Today I am sharing this little window into my brain with you all.
I am sharing this because I know there are others like me who may find it helpful to read another story of someone with Aqua Phobia.
June, 2013
My mother instincts are screaming at me. They are telling me
to insist that we turn this car around. We continue forward.
My tears are pooling in the corners of my eyes, threatening
to spill out. I try to hide them; especially from my handful of little ones
eagerly sitting behind me. They are all safe in their seat belts. They are all
doing well. They can breathe. They are warm. They are healthy and fed.
We could just go home, where is it safe. We could just go to
Grandma’s; where it’s safe. To a park, to a store, to a restaurant? No, we are
going to go put our children in danger.
We were given all of these precious angels as a gift, and we
are going to bring them straight into a place where they are not safe. A place
where I am helpless. A place I have
nightmares about.
My husband is excited. The kids are giggling and chattering
about what’s ahead. I am looking forward to it. Yes, I too am excited.
I am a logical person. I think realistically most of the
time. I am practical. I have been blessed with a healthy brain; I can control
my thoughts. But I cannot control this. My anxiety is speaking louder and
louder. I have Aqua phobia.
We pull into the Marina, and I realize my muscles are tense.
I try to relax. I see all the boats; they are a pretty sight. But that water. That deep dark water under
the dock. If one of my children fell in
there, I would be helpless. I couldn’t get them out. If more than one of my
children fell in…
We jump from the dock onto the big boat. I am tense again,
and it is so hard to relax. There are as many adults as there are children. We
are all ok. There are no big waves here in the Marina. Have faith, I tell
myself.
When we go down into the cabin, I feel a little bit safer.
And then I imagine being stuck in here with my little ones while the boat is
capsized. Rational me reminds me that we are just sitting at a dock, there is
no way we are going to flip. I feel silly for my own thoughts.
I try not to show my
children my fear. I want them to be able to enjoy the water. One of them is
more fearful, and clings to me. Another carefully explores. Wayward toddler
climbs up things, fearlessly hanging her top half over the rail. The baby falls
asleep, clearly enjoying the rocking and swaying of the boat.
The life jackets are all secured and the engines are fired
up. I feel a knot in my stomach. I wonder if I am going to throw up. We slowly
troll out into the river. When we get to the big water, we go faster. It is fun
but I find I am waiting for it to be over. The wind feels lovely in my hair. I
can feel the spray of the water and hear the pulsing of the bow slapping the
water. I love it. But I want it to stop.
When one of my children gets nervous, I am unsure of words to comfort
her. I look to my husband for support.
He smiles at her and she is alright.
Back at the marina, I feel a little better. I faced my
fears, and we are all ok. Part of me says of course we are all ok! What did I
really think would happen!? We bring the
littles to the Marina pool, and they swim in their life jackets. The deep end
in this pool is no deeper than my head. My fears are gone while they swim. I
can indeed save them in this pool if I need to. I am not helpless.
On the way home I have such mixed feelings I could give
myself whiplash. I feel accomplished that I faced my fears. I am so relieved
that we are all safe. I want to go back
out on the boat. I am amazed at what an impact that one experience I had as a
teenager had on my whole entire life!
July 2004
I am a teenager. I am fearless. I want to have fun. I am a
very weak swimmer.
After running in the sand dunes, and playing hopscotch on
the beach, my friends and I splash into Lake Huron. The waves are huge and it’s
so fun to ride them. We jump when they
come and they give us a ride as they pass by. We are laughing and thoroughly
enjoying ourselves. We swim out to the first sandbar and continue to jump with
the waves.
Someone decides to swim to the second sandbar a little
further out, and everyone heads that way. I tag along, slowly doggy-paddling
along behind the group. I grow tired. The waves are huge. A few of my friends
reach the sidebar, and are jumping waves. I look at them and realize that in
between the waves, the water is up to their necks. They are all taller than me.
I realize I will not be able to reach
the bottom once I get to that sandbar.
I look back to the shore. It’s so far away. The waves begin
to crash over my head. I spit out some water and yell for the closest friend to
me. She swims back to me. In my panic, I grab her shoulders, pushing her to the
bottom, trying to be higher than the water. To breathe. To rest my limbs from
frantic paddling.
