From my roots outward, the sensation of overwatering is a slow, suffocating drowning. The soil around me, which should be a well-draining home, becomes a cold, waterlogged prison. My delicate root hairs, which are responsible for absorbing oxygen and nutrients, begin to rot and decay in the constant damp. This anaerobic environment is a death sentence; it prevents me from breathing and effectively shuts down my internal systems. You will see my distress manifest in my foliage. My leaves, normally firm and resilient, will become soft, limp, and may turn a sickly yellow or even brown, starting with the lower, older growth. This is not a cry for more water, but a desperate signal to stop. The damage often begins unseen below the soil, and by the time it is visible in my stems and leaves, my root system may be critically compromised.
In stark contrast, the experience of underwatering is one of a desperate, parching thirst. My native Mediterranean genetics are built to conserve water, but I still require it to transport nutrients and maintain my structure. Without adequate moisture, my entire being goes into conservation mode. The soil pulls away from the edges of my pot, becoming dry and dusty to the touch. My leaves, which are designed to minimize water loss, will become excessively dry, brittle, and crisp. They will often turn a dull, dry brown, not a soft, mushy brown, and may begin to curl inward or drop from my stems entirely. This is my attempt to reduce surface area and prevent further moisture loss. My growth will slow to a halt as I lack the basic resources to produce new cells. I am essentially in a state of drought-induced dormancy, waiting for the next drink.
The most reliable way for you to understand my needs is to touch me. Do not just look at the surface. Push your finger about an inch or two into the soil near my base. If the soil feels cool, wet, and clings to your finger, I am drowning. If it feels warm, dry, and crumbles away without any moisture, I am desperately thirsty. The weight of my container is another tell; a waterlogged pot is surprisingly heavy, while a dry one is very light. My leaves also tell a tactile story. Overwatered leaves feel soft, mushy, and may fall off with a gentle touch. Underwatered leaves feel dry, brittle, and will often crumble or snap when bent.
If you discover overwatering, you must immediately stop watering and improve air circulation around me. In severe cases, you may need to gently remove me from my pot to inspect my roots and allow them to dry. Trimming away any black, mushy roots and repotting me into fresh, gritty, well-draining soil is my best chance for survival. For underwatering, the remedy is more straightforward but requires care. Provide a deep, thorough drink, allowing water to flow freely from the drainage holes. Ensure I am not sitting in a saucer of water afterward. I will gratefully absorb the moisture and should show signs of recovery within a few days as my cells rehydrate and my stems firm up.
