4 - Learning to Swim
(Contains animation link at the bottom)When my oldest two children were very young, I took them to a public pool. There was a gated kiddie area with water no more than 18 inches deep. My daughter was tall enough to play and enjoy herself as she made new friends and splashed in the water. She had no difficulty navigating the depth even though it occasionally kept her from moving as fast as she wanted. She couldn’t run, but she could easily walk. If she fell, it was joyous as she let the water cradle her body before standing to do it again.
My son was younger and not as tall. Although he loved splashing, the waves made by the other children were more frightening than joyful. The height of the water went to his chest, and often higher as children around him made waves. He swayed back and forth, fearful of being pulled under with each swell.
At one point, later in the day when I was less vigilant, his footing was swept away and he landed face down in the water. He struggled to stand, but the weight of his head kept his feet from reaching the bottom. I screamed, reached over, and pulled him up and out of the water.
He was fine. It had literally only been a couple of seconds. But those seconds changed me. I felt like a horrible mother and was forever terrified of letting my son back in the water. I had dreams that he drowned.
This is one of many incidents in my children’s lives that made me more afraid and unqualified to be a mother. This is one of the events that made me step closer to being hyper vigilant and less relaxed about my role in their lives. This gave me nightmares for years.
Literally, that moment was terrifying. My son, although a good walker at the time, was in water that was up to his chest. To me, the water was up to the middle of my calf. To my daughter, the water was lower than on my son, only to her hips. My son was taller than the water, but because it was so high, once he lost his footing, he was unable to regain his balance and stand up. He was helpless until someone pulled him out.
It makes me think of mental health. When I am in a healthy place mentally, I am easily able to step over everything and even help someone else. Even if the water is a little bit higher, I can enjoy my life and easily get up when knocked down. However, when the water is very high, if my mental health is unbalanced (like a toddler’s head is heavier than his body) a slip will make me unable to become vertical and I will drown.
How many times have I fallen emotionally? How many times have I been floating face-down in a situation that others might think is shallow? How many times have I sunk, even when the world would tell me to just stand up? How many times have I struggled to stand but can’t gain my footing?
When I think of this analogy, I can’t help but think about all of the people in the big pool. The large, small, young, old, multi-colored people in the main pool. Why were some able to swim better than others? Was it because they were older? Was it because they were a certain color or size or in a certain wealth bracket? No. It was simply whether or not they had LEARNED to swim.
I used to think I was a body with a soul. I know now that I am a soul living in this earthly body. I symbolically think back to all the people. If I continue to look at them, I can see them as souls at different levels of maturity. Their outward body had nothing to do with how well they could swim. Not really. It was their training.
An older person who has never learned to swim may sit on the side. They have spent many years on this earth, but they haven’t learned the skills needed to jump in the pool. A small child may be young, but is the best swimmer. They were taught to respect, but also enjoy, the splashing and entertainment of the flow.
A third possibility is the person who was not taught, but is trying to figure it out on their own. It is like how some children learn by putting on a lifejacket and splash around until they get the hang of it. Have you seen the little kids with the arm floaties, arms and legs going a million miles a minute, trying their hardest to move around in the water? Those kids are maniacs (and I mean that in the best possible way!) They flail around, splashing everyone in a 20-foot radius, but DANG IT THEY ARE MOVING! This one reminds me of why self-help books are a billion-dollar industry.
There were a lot of reasons I didn’t want to go to therapy, so this offered a quick solution. I was trying to learn the basics on my own. I did ok. I was like the little kid making their way across the pool. I was surviving my life, but I wasn’t enjoying the process and it was exhausting.
I usually think about the deep end as being the difficult parts of life. We all do. Eight, ten or twelve feet deep is over my head. It is valid to be afraid of that area if I can’t swim. No one would blame me for staying in the shallow water. But is it true that the only place I can drown is in the deep? What about my son? When standing upright, the water was not over his head. And yet, when he tripped, he was unable to straighten his body and become vertical. It is not odd that a small child could not swim. But if an adult-sized person was face down in 18 inches of water, would that be odd?
