Motion in My Ocean

Story

I hated swimming lessons as a kid. My parents dropped me off weekly at the local YMCA, and I would make the long dreaded trek down the “stairs of death” to the dressing rooms, over which hung, ironically, a painting of Jesus. I prayed to that picture before every dreaded lesson because I was terrified of the deep end of the pool. He did not respond in the way I hoped, as each week I was back on that staircase smelling chlorine and fear.

In an effort to explain my aquaphobia to my instructors, I once concocted some outrageous lie about how my grandparents (who were still alive *cough*) had drowned in some gruesome fashion. The teacher, wise beyond her years, didn’t buy it. I flunked that class. In fact, I flunked that class about seven times. There was no escaping my self-created hell.

I finally made it into the deep water in high school gym class when I was inspired to get through the lessons with as little visibility as possible. It was bad enough I had to wear a swimming suit displaying my awkward teen body in front of my classmates. I was not going to have a panic attack in the pool so that could be discussed in the lunch room ad nauseam. Thanks to peer pressure, I can now function fairly well in a body of water, as long as I don’t think about how much of it is under me.

Years passed and I found myself watching my son’s swimming lessons. The smell of chlorine stung my nose and took me back in time. I watched the teacher as she moved the kids down to the deep end of the pool, and I trembled a bit inside, feeling more than a wee bit of guilty relief that I was safe and dry on the bleachers.

The teacher lined the kids up by the diving board, slipped into the water, and invited them to jump from the board, one at a time, into her waiting arms. It was a pretty slick operation and she was busy catching the kiddos. My kiddo was last. He walked out to the edge, looked down at his teacher, and stood there. And stood there. And stood there. No amount of beckoning by the teacher got him off the board. My heart sunk and I thought, “This is how fear gets passed from generation to generation, just as my Mom’s fear of water had been passed on to me.”

David eventually climbed off the board and came over to me on the bleachers and told me, “Mom, it is scary. I don’t want to do it.”

I said he didn’t have to do it, but if he chose to jump he would be perfectly safe because the teacher would catch him, and it actually might be kind of fun. He considered this very carefully. Then I told him that I’d learned a powerful secret. “At times like this, thinking about it makes it much worse,” I said. “If you want to do it, you just have to walk up there and jump, because you already know you are going to be caught. Don’t think, just do it, but only if you want to.” I smiled at him and told him the choice was his. 

He looked at me for the longest time, then marched back over to the diving board, walked out to the very end, and jumped right in.

I cried.

Sometimes you have the great joy of watching your child do what you couldn’t do for yourself...but then, opportunities for expansion have a funny way of coming back around.

​Five years later, I went on a vacation with my girlfriends to the Florida Keys. One of the girls got the bright idea that we should all go snorkeling. In a moment of rum-laden madness, I agreed. “Oh, wouldn’t that be fun. I have never been snorkeling. Sign me up!”

I woke up the morning of the snorkeling event with a low-grade terror percolating in my gut. I tried to talk myself down thinking, “How bad can this be? Snorkeling is easy, right? Safe coves, pretty fish, boat right there...I know how to swim after all!”

Still, the terror grew throughout the day, and a few hours later I found myself on a speedboat headed out into the center of the ocean. Where was the safe cove?!!  Evidently not where I was going. We crashed over waves as the adventure guide told us that the waters were shark-ridden, but we should be safe. I was struggling to keep down my lunch.

The guide then gave us our instructions. I was trying to listen. Really, I was, but the blood pounding in my ears made this challenging. I triple checked my equipment: goggles - on, fins - on, goggles - on....  By this time, everyone was in the water but me.  I looked out over the choppy ocean. I could not see any other snorkelers because the waves were too big. I could not see land. I could not see how I was going to get my shaking little bootie into that water.

