Green on a Budget: How Plant Cuttings Bring Life Into Your Home
Because a fresh start can begin with something as simple as a new leaf.
There’s something deeply comforting about adding a bit of green to your space. A living thing to nurture. A reminder that growth happens slowly and quietly, but surely.
For me, bringing in plants was more than just about decor. It was about energy. Color. Life. A little rhythm of care in my week. Something to check on in the morning light.
And here's the best part: it doesn't have to be expensive. You can create a home filled with life starting with a single cutting in a jar of water.
Cuttings: The Most Affordable Plant Magic
Cuttings are simply pieces of existing plants that, when placed in water or soil, can grow roots and become full plants of their own. It’s a gentle, satisfying process—watching something tiny take root and expand.
Ask a friend with thriving plants for a clipping. Pothos, spider plants, and monstera are perfect for this. Most plant lovers are happy to share!
Once you have a cutting:
Use clean scissors to snip below a node (a small bump or joint in the stem)
Place the cutting in a clear jar or vase filled with fresh water
Set it in a bright, indirect light
Change the water every few days
Wait. In a couple of weeks, you’ll likely see roots beginning to stretch out
Once the roots are a few inches long, you can transplant it into soil or keep it in water for a minimalist, modern look.
DIY Vase Ideas
You don’t need to buy anything fancy. Here are a few things I’ve used as propagation vases:
A clear glass bottle (wine or soda bottles work great)
A mason jar
An old candle jar, cleaned out
A tiny bud vase from a thrift store
Once It's Rooted: Potting on a Budget
After your cutting has developed roots, potting it can be just as fun and personal. Look for:
Terra cotta pots (usually inexpensive and classic)
Secondhand ceramic mugs or bowls (just add pebbles for drainage)
Small baskets with an inner waterproof liner
A Quick Note on Pets
I have a cat, and he likes to nibble on things that dangle or rustle. So I always check to make sure the plants I bring into our home are safe for him. The ASPCA has a helpful online list of pet-safe and toxic plants—a great resource before you bring something new inside.
Let Plants Do What They Do Best
Plants quietly transform a room. They add softness to shelves, color to corners, and sometimes even a little drama if you let them grow wild.
They remind me that creating a home is not about perfection. It’s about presence. And even something small can be meaningful.
So if you're feeling stuck or in need of change, maybe start with a cutting. Start small. Start green.
And let life root itself wherever it can.
What My Second Story Is Teaching Me About Strength
Because sometimes strength looks like softness, surrender, and starting over.
There was a moment when the dust of divorce started to settle, and what was left was just... me. Sitting in a quiet room that used to be filled with shared noise. I didn’t know what to do with the swirl of hurt, grief, confusion, anger, and exhaustion. Some days, it felt like there was no container big enough to hold it all.
In that early space, I tried everything to feel better. Therapy. Long walks. Yoga. Making plans with friends, and then canceling them when I couldn’t bear the small talk. I read the books, listened to the podcasts, saved the Instagram quotes. Some helped. Some didn’t. Some made it worse.
I went to a reiki healer. A massage therapist. I even sat across from a tarot card reader and asked the universe for a sign that I would feel whole again.
Sometimes answers came in bits and pieces. Sometimes not at all.
But I should say this—I'm a few years out and still trying to put the pieces together. This lesson is still sinking in:
Don’t close your heart.
Not to the pain. Not to the healing. Not even to the person who hurt you. And especially not to yourself.
Forgiveness is messy.
And it’s not always linear.
Forgiving your ex-partner (or yourself) might not happen all at once. It might not happen for a long time. But harboring bitterness is a heavy thing to carry into your next chapter. And forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, excusing, or erasing. It means loosening your grip.
In the swirl, I stayed grounded through small things. My monthly massage appointment. The stack of books I kept next to my bed. A few friends who didn’t push or try to fix me. And some days, just being alone and learning how to care for myself—how I need to be cared for—was enough.
Everyone says time heals. And yes, it does.
But also? Self-love heals. Movement heals. Laughter helps. Crying helps too. So does deleting your social media for a while and going to the farmers market and buying yourself the flowers.
There’s no perfect formula for moving forward.
This blog isn’t a guidebook. It’s not a list of 10 perfect steps to heal. It’s just a glimpse into a chapter of my life. My second story.
One where I started curating a new space—a little home that holds only the things I love. One where I created space within myself, too. To rest. To be. To start again.
And about that word: failure.
I’ve heard people say, "My marriage failed."
But what if we reframed that?
What if it was successful for many seasons? What if it taught you what you needed to know? What if it ran its course and ended not because you failed, but because you outgrew the container?
Failure is a loaded word. Don’t speak it over yourself.
Be gentle with your words.
They shape your healing.
