There are certain subjects or activities in life that just… click. Things you can happily lose hours to, that bring a particular kind of quiet joy. For me, and it seems for a fair few of us on the autistic spectrum, this often involves what is known as a special interest. My most enduring and deeply rooted autistic special interest is plants.
Looking back, especially since my late autism diagnosis, many things from my past have started to make a different kind of sense. My fascination with plants, for instance, wasn’t merely a fleeting hobby; it was, and still is, a fundamental part of how I connect with the world.
Early Roots and Leafy Experiments
My early forays into plant parenthood were a mixed bag of triumphs and tragedies. I vividly remember the intense focus required to cultivate indoor bonsai trees – tiny, intricate worlds I wanted to nurture. The allure of a carnivorous Venus flytrap was also too much for my young, curious mind to resist. I must confess that these early explorations weren’t always crowned with success, and there were many leafy victims along the way. Cacti, with their spiky resilience, seemed to fare a little better under my enthusiastic, if somewhat erratic, care.
Greener Homes and Prickly Guards
When I moved into my own home, the desire to fill it with green things came along with me. Thankfully, my success rate improved – mostly. Peace lilies became a firm favourite for a long time; their elegant white spathes felt immensely rewarding. Of course, introducing cats into the equation added a new level of challenge (peace lilies are sadly toxic to cats). One of our cats, in particular, views any new plant as a personal affront or, worse, a new type of salad. This is where my old friends, the cacti, made a strategic comeback. As cats aren’t keen on a mouthful of spikes, I now have a rather formidable collection guarding my more delicately-leaved treasures in a botanical bouncer system of sorts.
There’s one plant, though, that stands as a testament to sheer perseverance – both mine and its own. About eighteen years ago, a lovely orchid came into my life and it is still with me, in almost constant bloom. It’s a quiet, beautiful presence that asks for little but gives so much, and it has seen me through thick and thin.
A Growing Passion
I still feel a thrill when I see a plant I love. A wonderful plant shop in Nottingham called The Watered Garden is an absolute wonderland, a glorious jungle of botanical delights. My eldest son has now implemented a “no looking in the window” policy when we pass by, because he knows my self-control can be limited. He’s not wrong. I understand my limitations, however, and these days I mostly stick to the cacti and succulents. They seem to appreciate my particular brand of care.
As an adult (a term I use loosely, as I rarely feel like one), my love for plants has extended to the garden. I opt for plants that are relatively easy to look after but still bring a splash of colour and joy. Recently, I’ve even ventured into growing things we can eat, often with the ‘help’ of my children. We’ve had tomatoes, a surprisingly good crop of potatoes, and an ever-expanding strawberry patch that seems to have ambitions of world domination.
Why Plants? A Neurodivergent Perspective
So, why this deep, abiding connection to plants? I have a few inklings, especially when viewed through the lens of my autism. There’s a certain challenge in growing them, but it’s not an overwhelming one. It’s a system with rules: if their needs for light, water, and soil are met, they generally thrive. There’s something incredibly satisfying about understanding those needs and seeing the positive results. It’s a bit like people; when our needs are understood and met, we flourish too.
Perhaps it’s the quiet companionship, the gentle unfurling of a new leaf, or the predictable cycle of growth. Or maybe it’s the sensory delight – the varied textures, vibrant colours, and the earthy smell of soil. Whatever the reason, plants as an autistic special interest bring a profound sense of calm and joy to my life. They are a steady, green thread woven through my experiences, a quiet passion that helps me feel grounded and connected.
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