I think Avery was trying to persuade me to do something water-related this past summer; I can’t remember the circumstances exactly. But I fell back to my pat-answer excuse as to why there was no way I’d be able to do that. Forgetting that she’d heard it all before, I told her the story of when I was young.
I’d been on a little blow-up row boat in the San Diego bay, just paddling along, doing just fine. Till I was done. I stepped out of the raft and, instead of landing on the soft salt-water flooring, I became completely immersed, way over my head, deep (it felt). I floundered and panicked, not knowing how to swim or how to help myself. I was terrified and alone, unsure what would become of me. Thankfully, my uncle visiting from Scotland noticed my plight from the shore and came to my rescue, pulling me from my peril. I simply explained this to Avery, “I almost drowned when I was little, and I’ve been nervous around water ever since.”
To which she replied, “So did I.”
Taken completely off-guard, I realized she was right! I had totally forgotten that. We were staying at a hotel with some friends and were swimming with the kids in a great pool with a waterslide. They were pretty young and needed to be caught at the end of their rides, which we were happy to do. But at one point we turned away, distracted, and forgot to look for them as they took another ride; maybe we didn’t realize they had gone back up. Callum and Avery were together, with no one to catch them at the end. So when they went under without us to bring them up, they panicked, petrified, submersed, unable to swim. Avery, as the big sister, was doing her best to hold Callum up while she stayed under the water. She told me later she remembered reading some quote on one of our walls or the fridge about putting our family first. So she took it upon her to save him above herself. You can only imagine the flood of emotions that surged through me when she told me that. When we realized they were struggling, we were stunned and terrified, not knowing what exactly had happened. When we finally reached them and got them out, Avery was blue. They were fine, thank goodness, but everyone was shaken. Rightfully so. I felt intense anguish, and a pit in my stomach formed. Whenever they mentioned it over the years, I felt that same shame, regret, sorrow and pain. They’d almost drowned. On my watch.
So when she matter-of-factly told me she’d experienced the same thing I had and I noticed she was happily moving forward in spite of it, I felt a little abashed. Then humbled. She was right. She had almost drowned. But she chooses to leave that experience in the past rather than cart it behind her, letting it weigh her down, whenever she has an opportunity to enjoy a new water activity. She is not tethered to her fear; that event doesn’t define her as mine does.
Ever since that morning on the bay so many years ago, I’ve hesitated around deep water. Yes, I boogie-boarded throughout my youth, but I’ve felt uncomfortable on boats ever since and avoid any water craft and activity related to deep water if I can. That tiny scare all those years ago has effected so much of what I’ve allowed myself to do. I’ve never been water skiing or off a diving board. I hate going under water at all; instead of feeling free, I feel claustrophobic, like it’s closing in on me. Yes, I learned to swim and spent much of my summers as a young girl in San Diego in pools and the ocean, but I’ve shied away as much as possible over the years. And I’ve always hated watching my own kids out on the lake on rafts, afraid they’d endure the same trauma I had or, worse, that I’d have to go rescue them.
But Avery’s observation was an awakening for me, now in my late 40s, maybe 35 years later. She is so right. Why do I allow one instance to limit me and to influence so many of my decisions? Why have I not filed that memory away properly instead of leaving it on my desk as a constant reminder that water can potentially be dangerous?
As I’ve thought about my wise little girl and her confidence, I’m so relieved. And proud. She is not defined by her past. She refuses to let something like that change her future or what she wants to do. And I’ve wondered how many of us in the world are like her. Or like me.
I hate to admit that I’ve let this affect me for so long. And, to be honest, I doubt I’ll ever fully embrace water fun. But I know I’m not alone. So many people play the victim card and refuse to get back in the water after a traumatic event. It’s comfortable to stay on the shore, to slap down the explanation about our pasts as an excuse to sit this part of life out, to refuse to engage because of fear.
We’ve all been hurt, so cliche, such a catch-all phrase; but truly we have. We’ve endured break-ups, rejections, losses, misunderstandings, being called out, fails, not being chosen, health crises, lost hopes, being misjudged, whatever; it’s all part of the human experience. But why do we sometimes insist on hanging on to some of these negative experiences and weave them into our beliefs about ourselves and what we’re capable of?
My daughter’s quick retort caused me to reflect. Are there other pieces of my life I’ve decided about based on past experiences?
I remember being judged as a younger person as being self-righteous and stuck-up and shy. Tough labels to overcome. I was so insecure and inward-thinking. I always felt so un-cool, not athletic in the least, unsure if I had any talents—certain that I’d missed that line. I could definitely produce supporting details for each of those bullets if I were writing an English essay.
But some people I know have experienced genuine hardships—real or contrived. They may harbor a word to encompass what they’ve gone through: abandonment, rejection, or abuse maybe. But the question that comes to mind is, what good is that doing? To stifle our progression simply because we’re too stubborn to relegate earlier life events to the past seems counterproductive. It’s as if we’ve built a shrine and are continuing to collect relics to place at its base as penance or like we’re creating a case and are constantly looking for supporting evidence for our spiral notepad. Which, by the way, we will always find. We see what our brain tells us to look for.
Just an interesting observation, this interchange with Avery. I’ve been asking myself some hard questions as a result of her comment and am encouraged by her no-nonsense, forward-thinking approach to life. And while I may or may not decide to don a suit and certify as a scuba instructor anytime soon, I’m anxious to see how else I’ve been subconsciously limiting myself simply because of past negative experiences—actual or imagined.
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