Be intentional with your space. It reflects your becoming.
You are not broken.
You are building.
And your second story might just be the most beautiful one yet.
After the Ending: When You Don't Know Who You Are Anymore
Because some days you're barely holding it together, and that's exactly where you need to start.
I ate eggs and toast for dinner twelve days in a row because making decisions about food felt impossible when I couldn't even decide who I was anymore. Who was I without the life I'd built? Without the person I'd been for so long that I forgot there were other ways to be?
The apartment was too quiet. My coffee maker sounded too loud. I'd stand in the grocery store staring at yogurt for ten minutes because even choosing breakfast felt impossible when you don't know who you're feeding anymore.
If you're reading this in your own wreckage—whether it's divorce, a breakup, a job loss, or just the slow realization that the life you built doesn't fit anymore—this isn't going to be some bullshit about everything happening for a reason. This is about what to do when you're sitting in the crater, wondering what the hell comes next.
The Ugly Middle
Nobody talks about how disorienting it is to suddenly have complete freedom when you've forgotten what you actually like. Do I like Indian food, or did he like Indian food? Do I enjoy hiking, or was I just going along? Did I ever actually want that couch, or was it a compromise that became habit?
I remember standing in Target's home section, overwhelmed by throw pillows, realizing I had no idea what my taste even was anymore. Everything felt like I was playing house with someone else's life.
Some days I felt like I was finally becoming myself. Other days I felt like I was dissolving entirely.
Both can be true.
The Small Rebellions That Saved Me
I started taking walks without telling anyone where I was going. Not dramatic adventure walks—just around the block, to the coffee shop, nowhere special. But they were mine. For the first time in years, I was moving through the world accountable to no one but myself.
I went to movies alone. Matinees, mostly, when the theater was nearly empty. I bought the expensive popcorn and sat wherever I wanted and cried during the sad parts without worrying about anyone else's reaction.
I rearranged furniture at 2 AM. Because I could. Because it was my space and my insomnia and my sudden need to see if the couch looked better by the window.
I started journaling, but messily. Not beautiful, intentional journaling—angry scribbles on receipt backs, voice memos to myself while driving, random thoughts in my phone's notes app. Just getting the chaos out of my head and onto something else.
I danced in my kitchen. Badly. Loudly. To songs that made me feel like I had a body again, like I was allowed to take up space.
What Actually Helped (When I Could Manage It)
Some days I was a functioning human. Other days I ordered takeout from the bath and considered it a win. Here's what helped on the days I had any energy at all:
Reading before bed instead of scrolling. Books became my escape route from my own thoughts. Anything that reminded me other people had survived their own endings.
One small thing for the space. Not redecorating—just one thing. A plant that would probably die but felt optimistic. A candle that smelled like something other than sadness. New sheets that no one else had ever slept on.
Saying yes to things that scared me a little. That dinner invitation when I wanted to hide. That art class I'd always been curious about. The yoga class where everyone would see I had no idea what I was doing.
Calling the friend who wasn't afraid of my mess. You know the one—the friend who doesn't try to fix you or tell you to look on the bright side, who just sits in the ugly with you until it feels less overwhelming.
The Days When Nothing Helped
Let me be clear: there were days when I did none of this. Days when I sat on my couch in yesterday's clothes, watching TV I wasn't actually absorbing, feeling like I was floating outside my own life.
Those days count too. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is just survive the day. Sometimes getting through Tuesday is enough.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
You don't have to know who you're becoming. You don't have to have a plan or a vision board or any idea what your new life looks like. You just have to be willing to try things and see what fits.
Some things you thought you loved, you'll realize you just tolerated. Some things you never thought you'd enjoy will surprise you. You're allowed to change your mind. You're allowed to try on different versions of yourself like clothes until you find something that feels right.
You're not starting over. You're digging down to who you were before you learned to be someone else.
For Right Now
If you're in your own crater, here's what I want you to know:
Take the walk, even if it's just to the mailbox. Read the book, even if it's just a page. Write the angry thoughts, even if they don't make sense. Dance to the song, even if you feel ridiculous. Go to the movie, even if everyone stares (they won't).
Do one small thing that's just for you, that reminds you that you exist separate from what happened to you.
You don't have to rebuild your whole life today. You just have to show up for the one you're living right now.
The person you're becoming is already there, waiting for you to remember.
If you're in your own after-the-ending moment, I see you. It's messy and hard and some days you won't recognize yourself in the mirror. That's okay. That's how it works. You're not broken—you're becoming.
Nobody Warns You That When You Live Alone, You're in Charge of Everything—Including The Scent
Nobody warns you that when you live alone, you become the sole curator of your environment's entire sensory experience. No one else is sautéing onions, burning toast, or leaving that lingering scent of their shampoo in the bathroom. The space just... exists. Neutral. Waiting.
