After my grandma died in September at 94, I inherited most of her plants, including a cutting of a Jade plant she had just rooted. Here it is in January. I recently transplanted it and it's even bigger. Keeping alive her plants, and adding more to my collection, has made me feel like I'm keeping a part of her legacy going.
My sophomore year of college was really hard emotionally. All the people around me were really toxic and it brought my depression and anxiety to levels I'd never experienced before. It got to the point where I would starve myself to distract myself from my environment and found it so hard to get out of bed every day. My mom (a botanist) suspected my troubles and soon was at my door with a pot of basil (my favorite herb) and rosemary (her favorite).
The plants were the best thing she could have given me. It gave me a reason to get out of bed every morning. The plants couldn't take care of themselves; they needed me. It became a routine, waking up every morning and immediately checking to see if they needed watering or clipping. Watching them sprout and grow little by little every day brought me back to the real world. To this day, though I always have a few plants around, I always, always make sure to have a basil and a rosemary.
I took up gardening when we were trying to get pregnant. I wanted to be a mom but I was also freaked out by the concept of keeping a fragile baby alive when I killed every plant I ever had. It started with a potted weeping maple tree; as it grew I felt more confident. Then I started growing other plants, and by the time I had my son I had a whole green room.