My 6-year old, Ellie, finished an intense swim program yesterday. Her instructor claimed success in only eight sessions with a “tough love” method. She pushed students’ heads into the water and towards the steps with little explanation. They were thrown into the water, often kicking and screaming. Putting their faces in simply wasn’t optional.
My oldest child, Camden, didn’t need these classes. When enrolled in regular swim school, she drove herself through every level with relentless determination. But my Ellie, my sweet Ellie, needed something more. She did nine months of regular swim school, “red-carded” every week, never putting her face in. She needed a push.
I, too, need a push. I find it very easy— too easy— to only spectate. I don’t want to become a judgmental critic. I want to be vulnerable, living my messy life alongside yours, remaining humble, honest & engaged.
I need to write. First for me, because failing to write makes my heart sad. It helps me to think, process, and grow. Secondly, for my kids. I’d like them to have a mother who doesn’t stand still, but moves in the direction of her life’s great loves. Maybe one day they will read it and learn about me and about themselves. Lastly, for my community— to offer up my light as a fellow doer.
Ellie swims now. I can’t say that it’s pretty; it’s more powerful than pretty. She explodes through the water. If she wasn’t moving forward, you might think she was drowning. But she is, in fact, swimming. All she needed was a little shove.
So here I go, world. It may not be pretty, but I join my mess with yours. I fear that if I don’t move forward, I just might drown.