I've always been a candle person—the friend who lights one during every dinner party, who has strong opinions about bergamot versus sandalwood. I knew scent could transform a space. But living alone taught me something different: when you're the only one creating atmosphere, fragrance becomes less about ambiance and more about making your space feel like a home instead of a waiting room.
Walking into complete silence is one thing. Walking into complete scentlessness? That hits different. It's like your home is holding its breath, waiting for you to bring it to life.
The Weight of Being the Only One
When you share space with someone, scent happens organically. Coffee brewing, dinner cooking, their cologne lingering in the hallway. Life creates its own soundtrack of smells. But when it's just you? You realize how much intentionality it takes to make a space feel alive.
Those first few months, I'd walk into my little house after work and it felt like walking into a hotel room. Clean, empty, impersonal. I started lighting candles not because I wanted to set a mood, but because I needed proof that someone actually lived there.
Scent as Self-Care (Not Just Decoration)
Here's what I learned: fragrance isn't just about making things smell pretty. When you live alone, it becomes a form of self-care, a way of nurturing yourself through your environment.
Candles became my evening ritual. Not because I'm trying to be Instagram-worthy, but because lighting one signals the end of the workday and the beginning of home time. It's a boundary, a transition, a small act of kindness toward myself.
Incense and palo santo became my mood reset. Lighting a stick of sandalwood or palo santo before bed isn't just nice—it's functional. The ritual of striking the match, the soft smoke curling through the room—it tells my nervous system it's time to wind down, even when my brain is still spinning from the day.
The Candles and Incense That Earn Their Place
Candles I Actually Reach For: Diptyque Baies when I want something that feels expensive and sophisticated. Boy Smells Les for cozy evenings. Voluspa candles smell amazing and the jars are pretty enough to keep https://amzn.to/46OV4Ht. Flamingo Estate has the most natural, beautiful candles that feel like luxury https://flamingoestate.com/collections/scented-candles-gift-sets. Lola James Harper White Coffee on Tata balcony makes me feel transported to a greek island.
Incense That Works: Yield Design's Scarpa scent is my absolute favorite—sophisticated without being overwhelming. Palo santo from anywhere reputable creates the most grounding, cleansing smoke. I l this one from Luna Sundra https://amzn.to/41uzlRl.
Diffusers: Pura has some incredible scents and they can be programmed on a timer to turn on and off when you want. I love the Anthropologie line and the Brooklyn Candle Company is probably my favorite.
Creating Your Own Scent Story
Living alone means you get to decide what your space smells like, what memories you're creating, what mood you're setting for yourself every single day. That's actually pretty powerful when you think about it.
I've started thinking of scent as part of my home's personality. My little house now has its own signature—something clean and warm with hints of lavender and citrus. When friends visit, they comment on how peaceful it feels. That's not accident—that's intention.
The Simple Ways to Start
Light a candle with your morning coffee. It creates a ritual, a moment of intentionality before the day takes over.
Use room spray as a transition tool. I spray my bedroom with something calming before I start my evening routine. It signals to my brain that it's time to shift gears.
Diffuse oils during specific activities. Lavender while reading, citrus while cleaning, eucalyptus while working. Your brain will start to associate scents with activities, making transitions easier.
Simmer something on the stove. Orange peels and cinnamon sticks cost almost nothing and make your whole space smell like home.
The Permission You Don't Need (But I'm Giving You Anyway)
You don't need a reason to make your space smell beautiful. You don't need to be entertaining guests or trying to impress anyone. You live there. You deserve to walk into a space that feels good, smells good, and welcomes you home.
When you're in charge of everything—the mood, the atmosphere, the energy—fragrance becomes one of the simplest ways to be kind to yourself. It's a small luxury that costs very little but changes how you feel in your own space.
Your home should smell like your sanctuary, not like nothing at all.
So light the candle. Turn on the diffuser. Spray something lovely on your pillows. You're not being extra—you're being intentional about creating a life that feels good to live.
What scents make you feel most at home? I'm always looking for new favorites and would love to hear what works for you. Drop a comment and let's share our best discoveries.
Clearing the Way: How I Blessed My New Space (And Why It Changed Everything)
The first night in my little house, I couldn't sleep. Not because of excitement—because the walls felt heavy with someone else's story. Every creak seemed to whisper about arguments I'd never had, dreams I'd never dreamed. I knew I needed to make this space mine, but I had no idea where to start.
Why Blessing a Space Actually Matters
There's real magic in marking new beginnings with intention. Whether you're moving into a fresh space, reclaiming a room after heartbreak, or just feeling stuck in your own four walls, a house blessing isn't just spiritual fluff—it's a psychological reset button.
