From my perspective, your actions with water are the most common source of my distress. My roots crave a specific balance. If you overwater me, the soil becomes waterlogged, suffocating my roots and creating an environment where root rot fungi thrive. My roots, which are my mouth and stomach, begin to rot and die. Without a functional root system, I cannot absorb water or nutrients, and my oldest leaves will yellow and drop as I sacrifice them to conserve energy. Conversely, if you underwater me, I become dehydrated. My cells lose turgor pressure, and I cannot perform basic functions like photosynthesis. To prevent total system failure, I will jettison leaves, starting with the oldest or most damaged, to reduce my water loss through transpiration. I need consistently moist soil, not soggy and not desert-dry.
You admire my large, beautiful leaves because they are my solar panels. They are designed to capture light and convert it into the energy I need to grow and sustain myself. If you place me in a spot that is too dark, I am effectively starving. I cannot produce enough sugars through photosynthesis to maintain all my foliage. It becomes a simple matter of energy economics; the cost of keeping an older or slightly less efficient leaf is too high. Therefore, I must reabsorb nutrients from that leaf and let it go to redirect my limited energy to producing new, potentially better-positioned growth or simply to keep my core alive. I need bright, indirect light to thrive.
I am a tropical understory plant, evolved for warm, steamy environments. The air in my natural habitat is thick with moisture. Your home, especially with heating or air conditioning, is often extremely dry from my point of view. This low humidity causes me to lose water too rapidly through the pores on my leaves (stomata). While I can handle this for a while, chronic low humidity is a constant stress. It can cause leaf edges to turn brown and crispy before the entire leaf becomes unsustainable and I drop it. It is a protective measure to reduce my overall surface area and prevent excessive water loss.
Please understand that some leaf loss is a natural part of my life. As I grow new leaves from my central rhizome (my energy storage unit), I may not have enough resources to support an unlimited number of them. It is normal for me to occasionally allow one of the oldest, outer leaves to yellow and die back as a new one unfurls. Furthermore, I have an innate seasonal rhythm. As daylight shortens and temperatures drop, I may sense the approach of an unfavorable season. I will enter a dormant state, slowing my growth significantly. During this time, I will often retreat, dropping most or even all of my leaves to conserve energy within my rhizome until conditions improve in the spring. This is not a death sentence but a survival strategy.
Lastly, my dropped leaves might be a cry for help against tiny invaders. Pests like spider mites, thrips, or mealybugs are parasites. They pierce my leaf tissues and suck out the nutrient-rich sap, effectively stealing the food I worked so hard to create. This weakens me considerably. An infestation damages the leaf cells, causing stippling, yellowing, and curling. If the attack is severe, the leaf becomes a net drain on my resources rather than a producer. To save myself, I will sever the connection to that compromised leaf, cutting off the supply line to the pests and sacrificing the leaf to protect the whole organism.
