Open Water

A postcard from Tivat, Montenegro 🇲🇪

🎧 Now Playing: Be Like Water (featuring Stevie Wonder & Nas) - PJ Morton

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I conquered a fear today. Ever since my first swimming lesson aged seven, I've feared that I would enter the water and it would carry me away, leaving me with no control over what would happen next. It wasn't a fear of water per se but a fear of what the water symbolised. Letting go of control, reckless abandon, freedom. These were all things that I struggled to relate to as a seven-year-old and still struggle to connect to now. But today, I wouldn't let that stop me.

In the many situations where I have been called to enter open water, I've never done so with confidence. Be it jumping off a boat into the sea in Thailand or climbing down a ladder into a bay in Montenegro, I've always done so with the security of a life jacket (which I won't look down on - they do exist for a reason) even though I know I can swim. For me, life jackets are almost an anchor as opposed to an insurance tool. 

It took a record-beating three swimming lessons to get over my fear of jumping into a pool. My fearsome, yet endlessly patient French swimming instructor, Annette (God rest her soul), was a former ballerina who would not take no for an answer. And so, with Annette's guidance, I progressed from jumping into the pool to swimming 10 metres to swimming 25 to swimming 50 to passing my life-saving training, and becoming a competent swimmer, but that didn't change how I felt about the water.  I believe that most people can learn any skill and that's probably the attitude that made me a good yet unconfident swimmer. So today was the day that I decided I was going to swim confidently in open water.

This morning, I slipped on my swimsuit underneath my dress. As I walked to the bay, I tried to talk myself out of taking the plunge. I even walked in the wrong direction, perhaps intentionally, before accidentally coming across an even better place to swim - there was no backing down now. And so I peeled off my sundress, laid my beach towel onto the floor and psyched myself up. It's not that deep (literally and figuratively). There's a ladder. There's a ledge to stand on. Even kids are in the water! You can do this. And so I got in.

Once I swam out a few metres, the first thing I tried to do was to float on my back where I've always felt most comfortable. As I flipped over from my front to my back, my chest became tight and, before I knew it, I was hyperventilating. This was not going to plan but I told myself, "You are staying in this water. You are going to stay in this water until you're able to float and you're not going to drown, because that would be embarrassing." There's nothing like the fear of public shame to spur you on. I tried to regulate my breathing; I tried to take deep breaths but my exhales were still shallow. When I realised I wouldn't be able to relax in the way I'd like, I switched back to swimming on my front and then treading water. While my breaths still resembled sharp gasps, I persevered and stayed in the water for another 5 minutes. A lady swimming close to me looked over at me slightly concerned - she must have wondered whether I was even enjoying myself, but how could I not when I had the view of a gorgeous sunset over the bay?

I got out of the water, sat on my beach towel and sunbathed for a moment to dry off. It was time to assess the situation. On the whole, I'd rate that experience a 4/10. Good in the sense that I didn't drown and terrible since I felt uncomfortable the entire time. I took some time to remember the practices that I use to regulate myself in stressful situations outside of the water and so I did something that I hadn't done for a while: I meditated. I began with deep inhales and deeper exhales, then moved on to square breathing - breath in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. 

Golden hour was now in full effect; I could see the sun hovering over the sea and people basking in it. I visualised myself as one of those people: relaxed, soaking up the beauty of this moment, and so confident of my ability to swim that I don't even have room for doubt. I can float on my back. I can starfish. I can swim frontstroke and breaststroke. I can tread water. I can do all of those things, maintain my breathing, stay calm and enjoy the experience. These were the mantras that I repeated to myself. I felt myself entering the pool before I realised it was happening and preserving the breathing I had taken from my beach towel turned yoga mat, I re-entered.

I stood on the ledge by the ladder with my back facing the sunset and continued my deep exhales, inhales, and deeper exhales. I clung onto the ladder on my back - inhale, exhale - and let the sea take me. I felt a freedom that I had never felt in the water before, floating on my back and surrendering to the tide with the sun on my face. After a while, I felt confident enough to tread water and take in my surroundings. As I gazed at the beautiful mountains, majestic palm trees, and boats in the distance, I thought of that moment as honouring seven-year-old me. She would think I was the coolest girl in the world swimming in open water with no floats, no life supports, nothing more than confidence and security of knowing that I can. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways I can honour Baby Bleggs, as I like to call the younger version of me. Baby Bleggs who was forced to grow up too quickly and often didn't have the chance to revel in the moments that define most peoples' childhoods. Every second I spent in the water nourished her; the water washed over me like a balm and by the time I dried off, I couldn't help but feel giddy like the seven-year-old who still lives inside of me.

Views of the bay and a post-swim selfie ✨