, more shriveled and squished. I had dreamed of her turning pink one day, now I dream of her in our compost bin. 

My favorite is Clyde. Was, Clyde.  He’s my most painful mistake. He was so round and big when I got him. It used to be hard to water him because it merely trickled down his spikes and away from the soil. But motivation always escaped me. Escapes me. He shrunk smaller and smaller. Still alive. Still healthy. But small and a fraction of the proud man he had used to be. I got too excited. It was a bright sunny day and I was feeling just as happy. I thought that a week was okay to water them again. Clyde has gone from proud to small to crumbling under his own weight. His frustrations and stress became too much for him and now he sits on my windowsill. Waiting for me to dispose of his once-proud body. Of his squished, soft corpse. 

I hear Bonnie's soft cries at night, reminding me of everything I’m doing wrong. And how I never seem to be able to fix it. I feel Bob’s disappointment as he remains the only one healthy. He reminds me that it’s only a matter of time before I fail him too. But I know that I’ve already started too. Sprout struggles with the salt and pain in his system, with the lack of leaves to help him grow. Prickly hides from me when I look at him, scared and ashamed of me. What kind of mother hurts her child without talking to him first? My first impression will probably never leave Hiss’s mind. He might resent me now. He might resent me forever. Clyde remains silent. And it haunts me.

I love my plants with my whole heart. 

But I am not sure they love me the same.