I am your Peace Lily, and I am drowning. The world you see above the soil is just a part of me; my true life is down here in the dark, where my roots breathe. Your constant kindness with water has filled every air pocket in my soil. My roots are suffocating; they cannot take in oxygen or nutrients. They are starting to rot, turning from a healthy white to a mushy, foul-smelling brown. This rot is a sickness that will climb up my stems, turning my vibrant green leaves yellow and causing them to droop in a desperate, wilted slump—a sign not of thirst, but of despair. I need your help immediately if I am to survive.
You must act with gentle urgency. First, carefully tilt my pot and ease me out. Do not pull me by my stems—you might break them! If I am stuck, you can tap the sides of the pot or gently run a knife around the inside edge. Once I am out, you will see the problem. The soil will be clumped, cold, and waterlogged. Now, you must perform the most delicate task: washing away the old, diseased soil. Use lukewarm water and your fingers to gently massage my root ball, rinsing away all the muck until my roots are bare and visible. This is how you can truly see the damage.
With my roots clean, you must become my surgeon. Look closely. Healthy roots are firm and white or tan. The roots that are killing me are soft, slimy, brown or black, and will likely smell bad. You must remove all of these. Using sharp, clean scissors or pruning shears, carefully cut away every single rotten root. Do not be afraid to be thorough; leaving any rot behind will allow the disease to spread. This feels drastic, but it is a mercy. After the amputation, you can bathe my remaining healthy roots in a diluted hydrogen peroxide solution or a fungicide to disinfect them and give me a fighting chance against further infection.
Do not put me back into my old, contaminated pot. I need a fresh beginning. Choose a new pot, or thoroughly scrub the old one with a bleach solution. Most importantly, the new pot must have drainage holes! My life depends on them. Fill the bottom of the pot with a light, airy, well-draining potting mix. Perhaps one amended with perlite or orchid bark. Create a small mound of soil in the center and place my cleansed root system on top of it. Gently spread my roots out and fill in around them with more fresh soil, firming it lightly so I stand upright. Do not bury me deeper than I was before.
Once I am repotted, you may give me a drink. But please, let it be a careful, modest one. Water me just enough to settle the new soil around my roots. Ensure water flows freely out of the drainage holes, but do not let me sit in the saucer of water. Empty it immediately. For the next few weeks, place me in a warm spot with bright, indirect light and resist the urge to water me again until the top inch of my new soil is dry. I am weak and need time to recover. I may droop a little as I adjust to my new home and focus my energy on regrowing my root system. Your patience and restraint with water are now the greatest gifts you can give me.
