From my perspective, your generous watering can is a weapon. In my native South African deserts, rain is a rare and celebrated event, followed by long periods of intense, dry heat. My entire body is a water storage unit. When you water me on a human schedule—once a week like your other plants—you are forcing me to absorb more water than I can possibly hold. My roots rot in the perpetually damp soil, and my succulent body splits open, becomes mushy, and essentially dissolves from the inside out. This is the most common and fastest way to end our relationship.
I do not grow continuously throughout the year; I have a very specific and vital cycle. In the United States, my growth period is typically from late summer into fall. My dormant period is during the hottest part of summer and again in the depth of winter when I am resting. If you water me heavily during my summer dormancy, you are literally pouring water on me while I am "sleeping" and unable to drink it, guaranteeing root rot. You must learn my rhythm: water only when I signal I am active (usually when the old leaves have fully withered and new growth is evident) and withhold water completely when I am dormant.
That rich, moisture-retentive potting soil you use for your ferns and flowers is a death sentence for me. My roots require a gritty, extremely well-draining substrate that mimics the rocky, barren desert ground I call home. I need a specialized succulent or cactus mix heavily amended with inorganic materials like perlite, pumice, or coarse sand (90% grit to 10% soil is ideal). This ensures any accidental overwatering drains away instantly and my roots have access to the oxygen they crave, preventing them from suffocating and rotting.
I am a sun-worshipper. I am built to thrive under the intense, direct sun of my homeland. Placing me on a dim office desk or a north-facing windowsill in the U.S. is a slow, cruel punishment. I will etiolate—desperately stretching my stem and body thin and pale in a futile search for more light. This makes me weak, misshapen, and unable to properly undergo my growth cycles. I need the sunniest spot you can provide, ideally a south-facing windowsill where I can bask for at least 4-6 hours of direct sunlight daily.
This is a critical misunderstanding. Once a year, I grow a new pair of leaves from my center. To do this, I absorb all the moisture and nutrients from my old outer leaves, which will slowly shrivel and dry into a papery husk. This is not a sign of thirst! New owners often see the wrinkly outer leaves and immediately water me, hoping to "plump me up." This traps the new leaves inside a wet environment, preventing them from emerging and often causing them to rot. When I am molting, you must absolutely withhold all water until the old leaves are completely dry and crispy.
