I don’t like going out in boats. There is something about a “recreational” structure floating out in the vast expanse of dark deep water where at any moment a storm could strike, sending me to an untimely death, which makes the idea of a relaxing boat ride nonexistent in my world. The bright orange vest I’m casually offered brings me no comfort.
When I first met my husband, the smell of chlorine would make my chest pound uncontrollably. My hands would shake and my eyes fill with tears. A bad learning to swim experience left me with a haunting and irrational fear. He was patient with me and encouraged me to spend time in the water. We spent days and days working on floating. He’d ask me to relax and lie on my back and he would support me, but I’d let fear take over and I’d find myself sinking.
“Stop fighting against me, against the water. You need to trust me.