​In an act of sheer determination I moved to the edge of the boat and looked down. There was the deep water. Filled with sharks. A bottomless pit of doom.
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I worked my way over the side and started down the ladder. The water was freezing cold, and the boat was plunging in the waves. In a desperate lunge, I let go of the ladder and grabbed on to the boat’s anchor line where I clung like a bouncing rag doll. My terror was overwhelming. I could not let go of the line.

One of my girlfriends saw me flopping about and swam over. Being very astute, she quickly assessed the situation, then grabbed me by the shoulder, looked lovingly into my eyes and said, “Let go of the anchor line, honey. It is pulling you all over the place. Trust me, it will be much better if you just let go. It is time to let go now.”

This eventually descended into my panic-stricken brain. I had to let go. She saw this register, swam out a bit, and reached out to me. When I let go and took her hand, it was one of the bravest things I have ever done.

To my stunned disbelief, I discovered I was now floating gently with the waves. I was no longer being pulled every which way by the boat. I cannot tell you how much better this was. I snorkeled hand-in-hand with my friend until I felt ready to go solo. Then I paddled about by myself for several minutes. I am happy to say I did not see a single shark. Feeling complete, I climbed back onto the boat a proud as any Olympic gold medalist. Victory was mine!

At the end of our stay, we were packing our suitcases for the return flight and my girlfriend pulled me into her room and handed me one of her dresses. It was olive green with a leopard print. She told me, “I want you to have this. This dress suits you, and every time you put it on I want you to think about how brave you were.” 

My eyes filled with tears, and I thought about her words the whole flight home. Many things were beginning to brew in my life. I had outgrown my box, so to speak, and I knew it was time to face my fears. I had a feeling I would need to call up that kind of courage again.
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What Happened Next

Only a few months later, my husband and I took David to Sea World’s Discovery Cove to snorkel and swim with the dolphins. I loved communing with those beautiful creatures and later enjoyed floating about in my snorkeling gear. It was great fun for all of us and I have beautiful memories of that day.
    
We later visited Sea World’s amusement park, which happens to be the home of Kraken, one of the world’s great roller coasters with a 119 foot vertical loop, a 101 foot diving loop, a zero gravity roll, two-inversion cobra rolls, and a flat spin. It’s one heck of a ride.

I am not terribly fond of roller coasters. I once spent an entire day at Opryland when I was 13 trying to convince myself to get on a ride with a corkscrew turn in it. I wanted to do it, but I didn’t have the courage. Now the spiral of time had brought another loop de loop opportunity to my door. 

​David was my rebel, badass, indigo child who shook up all things safe and predictable in my world. So of course he was determined to ride Kraken. I watched him get on the ride, filled with enthusiasm and stood by the fence to watch his adventure as I swallowed down my anxiety.

While I waited for his turn on the coaster to be complete, all I could see from my perch at the rail were happy people getting off the ride. No one was sick. No one was scared. They were all having a fantastic time, and I was standing on the sidelines holding the sweaters. I remember my mom always held the sweaters. I never wanted to be the person holding the sweaters. What the heck was I doing?

David finally emerged from the ride. He was glowing. He loved it! (Of course he did.) And I spontaneously took the plunge and said, “Let’s do this together.”  

He looked at me in speculation because he knew I was not keen on the super coasters, and this was a doozy, but he gave in and we got in line.

As we walked underneath the ride, with its huge drops and curlycue turns and death defying tunnel, there, right beside the queue, was a young woman, nauseous and faint, who was laying on the ground with her anxious family hovering around her. 

I kept right on walking.

David, however, started pulling on my sleeve.  “Mom, are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to do this. Really! We can get out of the line right now. Mom?  Moooommmmm?”

I looked him calmly in the eye. “We are doing this.”

“But Mom, ummmm....” The poor kid was starting to twitch.
 
I refused to budge, gave him my “this is gonna be your excuse for therapy” smile, and said, “Get in kiddo. Here we go!”

About half way up the giant hill, a nervous giggle started to grow in my throat, and it exploded out of me as we crested the top and careened down in a twisting free fall. This was not a human sound that flew out of me...it was a cross between a hyena and a shrieking bird, but I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t feel my face. I was probably spitting on myself, but I didn’t care.

