In an effort to slow down the weight that has been piling on at an alarming rate, I decided to take up swimming. I went for the first time recently, and as I lowered myself into the pool, I was surprised to find my feet touching the bottom. For some reason, I was certain I was getting in at the deep end. Hmmm, that’s odd. Maybe the whole pool is one depth. It is for swimming laps, after all. I pushed off from the edge and started into a breaststroke. As I crossed the middle of the pool, I noticed the water turning a deeper shade of blue. Suddenly I was gripped with panic as I realized I was swimming into the deep end. My head spun as I tried to control myself and make it safely to the edge. I rested for a few minutes, grateful for the small ledge on which to stand. I tried to slow my racing heart and get on top of the fear.

You see, for as long as I can remember, I have been terrified of deep water. Yes, even deep end of the pool deep water. Usually it only strikes when I’m alone, but here there were other people with me, swimming their laps, blissfully unaware of my panic. So I was rather unprepared for my reaction, and left reeling in its wake. I tried to talk myself down, and pushed off into the water again, a steady stream of its okay, you’re just in a pool, nothing can hurt you, look at all the other people here, the words just barely seeming to keep me afloat. Each time I approached the deep end, I would have to start up again, feeling like I was only just keeping a grip on myself. When I switched to the backstroke, I would forget I was going into the deep end, forget the running dialog, only to be washed over by panic again when I reached the wall and realized where I was. It almost reminded me of contractions, how they’re so much worse when you’re not prepared and taken off guard.

The fear waxed and waned the whole time I was in the pool, but it never left me, never fully relaxed its hold. And let’s not even talk about what it’s like to jump into a lake where I can’t touch and can’t see the bottom. Even in the company of friends, I always feel like I’m teetering on the edge of hysteria, ready to collapse into a mindless, trembling heap at the slightest provocation. On the surface no one would know, would catch only the slightest trace of panic on my face if I looked around and saw I was alone. But inside, a part of my brain was locked in a constant battle to maintain control over the primal urge to flee.

I have often wondered about how this fear came about, what planted the seed for such an irrational, emotional reaction. I have vague memories of swimming lessons as a child, windows in the deep end, asking what they were, being told there were aquariums full of sharks, and if we didn’t behave, they would get in the pool. I don’t honestly know if this happened or not, but I’ve always attributed my fear to this memory.

Motherhood has relegated me to the shallow waters of little beaches where my daughter can safely splash and play, so I haven’t faced this fear in a while. Deep water hasn’t entered my life for at least several years. Not until the other day anyway. With the memory so fresh in my mind, I brought this fear to the latest session with my healer. I am ready to let it go, to loose the chain around my neck that is threatening to pull me down and under.

She listened intently to my story, my memory, my emotions, looking into my eyes, nodding her head. Then she said, And you know what water represents. Not a question. A statement. Because it’s true, I do know what it represents. I even wrote about it here:

I’ve spent most of my adult life circling the shoreline of my emotions, dipping a toe in here and there, eyeing the water suspiciously, convinced there was a shark lying in wait, ready to rip me to shreds. Talk therapy made me comfortable enough to draw up a chair and soak up the sun, but I always stayed a safe distance from the water, content to observe and comment, but never immerse. It wasn’t until I started seeing my homeopath/healer and craniosacral therapist, and started working with my mind and body that I took to wading into that water, sometimes even plunging in head first, frolicking in the waves, floating on my back, drifting wherever the currents might lead.

And suddenly the veil was lifted. Deep water. Deep emotions. Can’t see the bottom. Don’t know my way out. The obviousness of it rose up and smacked me in the forehead. I even used the symbolism of a shark in that paragraph. I always have to chuckle ruefully when I discover how I’ve hidden myself from myself, right in plain sight.

The funny thing is, this was just the doorway into our session, the jumping off point that led us so much farther – to what those emotions were, where they were coming from, how I could own and honor them. And as always, to release, and deep healing and love.

When I got home I headed for the pool. I slipped into the water, crossed back and forth, from shallow to deep, rhythmically moving my body through the water … waiting for the fear. But it never came.