From my perspective, the constant saturation you provide is a death sentence. My roots are not just anchors; they are my lungs, requiring oxygen from the air pockets in the soil to breathe and function. When you water me too frequently, these precious air pockets fill with water, creating an anaerobic environment. My delicate root hairs, responsible for absorbing water and nutrients, begin to suffocate and rot. This rot is a silent killer. Once it sets in, I can no longer drink or eat, no matter how much water surrounds me. You might see my leaves turn a general, sickly yellow, often starting with the lower, older leaves, and they will feel soft and mushy to the touch. The soil will persistently feel cold, soggy, and clumpy, and you might even detect a foul, musty odor emanating from it—a sure sign of root rot.
Conversely, when you forget about me, I am gripped by a desperate, parching thirst. My entire being is designed to conserve the little moisture I have left. Without a consistent supply of water, I cannot perform basic functions like photosynthesis or transport nutrients from my roots to my leaves. To survive, I must sacrifice parts of myself. My leaves, once lush and vibrant, will begin to wilt, becoming dry, brittle, and crispy to the touch. The vibrant green will fade to a dull, pale yellow or even a stressed brown, particularly at the tips and edges of the leaves. This browning is a form of necrosis—tissue death. The most telling sign from my viewpoint is the soil itself. It will pull away from the edges of the pot, become dry and dusty to the touch, and feel light when you lift my container. I am literally shrinking from a lack of the most fundamental resource for my life.
While the color yellow appears in both scenarios, you must pay close attention to the texture of my foliage to truly understand my plight. This is the most critical distinction from my point of view. When overwatered, my yellowing leaves are limp, droopy, and feel soft and mushy, like wet paper towels. They may eventually drop off while still feeling plump. When underwatered, my yellowing or browning leaves are dry, crispy, and brittle. They crumble easily when touched. The wilting is also different; an overwatered plant has a heavy, waterlogged droop, while an underwatered plant has a light, desiccated wilt.
My flowers are my pride, and their condition is a direct reflection of my health. Both extremes of water will cause me to drop my flower buds in a state of shock and self-preservation. However, the context is key. If my buds are turning brown and falling off while the soil is still wet, I am screaming that my roots are rotting and I cannot support the energy-intensive process of blooming. If my buds are shriveling, drying out, and dropping while the soil is bone-dry, I am pleading for a drink because I lack the turgor pressure and hydration needed to develop them properly.