No one is judgmental if I don’t want to go off the boat on a snorkeling expedition. Clearly, 20 feet or 50 feet is dangerous for someone who cannot swim. But what about a beach? How far do I have to go in before people say, “No one blames you for staying close to the land?” Two feet? Four feet? What about water on the ground? Is it ridiculous to circumvent a puddle made by a recent downpour because of a fear of drowning?
The crazy thing is that we all have this “appropriate fear meter” that we use to judge others. A depth of 50 feet is dangerous so I recognize your fear. Even though I can swim, I recognize that you are afraid. A depth of 7 feet is over your head so I notice your fear. Even though I can swim, I can see that you are not comfortable. What about 3 feet? Can someone drown in 3 feet of water? Yes. But it seems unlikely. Especially for someone like myself who can easily swim. I start to judge.
What about 6 inches?
Seriously? A person could easily walk through 6 inches of water. I am no longer accommodating your fear. To me, it is irrational and ridiculous. I don’t share your fear, so I judge you for it. A depth of 10 feet is acceptable to be afraid, 6 inches is not.
That is how we are living our lives. Carrying our “depth meter” around, judging others for how they handle things.
Your mother died. That is the deep end. You can be upset.
You lost your job. That is the deep end. You can be upset.
Your kids are driving you crazy. That is middle ground. You drove your parents crazy when you were little and so are getting what you deserve. Also, everyone feels this way. Join the club!
You hate your job. Middle ground. You have a job; you should be thankful.
You can’t get everyone to sit down for dinner. Shallow end. You have so much to be thankful for: active children, a hard-working spouse, you work hard yourself, you have a roof over your head. Look at the bright side!
Your parents are driving you crazy. Shallow end. At least you still have your parents.
Nothing is really going on, but you are anxious and depressed. 1 inch of water. There is absolutely nothing to cause your stress. Don’t feel that way!
I can’t tell you how many ministers, speakers, or friends have said that no one is paying any attention to me. They’re supposedly too wrapped up in themselves to notice what I’m doing. Hahahahaha! If only that were true! Seriously, I can’t stop laughing!
We are CONSTANTLY being judged. By what we wear, how we act, what we eat, how we laugh...need I go on?
The question to ask yourself is not whether or not you’re being judged. Because you are. The question is do you care? I do. But I’m getting better at not caring. Well, I’m getting better at only caring about what is important. I’m caring more about loving people. Where they are.
If I don’t understand your pain, if I don’t understand what led you to this place, if I don’t understand where you are, I contribute to the problem. If I look at a tiny snapshot of your life and judge you based on how I would handle it, I am not sympathetic.
Who am I to tell you how to feel? Who are you to tell me how to feel? You and I are not the same. We do not have the same experiences or fears. We do not view the world through the same lens.
For years, I sat and watched everyone else have a blast. I imagined I was having a good time. Every day was just a big game of pretending to have my life together. I wished I could jump in and play. I wished my fears weren’t holding me back. I wished I didn’t care what everyone would say. I wished I knew how to swim.
Life was passing me by as I sat on the sidelines and watched. Until one day, I couldn’t.
I felt like I was drowning in a puddle.
Depression is this weird thing that comes and visits us. Sometimes there’s a very legitimate reason for it. Sometimes there isn’t. If we believe we shouldn’t feel the way we feel, or if someone shames us for feeling how we feel, we spend our time feeling more depressed that we’re depressed. We feel more anxious that we can’t snap out of it and quit being anxious.
I believe there are two types of suicidal thoughts that can accompany depression.
One is just a sadness, a belief that life would be easier if it was over. You’re too tired or scared to actually do anything about it, but you fantasize about just being gone. You are stuck on pause, not really doing anything, going anywhere, or interacting with others in a meaningful way.
Another is an active state. You actually begin to think of ways to make it happen. You truly believe that everyone around you would be better off without you. You see their happiness (or, at the very least, their ability to function). You know they want you to feel better, and you WANT to feel better, but their suggestions don’t help. You think that being gone will help them. Then, they won't have to worry about you.
