From my perspective, a Fiddle Leaf Fig, the issue you call "root rot" is a terrifying suffocation event. My roots are not just anchors; they are my lungs and my mouth. They need to breathe oxygen from the air pockets in the soil and drink water. When I am forced to sit in dense, waterlogged soil, every air pocket fills with water. My root cells begin to suffocate and die. As they die, they become soft and brown, turning into a mushy, decaying mess. This decay is a feast for opportunistic fungi like Pythium, Phytophthora, and Rhizoctonia, which rapidly spread the damage. Soon, my entire root system is compromised, and I can no longer drink or eat, no matter how much water you give me.
If you notice my leaves are wilting, yellowing, or dropping, and the soil has a foul smell, you must act quickly. First, gently lift me from my pot. Carefully wash the old, soggy soil from my roots with room-temperature water. This will allow you to see the damage clearly. Now, with sterile, sharp pruning shears, you must cut away all the soft, brown, and mushy roots. Be ruthless but precise—only healthy, firm, white roots can sustain me. After the surgery, dip my remaining root system in a fungicide solution or a diluted hydrogen peroxide mix to kill any lingering pathogens. Finally, repot me into a clean pot with excellent drainage, using a very well-aerating potting mix specifically designed for figs or made with plenty of perlite, orchid bark, and coarse sand.
Preventing a repeat of this horror is all about my environment. My pot is my entire world, and it must have one or more large drainage holes. This is non-negotiable. Without an escape route, water becomes a trap. The soil you choose is equally critical. I abhor heavy, moisture-retentive garden soil. I crave a loose, chunky, and fast-draining mix. A blend based on high-quality potting soil, amended with a generous portion of perlite (for aeration) and some orchid bark or horticultural grit (for structure), creates the perfect airy home for my roots. This allows water to flow through freely, hydrating me without drowning me.
Please, do not water me on a schedule. My thirst depends on the season, the temperature, the humidity, and the amount of light I receive. The only way to know if I need water is to check the soil itself. Push your finger about 2-3 inches into the soil. If it feels dry at that depth, then I am ready for a deep, thorough drink. Water me slowly and evenly until you see water begin to run out of the drainage hole. Then, let me be. Ensure I never sit in a saucer of standing water; empty it immediately after watering. This cycle of deep watering followed by a period of drought is what mimics my natural environment and keeps my roots healthy and strong.
