My head bobs between air and water, my vision blurry on both planes. The feeling of nausea creeps in from the rollercoaster of what my eyes won’t shut out–they stay wide open, refusing to shut down the sickness they’re creating and instead welcoming the onslaught of a deep burning sensation. The screams are both audible and inaudible, muffled words I don’t comprehend, but a tone I interpret as familiar. I’m sucking liquid into my lungs and coughing it back up in a disjointed rhythm that fills my body with panic. My belly rises and falls involuntarily, doing its best to reconnect with the comfort of its daily pace, unable to come to terms with this sensation of imbalance. My arms surrender with an inability to rotate, flailing sideways in syncopated failure, as my legs struggle to connect with one another in a dance they don’t yet understand. My body is fighting to survive, to control the elements around me, but I have no conscious knowledge of my dire situation nor how to adjust the outcome. My body is merely reacting and I am flooded with nothing more than an overwhelm of new feelings.
But yet, the submerged viewpoint is serene because beneath the chaos, the delicate pink and blue ruffles of my swimsuit are merrily swaying, embracing the carefree movement forced upon them with glee. The light fills the translucence with bright blues and ripples of white, transforming blue to green and green to blue in an endless parade of quietness, warping reality into a mirage.
What I cannot see becomes clear. There are hands outstretched behind me, cautiously releasing me into an abyss with blind encouragement. I can’t yet, nor may I ever, understand the dichotomy of terror and bravery that shakes the water around my body as my mother suspends belief in favor of trust for a small moment and propels me forward. The current she creates gives my lungs lift and the power of her release echoes in my trajectory. I imagine her wild hair framing mixed contortions on her face, all of which I have experienced in my short lifetime and subconsciously relate to safety. She is beaming and hopeful, broken and scared. This release of control will be repeated in unlimited cycles as I grow into my own power, unlocking a stronghold that pits grace against fury. She is a catalyst that will build my confidence as much as break it. We will struggle to accept this juxtaposition as essential antonyms, but for now, our energies allow us to embody the mystery that can never be explained as we float together.
There are hands outstretched in front of me, guiding me to them through gentle waves that invisibly send the force of water outward and then inward. These hands can envision my future strength. They believe in my capability to conquer the vastness between them. I move a millimeter towards a direction I can’t determine, acknowledging the tension sucking me under and unknowingly trusting my body to keep me afloat. My eyes adjust to the foreign environment for a brief moment and I see my father’s eyes appear with excitement, connecting with mine. I watch the bubbles form from his nose and float slowly upward, compelling me to mirror his calm. He’s smiling. In this moment, he is unafraid of his natural element, eager to share this portal of suspension with me. A place where we can be weightless and free to move in all directions without the constraints of the exterior world, which will become our battlefield. We are here, in this space, together, on an adventure that will become an infinite memory we return to in the future, time and time again.
Before I learned to walk, I learned to swim.
This moment represents the complexity of love. It rarely exists without a myriad of other emotions.
When I was young, my parents told me I could be anything and do anything, but their words existed alongside a parallel belief fueled by fear that manifested criticism and control. While I learned to feel confident, I also learned to feel misunderstood. Without awareness, I slowly strangled our connection to death, locking myself away. In an attempt to support me, they let me disconnect. Parts of me wish we all had known better, but that hope does little in retrospect. Writing here and now is the ownership of the part I played in our unraveling. There is no blame in our past actions, but an acceptance of what transpired and where we are now.
The past can serve as a reservoir of pain, love, or a beautiful mess of both. I choose it to be all of the above.
