For a long time, my relationship with gardening felt a lot like my early transition. I’d buy a plant, bring it home with the best intentions, and within two weeks, it would look like it had been through a desert storm. I felt like I was failing at "nurturing"—a trait society often demands from women.
If you’re a sister in the community or just someone struggling to keep a cactus alive, here is what I’ve learned about the intersection of identity and the garden:
Being a ladyboy with a black thumb just means I’m a work in progress. My balcony might not be a botanical garden yet, but I’m learning that . Whether you’re pruning your plants or your social circle, remember: the most beautiful blooms often come from the most difficult soil. ladyboys black thumbs
: What works for a rose won't work for an orchid. Stop comparing your "growth" to the girls on your feed. Your timeline is yours.
: These "Devil's Ivy" vines grow fast and are great for hanging. They remind me of us: they can adapt to almost any light and just keep climbing. For a long time, my relationship with gardening
: It’s practically indestructible. It thrives on neglect—perfect for when you're too busy living your best life to remember the watering can.
If you’re ready to turn that black thumb into a green one (or at least a "trying hard" one), start with these: If you’re a sister in the community or
Then there’s me. I’m a proud kathoey , a woman of trans experience, and I have what experts (and my dying succulents) call a The Metaphor of the Wilted Leaf