The Purple Orchid and the Fact I Can Kill a Cactus

One of the parents in my support group recently gave me a purple orchid they had grown themselves.

This is significant for two reasons.

First, it is beautiful shades of purple and, unapologetically, vibrant as well as being quietly confident in a way that does not shout for attention, but still somehow commands it.

Second, I can kill cacti.

Not 'forget to water them a bit' kill them. I mean actively defy biology.

I have turned multiple, supposedly indestructible, plants into crispy crime scenes. Succulents dead. Aloe vera RIP. Cactus do not even ask!

So when I was handed a living breathing orchid - a plant, with a reputation for being temperamental, my first thought was not gratitude or joy.

It was; "oh no, I am responsible for keeping you alive now."

And maybe that is why this orchid feels like such a perfect metaphor for neurodivergence growth and the communities we build around them.

Orchids do not grow by accident.

They do not thrive on neglect.

They do not respond well to just try harder.

They need the right environment. The right light. The right balance of water air and patience. Too much attention can be just as damaging as too little. They do not bloom on anyone else’s timeline and when they do it is because conditions are finally right - not because they were forced.

Sound familiar?

Neurodivergent people are often treated like cacti.

"You will be fine."
"You do not need much."
"Just toughen up."
"Everyone else manages."

But many of us are not cacti. We are orchids.

We need understanding not assumptions.
Support  not pressure.
Flexibility  not force.

When we are placed in environments that don't suit us we don't just struggle - we wither. Not because we are broken but because the conditions are wrong.

What made this orchid even more meaningful was who it came from. A parent from the support group. Someone who knows what it is like to nurture a child in a world that does not always make space for difference. Someone who understands patience, advocacy, trial and error and hope.

They did not just give me a plant. They gave me a reminder.

Growth is relational....

...Thriving happens in community.

Care is a skill you learn not a personality trait you are born with.  So now I am nurturing this orchid. Carefully. Probably 'over-Googling' it. Watching the light. Checking the leaves. Trying not to project my own fear onto a houseplant with the anxiety that comes with connecting deeply and caring about something when you know you could get it wrong.

And every time I look at it I think about the people I coach. The ones who have been told they are 'too much'  or  'not enough.'   The ones who bloom late. The ones who need a different setup, a different pace, a different kind of care.

The orchid is not asking me to be perfect.

It is asking me to pay attention.

And maybe that is the real lesson for plants, for people and for neurodivergence.  We do not need to be tougher. We need to be nurtured.

And, yes, if this orchid survives I will be absolutely insufferable about it!