I thought shocking the pool would fix everything.
I thought a bottle of chlorine could undo weeks of laziness and silence. But the water stayed cloudy. The pool stared back at me with the same disappointment I saw in the mirror.
The Sparkle That Never Came
It used to shimmer.
Now it wept.
A dull blue, with a film of shame floating on the surface.
I leaned over the edge like a heartbroken poet, test strip trembling in hand, hoping for a sign. Free chlorine: low. pH: confused. Alkalinity: unbothered.
I had failed her.
Denial In A Bottle
I poured more chemicals in, hoping to erase the past.
Like bad decisions washed down with bleach.
The shock fizzed, bubbled, and disappeared into the abyss of guilt. No change. The water mocked me. The filter hummed, but it was a hum of protest. A mechanical sigh.
I ignored it. Like I ignored every red flag before it.
A Dirty Secret Revealed
I opened the filter lid.
And there it was. My shame, in physical form. Green slime clinging to the cartridge like regrets to memory. Hair, leaves, the past. All swirling together in that sad little canister.
I had never cleaned it.
Not once.
Months of trust placed in machinery I never loved back. It was clogged. It was tired. It was me.
Redemption Tastes Like Bleach
I rinsed the filter in silence.
Each blast of hose water washing away the buildup. And the self-loathing. I scrubbed until it gleamed like forgiveness.
I soaked it in cleaner like a sinner in confession. I made a vow to never forget.
- Weekly brushing
- Filter checks every 2 weeks
- A logbook for maintenance and feelings
The Water Forgives
It took three days.
But it cleared.
The sunlight returned, bouncing playfully off the surface. Chlorine held strong. pH mellowed out. My test strips gave me a nod of approval.
I cried. Or maybe it was the splash.
Things I Know Now
- The filter needs love, not just pressure
- pH swings are emotional too
- Cloudy water doesn’t lie
- Guilt has a texture. It’s slimy.
- You can’t shock your way out of neglect
Love Letters To Maintenance
To the net that scoops the leaves of regret,
To the pole that extends like hope,
To the brush that erases what I try to forget,
To the pump that never gave up,
To the test kit that told me the truth, thank you.
The Moral (Because I Learned Something)
Clean the filter.
Check your pH.
Own your mistakes.
And when the water’s clear again, smile. Not because it’s perfect. But because you finally showed up.
Signed, Someone who knows better now.
