From my perspective, this is the most common reason my leaves become soft, mushy, and fall off. My roots are not like those of a thirsty fern; they are adapted to store water and breathe in dry, aerated soil. When you water me too often, the soil becomes perpetually wet. This suffocates my roots, preventing them from absorbing oxygen. They begin to rot, a condition that spreads upward into my stem and leaves. Once this rot sets in, the cells in my leaves break down, losing their structural integrity. The leaves can no longer hold onto my stem and will detach at the slightest touch. This is a desperate, silent scream for you to let my soil dry out completely between drinks.
While I am a drought-tolerant plant, I am not immortal. My plump, fleshy leaves are my personal water reservoirs. When you forget to water me for an excessively long time, I must begin to consume the water stored in my own leaves to survive. As I metabolize this internal water supply, the leaves will start to shrivel, wrinkle, and become crispy or brittle. They will often flatten out before they eventually detach and fall off. This is my way of sacrificing older growth to conserve the little moisture I have left for my core and root system, a last-ditch effort to stay alive until the next rain.
You may notice my leaves are falling off, but my stem is also becoming long, stretched, and pale. This is called etiolation. I am not getting enough sunlight to perform adequate photosynthesis. In a desperate bid to find a better light source, I stretch my stem towards any available light. This rapid, weak growth requires immense energy. To fuel this growth, I begin to reabsorb nutrients and moisture from my oldest, lowest leaves. These leaves will often yellow, dry out, and fall off cleanly. This is a strategic sacrifice; I shed what I cannot sustain to try and reach a place where I can thrive.
Sometimes, the problem is not your care but uninvited guests. Pests like mealybugs, scale, and aphids see my juicy leaves as a perfect meal. They pierce my skin and suck out my vital sap, weakening the leaf tissue at the attachment point. This damage disrupts the flow of water and nutrients and physically weakens the stem connection. An infected leaf will often yellow, weaken, and drop prematurely. You might also notice sticky residue (honeydew) or the bugs themselves, usually hiding in the crevices between my leaves and stem.
I am a creature of habit and thrive on stability. Sudden, drastic changes in my environment can cause significant stress, leading to leaf drop. This includes a rapid temperature drop from a cold draft, a swift move from a shady spot to intense direct sun (scorching my leaves), or the physical jostling and change in conditions that come with being repotted. When shocked, I may shed leaves as a conservative measure to reduce my energy demands until I can acclimatize to my new circumstances. This is a defensive response, not an aggressive one.
