From my roots to my plump, water-storing leaves, I am built for drought. My very essence is to hold onto moisture and use it slowly. When you water me too often, you are going against my fundamental nature. The soil around my roots becomes waterlogged, suffocating them. They need air as much as they need water, and when they are constantly drowning, they begin to rot. Once this rot sets in, they can no longer send water and nutrients up to my stems and leaves. The connection is severed. The leaves, no longer supported, will turn soft, mushy, and yellow before they drop off. This is a desperate survival move—I am sacrificing parts of myself to try and save the core.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be treating me like a cactus that never needs a drink. While I am resilient, I am not invincible. My leaves are my personal water storage tanks. When the soil is bone-dry for too long, I am forced to tap into these reserves. My leaves will start to look wrinkled, thin, and may develop brown, crispy edges. They begin to shrivel because I am using the water stored within them to keep my main stem alive. If this drought continues, the leaves will dry up completely, become brittle, and fall. This is a slower, more shriveled leaf drop compared to the sudden, mushy drop from overwatering.
Sunlight is my food. Through the amazing process of photosynthesis, I convert light into the energy I need to grow and stay strong. If you place me in a dark corner, I am slowly starving. Without sufficient light, my stems will become long, thin, and stretched out as I desperately reach for any light source—a condition you call "etiolation." More critically, I cannot produce enough energy to sustain all my leaves. To conserve my limited resources for a potential future move to a brighter spot, I must let some leaves go. These leaves often turn pale green or yellow before dropping, and the leaf drop is usually gradual but persistent.
Imagine being suddenly moved from a comfortable, familiar home to a completely different one. That is what repotting or a change in location feels like for me. My roots are delicate, and disturbing them during repotting can cause minor damage. It takes time and energy to re-establish myself in new soil. Similarly, if you move me from indoors to outdoors for the summer, or even just from one room to another with drastically different light and temperature, I experience stress. My system goes into a bit of shock, and leaf drop is a common reaction as I redirect energy to acclimating to my new conditions. This is usually temporary if the new environment is suitable.
Sometimes, the problem is not you, but tiny invaders. Pests like mealybugs, spider mites, or scale insects see my juicy leaves as a perfect meal. They pierce my leaf surfaces and suck out the sap—my lifeblood. This weakens the leaf, disrupting its ability to function. The damage they cause can lead to yellowing, speckling, and eventually, the leaf will weaken and drop. A severe infestation can cause significant leaf loss as I struggle to defend myself. You might need to look very closely, especially under the leaves and along the stems, for these tiny attackers.