The coaster slid into neutral as it prepared for the next heroic attempt to break the law of gravity, and David looked at me, eyes big as saucers, and gasped “Are you OKAY????”

I was laughing now, tears streaming out of my eyes in sheer delight.  “Yup!” I hiccuped.

He collapsed back into the seat in relief. “Oh My God, I thought you were dying! What was that noise you were making?”

“The hyena bird thing?” I asked. “I think that was laughing.”

We both started to giggle and he grinned at me and said, “Well now we have to do the ride over again. I didn’t enjoy that first part at all.”   

By the time we were on round two, my arms were up in the air and I was flying free, squealing like a kid. Much to my amazement, I really enjoyed flying upside down in that endless sky.
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Insights

In hindsight, I can now see how my life was bringing me one situation after another that were designed to free me from my fears and liberate my energy. I call this kind of event an AFGO, which is an acronym for Another "Fabulous" Growth Opportunity. "Fabulous" is of course a relative term. Such events are fabulous at making us grow, but they also push us right up against our deepest issue, which never feels fabulous in the moment.

In the early days, AFGOs would sneak up on me by susrprise. Some opportunity would unfold in my life and appear all innocent and harmless (say a snorkeling trip), and I would think nothing epic was at stake; but it wouldn’t take long before my inner radar would pick up on the fact that my world view was being tested. Then my belly would begin doing back-flips. My gut always knows the truth of things, even when my mind is distracted, and my gut now knew that motion was entering my energy ocean.

This was happening because I had outgrown many protective strategies that were restricting my energy flow. I did not yet know why I'd put those restrictions in place or what was behind my fear of removing them. I could see, however, that the AFGOs were building upon each other in rapid fashion, which meant my soul was trying to get my attention. Whatever needed to shift was important. 

I began to ask myself what these deep-seated fears were really about and discovered that I just did not trust myself to create positive experiences and therefore resisted my energy flow. Fear was my gatekeeper. Some old wound was hiding in the depths of my being and my subconscious had walled it off and was protecting it at all costs. 

The truth of this came roaring home when I receiving a Reiki attunement on the spur of the moment (no prior thought or planning involved) and freaked out when the energy started to move through me. Later, when doing meditation, I hit the same wall of fear again and again.

I was reluctant to discover what this block was all about. I intuitively knew that if I brought my awareness into it, things would start to move in chaotic ways and everything might just change as a result. This terrified me.

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Conclusion

How does one take on such a journey of personal liberation? In the same way one eats an elephant - one small bite at a time. You chew on the mouthful you are given, knowing you will never be given more than you can swallow.

I discovered through experience that small steps got me where big steps could not. Big steps were often really scary, and if the step felt too big I would fight, freeze, or flee. Small steps, on the other hand, were manageable. My small victories built my strength and my confidence in myself. They also created momentum that carried me over hurdles and I suddenly found myself doing the previously impossible inconceivable thing.

This process of peeling away resistance and growing my inner capacity has been a life work. I understand now just  how significant those first big AFGOs really were and I pat myself on the back for having the courage to engage them. I was opening myself to much more than I realized. Yet, a deeper part of me knew I had to expand beyond my fear in order to truly live the life I came here to live. ​
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A few years after my snorkeling and rollercoaster adventure, I found myself at a crossroads where, to be authentic, I had to embrace an ocean of shadow and unknown potentials. The leap of faith required made those earlier acts of courage look small in comparison, yet it was those very AFGOs that taught me what I needed to know and proved to me that I would succeed if I committed myself to the leap. At the time of this choice point, I received a drawing from my friend, the one who helped me while snorkeling. It was a picture she drew of the old anchor line and my choice for freedom. She reminded me without words that in such circumstances it is always much better to let go and trust.
 

Portal Perspective - We must face what we fear to expand into our true potential.

Key to Success - Small steps made with clear intent create big progress.
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