There are herbs that sit quietly in the background; pleasant, perhaps decorative, sometimes used in tea. Lemongrass was that kind of herb for me. A green stalk you see bundled at the edge of the grocery shelf. I’d pass it without much thought.
But something shifted in recent years. Maybe it’s 2025’s collective fatigue; too many pills, too much noise, too little peace. We’ve been circling back to the quiet things. Lemongrass, oddly enough, started showing up in more conversations. Not in a mystical way, not wrapped in superstition. Just... naturally. And for good reason.
It’s one of those herbs that seems to work behind the scenes. Doesn’t demand much, doesn’t overwhelm. Yet somehow, it ends up doing more than you expected.
That Sharp, Clean Scent and Why It Matters More than You Think
Before we dive into its so-called "benefits," I think we need to talk about the scent. Lemongrass smells like a freshly cleaned kitchen, a breeze that cuts through fatigue. It’s citrusy but not too sweet. There’s a grassy, earthy base that feels grounding. I’m not even sure if this qualifies as a benefit, but in a world where burnout is now a baseline, that scent alone; when diffused or steeped in hot water feels like a soft reset.
Sometimes I add a few drops of lemongrass essential oil to a bowl of hot water and just let it sit on my desk while I work. I wouldn’t call it aromatherapy in the clinical sense. But the air smells better, and my head feels a little clearer. Maybe that’s enough.
Digestive Help
Indigestion isn’t a crisis. But it’s annoying. You eat something slightly off, or too late, or maybe you’re stressed and your body just says, “Nope.” That’s where lemongrass gently steps in.
It has mild carminative properties. Which is a fancy way of saying: it helps reduce bloating, gas, and that uncomfortable fullness. I noticed this after a heavy dinner one night. Instead of popping a chewable, I brewed a cup of lemongrass tea; just hot water and a teaspoon of the dried stalks. Twenty minutes later, the tightness in my stomach wasn’t gone, but eased.
The interesting part? Unlike harsh digestive aids, lemongrass doesn’t bulldoze your system. It nudges things back into balance. Slowly. Respectfully, even.
Antibacterial Properties
We’re all hyper-aware of bacteria now. Too aware, maybe. But not everything has to be sterilized with alcohol wipes or industrial chemicals. Nature has its own defenders.
Lemongrass contains citrus and limonene; compounds with documented antimicrobial effects. Some studies suggest it helps inhibit the growth of certain bacteria.
But for surface-level concerns like a mild skin irritation or scalp buildup. I’ve used diluted lemongrass oil in a scalp rinse. The itchiness faded. Coincidence? Maybe. But I’ve done it more than once now, and I keep doing it, which probably says something.
Anxiety Relief
Let’s be real. 2025 isn’t exactly the calmest year. Even if things look fine on the surface, most of us are carrying some version of quiet anxiety in the post covid world. Lemongrass, again, isn’t a cure. But it offers a subtle kind of relief.
There’s research suggesting it may reduce anxiety levels, particularly when used as a tea or in aromatherapy. One study compared it to valerian and found comparable effects in some participants. But beyond the science, there’s the ritual of it: boiling water, steeping the leaves, waiting.
The wait itself is calming. You slow down. You hold a warm cup. You breathe in the steam. By the time the tea is cool enough to sip, you're already halfway to calm. That’s something no supplement bottle gives you.
Anti-inflammatory Powers
Inflammation is one of those underlying issues we’re only just beginning to understand. It’s linked to everything joint pain, skin flare-ups, and gut issues. Lemongrass contains quercetin and other flavonoids that are believed to have anti-inflammatory effects.
Now, it’s not like you drink one cup of tea and your knee stops hurting. But over time, if you're using lemongrass regularly in your cooking, your tea, your skincare. It becomes part of the background support your body quietly relies on.
There’s no fireworks. No big reveal. Just subtle stability.
Immune System Support
A lot of immune-boosting stuff on the market feels intense. You take mega doses of zinc or Vitamin C and hope for the best. Lemongrass doesn’t work like that.
It’s gentler. It supports the body’s natural detox processes, especially the liver. And a well-functioning liver, as most nutritionists will tell you, indirectly supports the immune system. The essential oils, too, help break up minor respiratory congestion. That’s why it's often found in old-school steam inhalation recipes.
I’ve tried it during a mild cold. Not instead of medicine alongside it. The steam helped. The tea soothed. Again, not a miracle, but a sense that my body was working with me, not just being medicated into silence.
Skin Support
The world’s full of skincare trends now, most of which cost too much or promise too much. Lemongrass isn’t glamorous, but it’s effective.
It has antimicrobial and astringent properties. Some people use it in diluted toner form to manage oily skin or mild breakouts. I’ve tried it, mixed with witch hazel. It stings slightly at first, but doesn’t dry the skin like alcohol-based toners do. Over a few weeks, my skin looked a bit less tired. A bit more balanced.
More importantly, it didn’t become another 12-step routine. It was just there when I needed it.
Culinary Uses of Lemongrass
It would be a mistake to only think of lemongrass as medicine. In food, it shines.
Thai, Vietnamese, and Cambodian dishes often use it in broths and curries. It gives more floral and a citrus lift that’s more subtle than lemon juice. In my own kitchen, I’ve started adding it to lentil soups or even plain rice, just a small piece during boiling. The result isn’t bold, but it’s enough to notice.
Good food is part of good health. And lemongrass fits in quietly, without asking you to sacrifice flavor for function.
Easy to Grow, Easier to Trust
One reason lemongrass feels like a blessing at least to me is that it doesn’t ask for much.
It grows in a pot, in a corner of the balcony. Doesn’t need special soil or constant attention. Just sun, water, and occasional trimming. You cut a stalk, and it grows back stronger. That resilience, that ability to thrive quietly, almost feels symbolic.
And knowing where your herbs come from, growing them yourself certainly makes a difference. You trust it more. There’s no label to read, no additives to question.
It’s Not a Cure-All
Let me be clear: if you buy lemongrass in bulk, it won’t fix your life in a blink of an eye. It won’t erase your anxiety or heal your gut overnight. It isn’t magic. And maybe that’s why I respect it more.
Its benefits are real, but gradual. Its impact is felt most when used regularly, not obsessively. It blends into your routines rather than taking over them.
And that, to me, is the core of wellness in 2025. We’ve moved past the hype. We want what’s real, what’s sustainable. Lemongrass offers that you call as a kind of quiet consistency in a noisy world.
Final Thoughts
Calling lemongrass a “blessing” might sound a bit dramatic. But when you think about it—how much it gives, how little it demands.
It calms without sedating. Heals without overpowering. And it smells like clarity.
Maybe blessings don’t always arrive as lightning bolts or answered prayers. Sometimes, they’re just stalks of green, growing patiently in the sun.