As a Jade Plant (Crassula ovata), my relationship with water is a delicate dance. I am a succulent, a proud member of a group built for arid survival. My thick, fleshy leaves and stems are my water reservoirs. Getting the watering right is the single most important factor for my health and longevity. When my human caretaker misjudges this balance, I must communicate my distress through clear physical signs. Here is a detailed account of what overwatering and underwatering feel like for me.
This is, by far, the greatest threat to my existence. My roots, like the rest of me, are adapted to cycles of thorough soaking followed by a period of drought. When I am left sitting in constantly wet soil, my roots cannot breathe. They begin to suffocate and rot. This root rot is a silent, underground killer that soon manifests in my visible parts.
First, my leaves will begin to feel different. Instead of being firm and plump, they become soft, mushy, and translucent. They may appear waterlogged, as if they are about to burst. This is a sign that the cells within are rupturing from the excess water pressure—a condition called edema. These leaves will often turn a lighter green or even yellow before they eventually drop off. Crucially, this leaf drop will involve a mix of older and newer leaves, a sign of a systemic root problem rather than a natural aging process.
The stems will also tell a story of distress. They may become soft, limp, and lose their rigidity. In severe cases, the stem itself will turn black and mushy at the base. If my caretaker notices a foul smell emanating from the soil, it is a dire emergency; it means the root rot is advanced and the decaying tissue is spreading.
While overwatering is a swift killer, underwatering is a slower, more manageable stress for a resilient plant like me. My natural design is to withstand periods of drought by tapping into the moisture stored in my leaves and stems. However, prolonged neglect will force me to show clear signals of thirst.
The most immediate and obvious sign is the change in my leaves. They will start to look wrinkled, shriveled, and deflated. They lose their characteristic plumpness and become thin and leathery to the touch. This is because I am using up my internal water reserves to stay alive. The leaves will also often fold slightly, like a taco, in an effort to reduce their surface area and minimize water loss.
Another key indicator is leaf drop, but it presents differently than with overwatering. When I am underwatered, I will typically sacrifice my oldest leaves first. They will turn yellow, then brown and crispy, before falling off. This is a strategic move to conserve the limited water for my newer, more productive growth. The stems and branches may also appear woody and may start to droop slightly from a lack of turgor pressure.
My caretaker must learn to interpret my signs correctly, as the symptoms can sometimes be confusing. The most reliable method is the "touch and see" approach. Press a leaf gently. Is it firm and turgid? Good. Is it soft and mushy? Think overwatering. Is it wrinkled and thin? Think underwatering.
Furthermore, the soil itself is a vital clue. Before any watering, my human should insert a finger into the soil up to the second knuckle. If the soil feels damp, cool, or clings to the skin, I do not need water. Water should only be given when the soil is completely dry all the way through the pot. For my caretaker, when in doubt, it is always safer to err on the side of underwatering. I can recover from a drought, but I may not recover from root rot.
