It sat there. Silent. The water heavy, holding secrets under its glassy skin. I had shocked it once, maybe twice, thinking I was the hero who could resurrect it. But the chlorine fizzled like my own ambition.
The stillness mocked me. The ladder, crusted in a memory of last summer’s joy, waited for feet that never came. Even the leaves resting at the bottom seemed more confident than I was.
The Chemistry of Regret
I checked the pH, eyes squinting like I was trying to read my own flaws. It was off; too high, too low, I could not even tell anymore. The colors on the strip blended into something unhelpful, like my excuses.
The filter hummed, then coughed, as if reminding me it existed only because I ignored it. I thought about cleaning it. I thought about a lot of things.
The truth? I had failed at shocking my pool because I treated it like a single act of magic instead of a routine. You cannot throw in a few scoops of hope and expect a miracle.
Chlorine, My Unreliable Lover
I loved chlorine for its promise, the way it could erase sins in hours. But it was fleeting. It worked only when I respected it with proper levels, circulation, and patience. I gave it none of those things.
Instead, I let rainwater dilute my effort, let sunlight burn it away, let my own impatience cancel its magic. My pool needed care. I gave it bursts of attention, then long absences.
The Filter’s Testimony
If filters could talk, mine would testify against me. It would bring photos of backwash days that never came, the grime collecting like evidence of neglect. My pool’s stillness was not mystery, it was my own laziness putting itself on display.
Lessons in the Shallow End
Somewhere between the algae bloom and the third failed shock, I realized this was not about water. It was about me.
I had been waiting for progress to come without movement. For life to change without habit. My pool was just showing me the truth in a way I could not ignore.
So I scrubbed. I cleaned the filter. I tested every two days. I learned that shocking is only as good as the water balance before it. I learned that patience is chlorine’s best friend.
Case Closed, For Now
The stillness is gone. There are ripples again, faint but promising. My pool is recovering, and so am I. I treat it with respect now, no magic tricks, just work.
And maybe that is the secret. You shock the pool, but you keep it alive with routine. You shock your life, but you grow it with persistence.