During the second, active state, ALL RATIONAL thinking is gone.
At my lowest point, I was laying on the floor, curled up in a ball, thinking of what I could do to just float away. No one knew what I was going through. My husband needed a sane wife. My children needed a sane mom. I could not be that person.
For those that have never been in that hell, let me explain the best way I know how.
Imagine you are in a room. A gigantic room, like an indoor stadium, with several floors. There are chairs, and steps, and railings, and all kinds of obstacles in the room.
Also imagine that there are people in the room. Loads and loads of people. They are walking around and laughing.
Next, imagine the lights go out. There are no windows, no flashlights, no light at all. Would you be able to get out?
I want to pause a moment and let that sink in. Imagine being in complete darkness, in an unfamiliar, large arena. How would that make you feel? Scared? Worried? Lonely?
What if some people had infrared goggles? They could continue walking around and make it to the exit. No problem! They might even stop to encourage you a little bit. Or maybe they get irritated that you are stumbling. It’s so easy for them. What’s wrong with you?
You hear in the distance people laughing and happy. They are outside the exit and are enjoying the light. Every once in a while, someone pokes their head into the stadium and yells out, “Keep going! I found my way out, so can you!” But their voice is so far away.
Eventually, the room is empty. Except for you.
Maybe someone will come back and ask why you are still in the room. The exit is clearly over there. But it is dark and you can't see where they are pointing. They get frustrated and try to drag you to the exit. Again, you can’t see and you continue to trip and stumble. It isn’t working. They aren’t helping. How angry they become! If you aren't going to TRY to go to the exit, they don't want to continue helping. But they don't understand you do want to get there. YOU JUST CAN'T SEE!!
Maybe you sit down and wait. What are you waiting for? Who knows. You hope to recognize it if it comes.
Maybe you crawl around on your own, trying to find the exit.
What would be the most helpful? What would you want? Take a moment in this imaginary scenario and think about it. Would someone playing a happy song be helpful? Would someone telling you how awesome it is on the outside be helpful? Would someone berating you be helpful? What if someone told you about all the things you could do if you escaped? Is that actually helpful?
Personally, the thing that has helped the most, is when someone came and just sat beside me. Someone who didn’t pull me, or shame me. Someone who held my hand and said they would sit there as long as I needed.
When I was finally brave enough to give it a try, they would help me take one step. Then one more step. Then one more step. They would not make me go faster than I was comfortable doing, and they would not be frustrated when I stumbled. Maybe it would only take 20 steps to get to the exit, maybe it took a thousand. But they were there, quietly calm and encouraging.
It’s like how some people learn to swim by taking lessons. Having a coach show/tell them what to do and then letting them try in a safe, protected environment. They are taught how to blow bubbles, how to float, how to hold their breath as they go under water, how to put one arm in front of the other and kick their feet to propel themselves across the pool, how to enjoy the water and not be afraid, and eventually how to jump into the deep end. But that isn’t all learned in the first lesson. You learn small, specific things in each class and as you graduate one, you move to the next. On and on until you are fully confident and prepared for every part of the pool.
Or like going to therapy. From a small age I was taught to be embarrassed about needing help, to hide it. As an adult, when I finally took the first step, it was hard. It took a while, and I had to sift through several doctors before finding the right fit. But now, someone is there to help me navigate life. He teaches me healthy coping skills and encourages me to keep working. We discuss how to implement good habits and talk through how to eliminate damaging patterns. I learn how to love and accept myself unconditionally for who I am. I strive to be the best version of me that I can be.
I still have moments when I am encapsulated by darkness. My husband holds my hand. My doctor continues to teach me the skills to navigate. They both walk with me toward the light.
I am learning to swim.
**Depression/suicidal thoughts are very serious. If you, or someone you know, has these thoughts, please talk to someone: a pastor, a counselor, a doctor. There is help. Don’t wait!