From my perspective, water is a constant negotiation. My thick, fleshy leaves are my water reservoirs, designed to withstand periods of drought. When you overwater me, the soil becomes saturated for too long. My roots, which need oxygen as much as they need water, begin to suffocate and rot. Once root rot sets in, they can no longer absorb moisture or nutrients, effectively leaving me dehydrated from within. My response is to conserve energy by dropping my older, healthier leaves first, which often feel soft and mushy before they fall. Conversely, if you underwater me for too long, I will tap into my internal reserves. My leaves will start to shrivel, thin, and wrinkle before they drop off as a last-ditch effort to reduce water loss and keep my core stem alive.
My pot is my entire world. If it does not have a way for excess water to escape, I am in trouble. Poor drainage, or a pot without a hole, creates a bathtub effect around my roots. This is a primary cause of the root rot I mentioned. Furthermore, if I have lived in the same soil for many years, it can break down and become compacted. This compacted soil acts like a wet sponge, holding too much moisture and choking my roots. It can also become hydrophobic, where it repels water instead of absorbing it, leaving my roots parched even when you do water me. In both cases, my leaf drop is a distress signal about the unhealthy environment my foundation is trapped in.
As a sun-loving plant, I need bright, indirect light to thrive. It is my source of energy. If I am placed in a spot that is too dark, I become weak and leggy as I stretch my stems desperately searching for more sunlight—a process you call etiolation. Without sufficient light, I cannot produce enough energy to sustain all of my leaves. To survive, I must make a sacrifice. I will systematically drop leaves to reduce my energy needs, starting with the ones that are most shaded. This is not a choice I make lightly; it is a necessary survival mechanism. Please understand, my leaf drop in a dark room is a plea for a sunnier spot.
I am a creature of habit and highly sensitive to sudden changes in my surroundings. If you recently moved me to a new location, brought me home from the store, or repotted me, I am likely experiencing transplant shock. This shift in light, temperature, and humidity is a significant stressor. My system goes into panic mode, and leaf drop is a common reaction as I divert energy to re-establishing my root system and acclimating. Similarly, drafts from air conditioners, heaters, or frequently opened doors create fluctuating temperatures that I find very stressful. I may interpret a cold draft as the beginning of a harsh season and begin to drop leaves to prepare for a dormant period.
