As a child, I took swimming lessons but never managed to conquer my fear of the water. The fear began when I was stung by a jellyfish in the Chesapeake Bay and intensified after witnessing my younger brother’s near-drowning incident at a motel pool. My father, who also couldn’t swim, jumped in to save him, but it was my mother who ultimately rescued them both with a pool pole. These experiences led me to avoid the water altogether.
When my own children came along, I was determined they wouldn’t share my fate. My husband also lacked swimming skills, which only fueled my resolve for our children to be safe in the water. I enrolled my daughter, Mia, in swimming lessons throughout preschool. However, her fear escalated to the point where she wouldn’t even dip her toes in the water. I eventually told her she didn’t have to go anymore, and the relief in her hug was bittersweet.
I found myself repeating this cycle with Mia’s younger sister, Lily, who also struggled with swimming lessons. While I cherished the hugs they offered me, it broke my heart to think they might grow up feeling sidelined, just like I did.
Then, an unexpected turn of events occurred. Both girls, seemingly overnight, discovered their confidence in the water and learned to swim on their own. I remember watching Mia fearlessly dive into the pool, whooping with joy as she splashed into the deep end. I couldn’t help but tear up, realizing how far she had come while I remained rooted in my fear.
That year, we took a trip to Hawaii, where a friend, Sarah, a passionate swimmer from the North Shore, invited Mia to join her on a kayaking adventure. As they paddled into the ocean, my nerves spiked, but then Lily insisted on swapping places with Mia and joined the adventure too. I sat on the beach, pretending to be calm while anxiety churned inside me.
When Sarah offered me a turn in the kayak, I was horrified. Thoughts raced through my mind: I’ll drown, get water up my nose, ruin my hair. Yet, I imagined my future self—always on the sidelines, smiling but never participating. In a moment of vulnerability, I asked Sarah if she could save me if needed. She reassured me with a simple “Yes.” So, I donned the life vest and climbed into the kayak. Before I knew it, laughter filled the air as we paddled together, the ocean’s energy thrilling beneath us. When we finally returned to shore, Mia ran to me, wrapping her arms around me, understanding the significance of my leap into the unknown.
Despite these moments, I still never learned to swim. My marriage ended, and two years later, my daughters and I joined a local Y. At long last, I took my first swimming lesson in decades. I got my hair wet and swallowed some water, but I didn’t drown. Life’s responsibilities often distracted me, and I never completed my lessons.
For a long time, I believed I was setting my daughters a poor example, but they both triumphed over their fears and learned to swim. How could this be? I might still learn to swim one day, but I’m no longer embarrassed by my lack of skills. What I realize now is that the true legacy I’m passing on is the importance of trying, regardless of the outcome. My daughters have seen my efforts, and in that, I find success.
In conclusion, the journey of parenting is not merely about achieving personal goals but about instilling resilience and tenacity in our children. You can learn more about insemination and parenting at Intracervical Insemination and for more essential resources, check out Genetics and IVF Institute.