It started with a whisper.
A ripple.
A shimmer that blinked at me under the July sun like it held a secret I wasn’t ready to hear.
I stood at the edge of the water with a test strip in one hand and guilt in the other. My pool said nothing. But I could feel the judgment.
I Shocked It Without Warning
I poured in the chlorine like a fool trying to win an argument by yelling.
Too much.
Too fast.
Too late.
White clouds bloomed like regret. The water bubbled back at me in confusion. I had meant well. But meaning well doesn’t fix mistakes. Especially when you leave the pump off. Especially when you don’t stir the silence.
I forgot to circulate. I forgot the water needed movement, not just chemicals. It wasn’t just the shock. It was the neglect of follow-through.
And then I just walked away, assuming the water would work it out on its own. Like a bad apology with no real change.
The pH Was All Wrong, Like My Life Choices
The pH rose like my stress. 8.4. 8.6. Uncharted emotional territory.
I ignored the warnings. The test strips. The quiet sigh from the return jets.
“I’ll fix it tomorrow,” I said.
But tomorrow came with algae. And shame.
The water turned dull, like my energy. No sparkle. No bounce. Just still disappointment.
Had I balanced anything? My chemicals? My priorities? Myself?
No. I was winging it. Guessing. Hoping. And pools are not powered by hope.
The Filter… I Didn’t Deserve That Filter
Oh, dear filter.
I didn’t clean you. I didn’t backwash you. You begged through pressure gauge readings and cloudy water. I told myself you were fine. Like we always do with the things we neglect.
You tried to save me from myself. I failed you.
I let debris pile up like unresolved feelings. I let the pressure climb, ignored the noise. You kept grinding. And I kept taking you for granted.
Now I know: when your pool gets louder, it’s not yelling, it’s crying.
The Great Apology: Acid and Tears
Redemption came in a gallon jug. Muriatic acid.
I dosed the water like a love letter written too late. Measured. Slow. Careful this time.
I brushed the walls with the tenderness of regret. I skimmed the surface like searching for closure.
I whispered, “Please don’t give up on me.”
And this time, I stayed.
I ran the pump. I waited. I tested.
I committed.
And Still, The Pool Said Nothing
But the green faded. The cloudiness passed. The water turned calm.
Not forgiving.
Just… watching.
And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe the silence is peace.
Maybe this is what healing looks like.
What I Learned From Being Ghosted By My Own Pool
- Shocking is not a random act. It needs planning.
- pH isn’t just a number. It’s a relationship status.
- Filters have feelings too (okay, not really, but CLEAN THEM).
- The pool doesn’t lie. If it looks off, it probably is.
- Maintenance is love. Not punishment.
- Circulation is non-negotiable. Don’t shock and ghost.
- “I’ll do it tomorrow” is how you end up in algae therapy.
- You can’t fix a bad season with one good dose.
I talked to my pool.
And it ignored me.
But I think we understand each other now.
And maybe that’s the start of something better.
