By Kathleen Bertrand
For as long as I can remember—and even longer—I’ve been terrified of water. My parents tell me stories of me as baby screaming in the bath and, as a toddler, crying through Father and Tot swim classes. I don’t have a dramatic story of almost drowning, so I don’t really know where the fear came from, only that it’s always been there.
Not surprisingly, I’ve never managed to learn how to swim. Not for lack of trying though. As a kid, every summer I took swimming lessons. As the week of classes approached, I tingled with nerves and my stomach was one big knot. Even now, 25 years later, when I think about the lessons, I can feel the heavy dread which hung over those sunny summer days.
I just kept failing. As I got older and taller, the kids in my swimming class got younger and smaller. Soon my younger brother passed me and I was still stuck in the first level. Now my instructors would have to take me to the deeper end to jump in because the shallow end was barely up to my waist. It seems like I spent hours, toes curled over the edge of the pool, with the instructor waiting for me to jump while all the much younger kids watched from the water in the shallow end. As I continued to fail summer after summer, I welcomed the ear infections that usually put an early end to them. Finally, I think my parents felt sorry for me, and one blissful summer I didn’t have to go.
Of course being a swimming class drop-out didn’t mean that I could leave my fear behind. Growing up on the West Coast of British Columbia, water is everywhere. My fear forced me to either stay on dry land or suffer if I couldn’t avoid the water. No swimming at summer camp for me. I watched everybody’s backpacks on excursions to the water slides. I endured one agonizing three-day school sailing trip where I tried to hide in my sleeping bag to avoid going out onto a dorry. (It didn’t work.)
As I grew up and into adulthood, not being able to swim had become part of my identity. I clutched tight to my fear, even embellishing it when it suited me. It was something I was proud of in a strange way. It was a safe way to be vulnerable; it was a good excuse for sitting on the sidelines; and, once I met my water-loving husband-to-be, it was a great reason to have him wrap his arms around me in the pool. I was comfortable with my fear and had decided that I could never learn how to swim.
DANGEROUS WOMAN!
So imagine the look on my husband’s face when one day back in March, out of the blue, I told him I was signing up for swimming lessons! I had been feeling God poking at me when I first read the I am a Dangerous Woman Declaration. So when Idelette issued her dare, I knew God had something for me. I’m a bit new to looking and listening for God to show up in my life, but when the word “fear” kept cropping up, it became obvious. It was time to finally face my fear. So I bought a new bathing suit, registered for lessons and told Facebook I was going to jump into the deep end at the end of my five-week class.
During the second class, our instructor brought us all over to the deep end and told us to jump in! Right then I realized God might have bigger plans for me in this than I had made for myself. I had a choice: I could settle back into my comfortable fear and excuses or I could see where God would take me. And for the first time I decided to jump.
During each of my ten classes, I felt God show up again and again. God was there in the big, flashy moments, like that first jump.
I am here. I am with you.
God was there in the smaller, discouraging moments, as I tried and failed to kick and lift up my head to breath. I am here. I am with you. Over and over. I am here. I am with you.
The Saturday after my classes were over, I went with my husband and two kids to the pool to do what had been dubbed My Big Jump. I alerted the lifeguard that I had never jumped off the diving board by myself before and to please come rescue me if I didn’t come back up. I climbed up to the one-meter board. Then I jumped. As I came up, I didn’t quite feel the exhilaration I had been expecting. Only then did I feel the three-meter board daring me to climb up.
Once again I accepted what felt like a divine dare. I climbed to the top and immediately began swearing. It was so beeping high! However, like in so many moments during these classes, I felt God. I am here. I am with you.
So I looked down (big mistake), whispered my battle cry prayer, “You make me brave” and jumped! I popped up, swam to the side, and immediately broke down crying. I’d gone so much farther than I had ever planned. I could maybe, possibly, perhaps, actually learn to swim.
Through my lessons, God showed me that who I am is not the version I have constructed for myself. What I believe to be true about who I am can be changed if I cooperate. My only identity is as a Dangerous Daughter of God. All I need to do is claim this truth and let God do the rest. God is here. God is with me. My job is to lean out and jump and God will catch me, taking me deeper and deeper each time. From the edge of the shallow end to the three-meter diving board, God will catch me.
I didn’t pass my class and I’m still scared of the water. But I am no longer Kathleen-Who-Can’t-Swim, but Kathleen-Who-is-Learning-to-Swim. And I’m registering for classes again in the fall.
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About Kathleen:
Born and raised on the West Coast of Canada, I am a happiest with a cuppa tea and a good book. I work in museum exhibit design, but I am currently spending most of my time learning to be a great mummy to my two wee ones. I live in between the mountains and the beach in Port Moody, BC but half my heart lives in Brittany, France.
