Catch Your Breath
Standing on the edge of the pool, I looked over at my sister, who was maybe 4 or 5 years old at the time. She was splashing on the steps of the shallow end.
I’m done with the shallow end, I thought. I’m 9 years old - old enough to jump into the deep end.
So I jumped. The cold water enveloped me. My body fell until my toes touched the bottom, and I pushed myself back above water. It was exhilarating.
One day, it occurred to me I could take my sister with me. I could let her get on my back and half-walk, half-bounce down that slope between the shallow and the deep.
Surprisingly, she was hesitant when I unveiled my plan to her. It took great convincing on my part and lots of promises not to go any farther than where she felt safe.
Finally, she got on my back and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I walked slowly to the slope. One baby step down. Two steps. Three.
At the third step, I slipped.
We both went under. My sister’s hands slipped from my shoulders to my throat. It felt as if she believed the only way she could be saved was to hold my throat with increasingly intense strength. My mind got foggy. And I couldn’t figure out which way to go to find safety. The only thing I felt sure of was that I was drowning.
As crazy as it may sound, I can’t remember how we were saved. Maybe it’s because we made it to the shallows, and it wasn’t as dramatic to everyone else as I remember it. But that moment is one I think about often. And every time I think about that panic or feel it rising up in me over something I’m facing, I try to remember panic usually doesn’t save anyone. Signaling we need help can be lifesaving. But most of the time, panic hinders rather than helps.
