It started at 3 a.m. because of course it did. The pool lights blinked erratically like my REM cycle. Half-asleep but fully drowning in shame, I shuffled outside and stared into the water. It stared back, accusing me.
The water should have been calm, clean, maybe even kind. But no. The surface shimmered with something that looked suspiciously like regret, my regret. I had shocked it wrong again.
Chapter One: Chaos In Chlorine
I thought shocking the pool was a simple ritual. Measure. Pour. Wait. But somehow, I turned it into a chaotic art form. Too much chlorine one night, not enough the next. And in between, the water whispered its disappointment at me.
I remember one particularly bad week, I dumped shock into the deep end without dissolving it. Like my own bottled guilt, it settled there, silent and heavy. The bottom of the pool was speckled with scars of undissolved chlorine, white and chalky, like little ghosts of my mistakes.
I reached in to touch it once. It burned my fingertips, but the burn wasn’t nearly as bad as the shame.
Chapter Two: The pH Letters
You’d think after all the shocking missteps, I would have learned to check the pH properly. Instead, I wrote love letters to the pH kit, begging it to tell me what I wanted to hear. Every test strip was a rejection note.
Too high. Too low. Never just right.
It was as if the water was mocking me, swinging from acidic to alkaline like my moods at 2 a.m. I thought if I kept adding chemicals, if I kept fussing and fixing, it would eventually love me back. But pH doesn’t care about feelings.
It only cares about balance.
Chapter Three: The Filter Confession
Then came the filter guilt.
I avoided cleaning it for weeks. Out of sight, out of mind, I told myself. But every gurgle and sputter from the returns was like the pool saying, “You can’t ignore me forever.”
When I finally opened the filter, I nearly wept. The cartridge was caked with who-knows-what; sunscreen, leaves, my own self-loathing. I washed it slowly, like an apology.
And in that quiet moment, I realized: the filter had been silently bearing the weight of all my sins.
Chapter Four: Redemption In Ripples
I stood there that night, under the flickering light, and I made a promise.
No more haphazard shocking. No more guessing games with pH. No more neglecting the filter like it was some disposable diary of my bad habits.
I gathered my tools. I brushed the walls. I vacuumed like I meant it. I balanced the chemicals properly, measuring and waiting and respecting the process.
And slowly, the water began to forgive me.
The foam subsided. The stains faded. The lights steadied.
Chapter Five: The Moral
In the end, I learned that pools don’t care about your excuses. They only respond to care.
I had treated my pool like it was something to conquer, when really it was something to collaborate with. A dance partner. A mirror.
And as I watched the water settle into a calm, honest blue, I felt something inside me settle too.
A Love Letter To The Pool
Dear Pool,
I am sorry for every night I dumped chemicals into you like they could fix me too. I am sorry for letting your pH swing as wildly as my emotions. I am sorry for letting the filter choke on my laziness.
Thank you for holding me accountable. For reflecting back my flaws but also showing me how to fix them.
You are more than just water in a hole. You are my teacher.
And tonight, as your lights shine steady and soft, I realize I needed you as much as you needed me.
A Checklist For The Broken And The Hopeful
If your pool is as chaotic as your sleep schedule, here is your checklist:
- Always dissolve shock before adding it
- Test pH regularly and adjust in small, thoughtful steps
- Clean the filter every week without fail
- Brush and vacuum the walls and floor like you care
- Stop blaming the pool for problems you created
Pools don’t hold grudges. They only reflect.
So be kind to it, and it will be kind to you.
