Learning to swim

Hanging out on the beach near the pool

My earliest experiences in the water were in the bathtub, with someone, a parent or baby sitter watching over me. In the summer, when I was young, we swam at a beach club on Long Island Sound. Swimming in the sound wasn’t my favorite because then I was scared of the marine critters, but I loved the pool. At age 3, I really loved the “baby pool” which was a fairly large half circle about waist high deep for kids that age. We would run, porpoise and alligator or crab walk, and even play freeze tag. The baby pool was separated from the “big pool” (lap pool with deep end for diving) by a one foot thick concrete wall, the same height as the surrounding pool edge. The lifeguard would whistle at us little humans if we stood or sat on the dividing wall without an adult nearby. So we stayed in the baby pool, which felt so fun and safe. I loved going in the pool so much that in the summer I would beg and beg, “when are we going to the pool?” and be soooo excited when we finally went.

My Dad, on the weekends, was often trying to get me to swim in the big pool, and I would if I had my bubble, which was a styrofoam egg shape with a waist belt. By age 5, I was starting to have swim lessons during summer camp with swim instructor and head lifeguard, Rod. He would lightly hold us at our belly or back while we floated. But I was struggling with having confidence to swim without support. So on the weekends, my father would have to work to convince me to sit on that baby pool/big pool dividing wall, and then he would step a short distance away and encourage me to swim to him. But, when he did this, he would do the trick of stepping further away while I was trying to reach him. Once I discovered this was the plan, I became more resistant to the activity. I think my response was frustrating for him. I still remember feeling like I couldn’t trust him in that situation. I think this was a relevant seed to the part of me that is resistant to pushing or pressure. I also recognized an expectation of exceeding rather than simply achieving the goal. I think this is an approach my father inherited from his father.

My paternal grandmother, Kiki, would also swim with me in the big pool, almost anytime I wanted when I was with her. (Kiki would always wear a swim cap with a flower.) She would let me hang onto her shoulders while she swam laps. I knew she loved doing this with me. It felt really safe and also fun. It was almost like when ducks and other waterbirds allow their young to ride nestled on their back. She would ask me if I was OK swimming this way without my bubble, and I would say “yes” because I knew she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.  I think doing this with her made me more comfortable in the big pool while also feeling safe. Then later, when swim lessons involved holding onto the wall and kicking, I could remember the safety of holding onto Kiki’s shoulders.

As I became better at swimming, around age 8, I started swimming laps with Kiki. We would also play a funny game where I would carry her around in the pool, to pretend like I was a super strong kid who could carry an adult, but of course she was floating.  (We continued this practice of swimming laps together into my 20s.)

Thinking about this memory of how I learned to swim reminds me that when I’m with someone who really cares about me and takes me down a path gently and mindfully, and asks kindly if I’m open to doing something, I AM safe because they want me to feel safe and be open to receiving while I’m exploring the path they want to gift to me.

Also, reflecting on this further, I recognize that me doing something challenging can and should be a fun thing where, if learning and growth happens, it’s from a place of love or friendship or care, rather than being an activity hyperfocused on achievement being a condition for being loved.