I've blessed three spaces now: my first apartment after my divorce, my current little house, and even just my bedroom after a particularly rough patch. Each time, something shifted. Not just in the room, but in me.
Step 1: The Deep Clean That's Actually Therapy
Before anything mystical happens, you clean. But not your regular tidy-up—I'm talking about the kind of cleaning where you move furniture and find dust bunnies that have been plotting world domination.
I started with every window thrown open, even though it was March and freezing. Then I worked my way through each room with my favorite all-purpose cleaner (Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day in Lavender—it smells like hope) and these microfiber cloths that actually grab dust instead of just moving it around.
As I scrubbed, I let myself think about what I was washing away. Old arguments. Stale disappointments. The energy of who I used to be when I was trying to fit into a life that didn't fit me.
What you'll need:
Good all-purpose cleaner
Microfiber cloths (game-changers for actually cleaning, not just smearing)
Fresh air (even if it's cold—trust me)
Step 2: Choose Your Clearing Ritual (No, You Don't Need to Be Woo-Woo)
Here's where I got nervous the first time. At first, I felt a little awkward saying this out loud in an empty room — just me and the walls. But I’ve learned you don’t have to be a spiritual guru to clear the energy in a space.
What I actually use:
Palo Santo sticks: These smell like a campfire and Christmas had a baby. I light one and walk slowly through each room, paying extra attention to corners where energy tends to get stuck. You can find authentic Palo Santo from sustainable sources.
A small bell: I found a vintage brass bell at a thrift store for $3. I ring it in each corner, especially in rooms that feel heavy or sad. The sound literally breaks up stagnant energy. If you don't have a bell, clapping works too.
Sound alternative: Sometimes I just play music that makes me feel powerful. Kendrick works, so does classical. Whatever makes your soul feel bigger.
The key is moving slowly and breathing deeply. This isn't a race, it's a conversation with your space.
Step 3: Say It Out Loud (Even If You Feel Silly)
The first time I tried to speak a blessing aloud, I felt ridiculous. But something magical happens when you actually vocalize your intentions. Your voice literally changes the vibration of a room.
Here's what I said in my little house (you can borrow it or make up your own):
"I bless this space with peace and possibility. I release whatever happened here before—it's not my story to carry. May this home hold laughter, creativity, and the kind of rest that heals. May everyone who enters feel welcome and safe. May abundance find its way here in all the forms I need. Thank you for sheltering me while I figure out who I'm becoming."
I whispered it the first time, then said it louder in each room. By the kitchen, I was practically shouting. It felt incredible.
Step 4: Anchor the Good Vibes
Once you've cleared and blessed, you need to anchor the energy you want. I learned this the hard way—if you don't intentionally fill the space with what you want, it'll just fill up with whatever's floating around.
My anchoring essentials:
A candle in every room: I'm obsessed with these little sage and palo santo candles from Amazon. They burn clean and the scents are sophisticated without being overwhelming- and not expensive at all https://amzn.to/4mAlm4E. I light one in each main room during my blessing.
Something alive: A small succulent, fresh flowers, or even a single branch from outside. Life energy is the strongest energy.
A written intention: I write one thing I want to call into each room on a small piece of paper and tuck it somewhere hidden—under a vase, in a drawer, behind a picture frame. It's like leaving myself a secret love note.
Crystals (if that's your thing): I keep it simple—clear quartz for clarity, rose quartz for love, black tourmaline for protection. You can find beautiful, ethically sourced stones from Energy Muse.
The Unexpected Results
I'll be honest—I thought this was going to be a one-time thing, a cute ritual to help me feel better about my new space. But the effects lasted. My little house felt different immediately. Lighter. More mine.
More surprisingly, I sleep better. I'm more creative in my blessed space. Friends comment on how peaceful it feels when they visit. Maybe it's placebo effect, maybe it's real energy work—I don't really care. It works.
When to Re-Bless
I now do a mini-blessing every few months, or whenever life feels particularly chaotic. After tough conversations, seasonal changes, or just when the energy feels stale. It's become one of my favorite self-care rituals—way more effective than a bubble bath.
Making It Your Own
The most important thing? This isn't about following rules—it's about creating a ritual that feels meaningful to you. Maybe you prefer essential oils to incense. Maybe you want to play drums instead of ringing bells. Maybe your blessing sounds more like a conversation with the house than a formal prayer.
The magic isn't in the specific tools or words. It's in the intention, the pause, the deliberate act of claiming your space and calling in what you want your life to feel like.
Your space is listening. What do you want to tell it?
Have you ever blessed a space? I'd love to hear about your rituals in the comments—or if you try any of these suggestions, tell me how it goes. We're all figuring this out together.