It was March, autumn had well and truly set in, bringing with it bright, blustering winds and flying leaves, and heralding the start of lockdown 1.0 here in Melbourne. It was a confusing time, a time of change and uncertainty.

I’ve never liked autumn — this year, though, I grew to despise it. Because along with the winds came turbulent change, and with the cool air and gloomy skies floated in a virus that felt scary and unpredictable, that seemed to grow in momentum with each passing day.

I did everything I could to stay in control, to feel grounded amidst the change. Control is an illusion at the best of times, but this wasn’t the best of times, it was far from it, in fact. And I felt it.

I was walking one day in March when I passed a plant shop. Draped in greenery and hanging baskets, and smelling fresh, green and inviting, I walked in. Choosing was based more on intuition than anything else. I walked out with two new plants, freshly potted by the shop owner in glazed ceramic pots.

I brought them home, feeling proud. I’d watch them grow as the world was crumbling. These plants would see me through the Corona period. They were alive, they could grow — surely this was a symbol of something positive?

Things didn’t go quite as I planned. The plants came home with me, I looked after them, but looking after myself proved to be more challenging. The stress ate away at me, while my plants brought my living room to life.

That stressful time passed, the way everything eventually does, and things returned to some form of normal. As if sensing my stress, my plants wilted a little. I brought them back to life again slowly, watching over them with care, as I brought myself back to life, too.

Those weren’t the only plants I have purchased in this period. When lockdown 2.0 was announced, I was back at the same plant shop, for exactly the same reasons. I chose a new plant to bring home, to bring life to a world that proved again how uncertain it could be.

I’d love to say I’ve become a plant whisperer, knowing exactly what my plants need and when to give it to them. But, in truth, while my plants have gone through thriving and wilting periods over time, I’ve gotten better at listening to myself, and fulfilling my own needs.

I read somewhere that you should talk to your plants as if you’re talking to yourself, calling them by your own name, and encouraging them to grow. By doing so, it’s like providing yourself with nourishment in the process.

I haven’t named any of my plants after myself, but I do check in with them, and seeing them grow is encouraging on a very core level, something almost impossible to describe.

I’m pleased to say I’m doing something right, because all my plants are still growing, but more importantly, so am I. Like my plants, I have my days where I’m parched, thirsty for care and attention, and yet others when another drop of water will saturate me. It’s a delicate balance, but we’re getting there — yes, me and my plants. We’re getting there.