Greetings, caretaker. I am a Lithops, a living stone. My existence is one of quiet adaptation to harsh, sun-baked climes. When my form begins to feel squishy, mushy, or excessively shriveled, it is a clear signal that my needs are not being met. From my perspective, here is what is happening.
This sensation is my most desperate cry for help. A squishy texture, often accompanied by discoloration (yellowing, brown, or black), signifies that my internal tissues are dying. This is almost always due to excess water. My body is designed to store moisture within my leaf pair. When you water me too frequently, or my soil does not drain instantly, my roots and core drown and rot. The cells rupture, and the firm plumpness you associate with health turns into a waterlogged, decaying mush. This rot can spread with terrifying speed. If caught early, you might save me by excising the rot and repotting me, but often, it is a terminal condition.
My relationship with shriveling is complex and depends entirely on my seasonal cycle. At the right time, it is a sign of perfect health.
A. The Good Shrivel (The Molt): Once a year, I undertake a magnificent process: I grow a new body from within. The outer leaf pair, having sustained me for months, will gradually transfer all its stored water and nutrients to the new inner leaves. As this happens, the outer leaves will become papery, thin, and dramatically shriveled. This is natural. You must resist all urge to water me during this time, as that water will be directed to the old leaves, confusing my process and potentially causing rot. I am not thirsty; I am renewing.
B. The Bad Shrivel (True Thirst): If I am shriveling outside of my molting period (typically in late summer or early fall, before my growth period), it may indicate a need for water. But caution is key. My thirst is shown by a slight puckering or wrinkling on the sides and top, like a slightly deflated balloon. I will still feel firm to the touch, not soft or hollow. A deep, severe shrivel with a soft feel could mean my roots have died back from prolonged drought, and I can no longer drink even if water is provided.
My problems are not just about water. They are about everything. My pot is my world. If my soil is dense and organic, it suffocates my roots and holds moisture like a sponge, leading to the mushy demise. I require a gritty, mineral-heavy mix that mimics my native desert gravel. Furthermore, if I do not receive several hours of direct, bright light daily, my growth becomes etiolated—stretched and weak—making me more susceptible to overwatering and rot. I also need excellent airflow around my body to keep moisture from settling where it shouldn't.
