From my perspective, nestled in my pot, I feel a gentle push. My roots, which once stretched freely, now encounter only each other, a tangled mass with little room to grow. The soil that once nourished me feels tired and compacted, its nutrients long since absorbed by my growth. I might even feel a bit top-heavy, my plump, water-filled leaves causing me to wobble precariously. This cramped, nutrient-poor existence is my silent signal to my human that it is time for a new home. When they notice my pot is more root than soil, or my growth has slowed, they understand it is time to repot.
The most critical step for my survival is the right new environment. My new pot should be only slightly larger than my current root ball—a mansion would be overwhelming and hold too much moisture, which is dangerous for me. It must have a drainage hole; my roots absolutely despise sitting in water. The soil is my lifeblood. I need a special, gritty mix designed for succulents like me. It should be airy and fast-draining, often made with components like coarse sand, perlite, and pumice. This ensures my roots can breathe and will not succumb to rot. My human should have everything ready before they gently lift me out.
This is the most delicate part. My human should not simply pull me out by my stem or leaves, as they can snap easily. Instead, they should tip my current pot sideways and gently squeeze or tap it to encourage me to slide out. If I am stubborn, a blunt tool can be run around the inside edge of the pot to loosen the soil's grip. Once I am free, they will carefully examine my roots. This is a chance to gently shake off the old, depleted soil and check for any roots that are dark, mushy, or dead. These can be snipped away with clean, sharp scissors. This pruning, though it might seem harsh, invigorates me and encourages strong, new growth in my fresh home.
My new pot is prepared with a layer of fresh, dry succulent mix. My human will create a small well in the center, just the right size to cradle my root system. They will place me gently in this well, holding me at the same depth I was growing before—not too deep, not too shallow. Then, they will carefully backfill around my roots with more of the gritty soil, using a chopstick or their fingers to gently tamp it down and eliminate large air pockets. It is crucial that they do not water me immediately! My roots need a few days, about a week, to callus over any tiny wounds from the repotting process. Watering too soon could introduce rot.
After the move, I need a period of quiet adjustment. My human should place me in a spot with bright, indirect light for a week or so. Direct sun immediately after repotting can add stress while I am focusing my energy underground. After about a week, they can give me a thorough watering, allowing the excess to drain completely from the hole. Then, I can gradually be moved back to my preferred sunny spot. With this careful process, my roots will quickly explore their new domain, and I will reward my human's kindness with vibrant, healthy growth for seasons to come.
