Thinking Tap Water Is Always Harmful

My neighbor Brenda blames every pothos death on “chlorine toxicity.” I’ve tried filtered, distilled, rainwater—tap water gets demonized online, but most houseplants aren’t keeling over in cities with regular tap. Most are fine with a bit of chlorine or fluoride. A Stanford plant biologist told our garden club tap water almost never kills anything except super sensitive stuff, like certain prayer plants.

Sometimes brown tips show up, but it’s almost always fertilizer buildup or lousy drainage, not tap water. But, of course, there’s “plant water” for sale—just a marketing thing. If your city uses chloramine or has super hard water, maybe your orchids or carnivorous plants care. Most don’t. My houseplants thrive on tap water whenever I forget the fancy stuff.

New gardeners panic about tap water, but nine times out of ten, it’s not the problem—unless you’re already overwatering, then nothing else matters. I might as well blame the weather.

Forgetting to Adjust Watering for Different Plants

What really gets me? Blanket rules for watering. Ferns and succulents are not the same. Treating my Boston fern like an aloe? Disaster. My ficus never drinks as much as my maidenhair fern—if I water them equally, the fern perks up, the ficus sulks, then drops leaves out of spite.

Experts warn about this all the time, but Instagram just keeps pushing “one-size-fits-all” tricks. No listicle has ever saved my cacti from a soggy January because I copied advice meant for April. I keep a messy mental cheat sheet:

*Assumes indoor 65-75°F, moderate light.

Lumping everything together is just lazy and kills roots slowly. I still mix up pots sometimes, but labeling plants doesn’t make my watering can smarter—just me, if I remember to check the dirt first.

Drainage Myths and Root Health

Let’s not pretend I haven’t panicked over droopy houseplants and roots sitting in weird puddles under the tray. Or that one plant that rotted no matter what I changed—except the pot. Most “perfect drainage” hacks just move the problem around, and missing one drainage hole can doom your plant faster than skipping breakfast.

Ignoring the Importance of Drainage Holes

Why did nobody actually warn me? I mean, skipping drainage holes is like, I don’t know, wearing socks in the rain and pretending you’ll stay dry. Looks fine until you realize your roots are basically drowning. Water just hangs out, roots suffocate, and then it’s 2am and I’m on my phone, searching “root rot symptoms” and questioning my life choices. And that whole “just toss gravel in the bottom” thing? Total myth. Actual horticultural research says nope, water doesn’t magically slip through rocks. It just collects, and roots get wrecked.

I’ll never forget Dr. Ellie Smith—soil nerd, total straight shooter—just flat out said, “No hole? Not a planter. It’s a root rot aquarium.” That stuck. If you spot white crust or yellow leaves? That’s not a “maybe,” that’s your plant screaming for help. Moisture-control mixes? Useless if water can’t escape. My neighbor tried to drill holes in her fancy ceramic pot—cracked it, basil died, then she did it again. Some people never learn.

Assuming Good Drainage Solves All Issues

And okay, even with a drainage hole, you’re not off the hook. People love to say, “as long as there’s a hole, you’re safe.” Not true. I’ve packed pots with dense garden soil and, surprise, still killed the plant. Clay-heavy mixes? They hold water for ages. That hole isn’t a magic escape hatch. Soil stays wet, roots rot, and the $30 terra cotta pot does nothing but look sad.

Inherited a planter once—drainage hole, sure, but the soil was like a brick. Stayed wet for days, aloe turned to mush. Samuel Clark, mycologist, once muttered, “It’s not how often you water, it’s what your soil and pot actually do.” So now I poke around with a chopstick, check if it’s damp, sometimes just stick my finger in there. Moisture meters? Meh, sometimes helpful. But if you’re watering on a schedule instead of actually checking, you’re asking for trouble. Drainage holes matter, but smart soil matters more. Instagram hacks? Yeah, good luck.

Misunderstandings About Pot Size and Repotting

Ever stare at your droopy plant in a pot that looked “right” at the store and just feel… judged? I’ve got a graveyard of mismatched planters, half-read quickstart guides, and whatever advice I half-remember from someone at Lowe’s. Most “common sense” is just recycled nonsense.

Believing Bigger Pots Mean Healthier Plants

Oh, the “bigger is better” myth. I fell for it. Bought a giant pot for my peace lily—now it’s a swamp. Dr. Cynthia Morales, who doesn’t sugarcoat, once said, “Extra space equals extra water—roots drown.” Facebook plant groups? They’ll tell you the opposite, and sometimes the before-and-after pics suck me in.

Roots actually want a snug fit. Not crammed, not floating in empty space. Here’s a table because, yeah, I need reminders:

My friend went wild with a 12-inch pot for her tiny philodendron. She grows mushrooms now, not plants. Just go up an inch or two, that’s it. Empty soil? Fungus gnats, root rot, and a weird sense of regret.

Repotting Too Frequently or Not Enough

Repotting schedule? I never get it right. Sometimes I repot twice a year because I think it’s “responsible,” then someone on Reddit says I’m traumatizing my snake plant. Some experts say spring or summer only, which I forget every January when I get restless.

Wait too long—roots circle, soil stinks, leaves fade. Repot every time a leaf droops? Plants sulk and sometimes just give up. Catey (random blog, but she’s right) says: “Repotting isn’t a life event. Most houseplants only need it every 1–2 years unless there’s an actual problem.” Still, I get the urge whenever I see a clearance pot.

Roots poking out of drainage holes? That’s real, not some plant horoscope. Ignore it, fine, but repot out of guilt and you’ll shock your plant. Honestly, nobody admits how easy it is to mess up with good intentions. I do it anyway.