She throws me off of her, and comes to the surface of the
water. “You are going to drown me!” she exclaims, and keeps her distance from
me. She yells out to the others,
“HEEEEEEELP!!” I am fighting these waves that are trying to get in my mouth. I
hear a yell back, “Oh, you’re fine!” I
did my best to scream HELP, I was weak they didn’t hear it.
I am done. This is it. I am so young and I am going to die.
Right here in this big lake. I’ll be washed away in
the dark and my family will
have no body to mourn over. I am so helpless in this big strong lake. Help me
God. Please help me.
I blacked out after that failed attempt at screaming for
help. The next thing I remember was being shook and yelled at, “PUT YOUR FEET
DOWN SYLVIE! STAND UP!” Two of my
friends were standing on either side of me, each of them linking their elbow in
mine, and my legs were floating behind us. We waded in to shore, where they
dropped me in the sand. My face was a little blue. I coughed a little, and said I was ok. They
all went splashing back out into the lake.
I wrapped a sweatshirt around myself, dropped down onto a
towel, and curled up in a ball face down. I trembled. All I wanted was to sit
in my Mother’s lap. I wanted to curl up so small and melt into my Mum, where it
feels so safe and warm. I was a teenager at that time, bucking against my
parents, and wanting to be away from them always. But in that moment, nothing
sounded better than being with my parents.
June 2007
I am married to a man who loves to swim. We are on Maui,
Hawaii. He crashes into the ocean waves head first. I lay in the sun on my
towel, content to keep out of the beautiful ocean. Once in a while, I go in up
to my waist, bending over to get my head wet and cool off. Then it is back to
the beach I go; to lay safely in the sand.
My hubby wants to snorkel. I want to snorkel. But I am so
afraid. If we snorkel, we’ll end up in water where I cannot reach bottom.
The whole time we are on vacation, realistic me fights with
aquaphobic me. On our last day there I
decide if I don’t snorkel now, it is likely I’ll regret it. I opt for a floaty
instead of flippers, and we go. We go right into the deep water.
I clutch onto my board, and peek down into the water. For a
moment I forget my fears. What an amazing world is just right here, under the
surface! My dear hubby swims circles
around me, eagerly checking out all the amazing coral and sea life around us. I
cling to my board and watch whatever fish happens to swim into my line of
vision. I try to get used to breathing through the snorkel but still have to
come up for air now and then.
As I begin to feel comfortable floating on my board another
fear begins to grow. If a shark comes along, he could pull me down into that
deep water. Then I could drown. I would be so helpless in this endless water.
Logical me tries to shut out the fearful voice. I remind
myself that it is so rare that humans are attacked by sharks that it is silly
for me to worry. But the fear still dances in the back of my head.
The fear of a shark is more of being pulled into the water
than of losing a limb or being injured. I know it is unrealistic, yet I struggle to
control these feelings.
June 2011
My hubby is still a fish.
He wants to build a big pool in our yard… one that he can dive into without
bonking his head. He is very tall. This means he wants a very deep pool in our
yard.
I think about it. I worry. I think about it some more. I
decide I do not want to live in fear. I need to learn to swim. My children
would be so much better off if they grew up near water. Then they can learn to
swim young, and won’t have to be as fearful as I am. Ok, let’s do this. Build a
pool right here.
The yard is a disaster. My husband is hospitalized a couple
times along the way, making the pool build process take a long time. We have a
huge muddy hole in our yard for a while. It doesn’t bother me much.
The following summer, the pool is full of water and everyone
loves it. And I am having nightmares.
I often dream that a child falls into that deep pool and I cannot
get them out. It is too deep. I cannot keep them and me up. I wake up afraid,
and go check on my littles to see that they are all still safe and sound.
I am excited to have this pool. But I am also so afraid.
Today
I am sometimes ashamed of my fear. In other situations, I
have so much more mind control. So many others cannot understand it. I know it
is unrealistic to be so afraid. I want to enjoy life. I don’t want to pass my
fear on to my children.
I am not afraid of death. But I do have a strong will to
live. I have never felt so helpless and overpowered in my life as I did that
day I almost drowned. That lack of control, that panic, that helpless feeling,
has never left me to this day. This is why I am afraid of deep water. My
inability to swim, combined with those fearful feelings are what make me sure I
could not help my little ones out of deep water.
That experience on the boat has given me a new determination
though. I will learn to swim. I will enjoy the water. I will keep my fears from my children.
One small step at a time I will do it. And I’ll need help
along the way.
Sylvie Liv
