I poured in shock but got back shame.
I stood at the water’s edge, clutching the bag like a desperate prayer. My hands shook. The granules sank into the depths and disappeared like my confidence.
The water hissed and churned as though laughing at me.
The pH was wrong. The chlorine mocked me from the test strip, faint and fading. The filter wheezed under the weight of my neglect. I told myself the shock would fix it all, but the pool knew better.
Clouds rose from the floor, not of clarity but of judgment. A white fog of my own making. I saw my mistakes swirl around me, unforgiving.
I called to the pool, whispered apologies it did not care to hear. I watched the skimmer sob with debris. The jets sighed.
I thought shock could erase what I had ignored.
But the water holds grudges.
So I learned.
One morning, weary but willing, I began again. Not with panic, but with purpose. I tested and balanced with the patience of a poet. I brushed and vacuumed with the rhythm of repentance. I let the filter breathe again.
Slowly, the shame lifted.
The water sparkled with a quiet kind of forgiveness. Not perfect, but honest. It reflected my face back at me and we both almost smiled.
What I Learned:
- Shock is not magic. It is part of a bigger story.
- pH sets the stage. Balance it before you plead with chlorine.
- The filter carries your guilt. Clean it.
- The pool remembers. Respect its memory.
- Mistakes float, but so does redemption.
Now, I pour in shock not in fear, but with care. The water accepts it.
And maybe, it accepts me too.
