Research reveals that the seemingly quirky habit of chatting with your petunias actually signals heightened emotional intelligence and mindfulness—and for those over 70 living alone, it might be the most psychologically beneficial conversation they have all day.
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Yesterday morning, I caught myself having a full conversation with my tomatoes about the aphid situation, and for a moment, I wondered if the neighbors might think I'd finally lost it.
But here's what most people get wrong: Talking to plants is actually a marker of emotional intelligence and mindfulness that psychologists are beginning to understand better.
When I water my English cottage garden each morning, narrating my observations about which roses need deadheading or congratulating the lavender on its new growth, I'm not just filling silence.
I'm engaging in a practice that research suggests displays some fascinating psychological traits, especially for those of us over 70 who might otherwise spend long stretches without meaningful interaction.
They possess a natural capacity for nurturing
Have you ever noticed how people who talk to their plants tend to be the same ones who remember everyone's birthdays and check in on friends during tough times?
There's something about addressing a living thing that can't respond verbally that requires a special kind of generosity of spirit.
You're giving without expecting anything back in words, though of course, healthy growth is its own reward.
I learned this lesson deeply after losing my second husband.
During those six months when I barely left the house, my garden was the only thing I could bring myself to care for.
Speaking to my plants became a way of practicing care when caring for humans felt too overwhelming.
"You need water today, don't you?" I'd whisper to the wilting hydrangeas, and somehow, meeting their simple needs helped me remember how to meet my own.
They practice mindfulness without calling it that
Psychology Today notes that "Gardening naturally involves mindfulness as we observe our plants growing, notice seasonal changes, and appreciate the sensory experiences of working outdoors."
When we talk to our plants, we're actually doubling down on this mindful attention.
We're noticing the new leaf unfurling, commenting on the change in color, observing which direction the sunflower is turning today.
This morning, I spent five minutes discussing with my clematis whether it preferred climbing left or right around the trellis.
Was I losing my marbles? Hardly, I was practicing the kind of focused attention that keeps our brains sharp and engaged.
Every observation I verbalize is a small cognitive exercise, a way of processing and articulating what I'm seeing.
They maintain optimism through daily acts of faith
Think about what it means to plant a seed and talk to it before it's even sprouted.
"Come on, little one, you can do it," we might say to a patch of seemingly empty soil.
This is hope made manifest through words.
People who talk to plants are essentially optimists who understand that growth takes time and encouragement, even when you can't see immediate results.
My arthritis has forced me to adapt how I garden, using tools with larger grips and taking more breaks, but I still find myself encouraging the struggling plants just as I encourage myself on difficult mornings.
"We're both a bit creaky today, aren't we?" I told my old rose bush last week, both of us showing our age but still producing beauty.
They understand the value of routine connection
For many of us, especially those living alone, our plants become part of our daily social routine.
Is it really so different from people who talk to their pets?
The difference is that plants grow in direct response to consistent care and attention, creating a visible record of our daily devotion.
They embrace vulnerability without shame
There's something beautifully vulnerable about speaking to something that can't judge you.
When I talk to my garden, I'm often more honest than I am with people.
"I'm worried about my daughter," I might tell the peonies, or "I miss having someone to share this beautiful morning with," I'll admit to the morning glories.
David Carr, M.D., Professor of Geriatric Medicine at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis, shares that "Gardening has been shown in multiple studies to be associated with a reduced risk of cognitive decline or dementia in older adults."
When we add verbal interaction to this activity, we're essentially creating a multi-sensory cognitive workout: visual processing, physical movement, and verbal expression all working together.
They create meaning in small moments
What strikes me most about people who talk to plants is their ability to find significance in tiny victories.
"Look at you!" we exclaim when discovering a new bud, as excited as if we'd won a prize.
This capacity to celebrate small growth, to mark progress in millimeters rather than miles, is a trait that serves us well as we age.
In one of my previous posts about female friendships, I mentioned how relationships need tending like gardens.
However, I've come to realize that gardens themselves teach us how to tend relationships, including the one with ourselves.
When you're narrating your gardening activities, you're actually practicing self-companionship, maintaining a running dialogue that keeps you engaged and present.
Final thoughts
So, if you find yourself chatting with your houseplants or narrating your garden tasks, don't worry about what the neighbors think.
You're maintaining something precious: You're keeping your mind active, your heart open, and your capacity for wonder intact.
Most importantly, you're refusing to let silence become isolation.
Every word we speak to our plants is a small act of resistance against the assumption that aging means withdrawing from life.
Instead, we're choosing to remain in conversation with growth itself, one comment about the weather, one observation about new leaves, and one gentle encouragement at a time.
