Notes to My 12 Year Old Self: Take the Plunge
My Dearest Little C,
Remember when mom and dad called you The Fish because you never got out of the pool? There wasn’t anything anyone could do to pry you from the water. You started taking lessons at age two and it was love at first dive. Blowing bubbles, kicking your legs, feeling the breath fill your lungs when you returned to the surface — jumping into the pool felt like jumping into the arms of your best friend. You were safe. You were powerful. You were weightless.
Yes, weightless. I know the notion of it seems impossible now, but try to remember. When you were little, you never thought about how you looked in a swimsuit. You knew that putting one on meant you were one step closer to the pool. You didn’t care if your thighs touched because your legs were strong. You didn’t worry about jiggling arms because they gave the best hugs. You didn’t care about the size of your stomach because that was where your belly laughs lived.
The anxiety about your body started as a light buzz. You had always been much taller than your friends, but noticed that you were slowly growing outward instead of up. Your parents made more subtle comments about cutting back on sweets. Your pediatrician added her own tales of being an overweight kid to your annual check-up. All that anxiety only made you eat more and before you knew it, while trying on bathing suits for summer swim team, you were mortified to learn that you had gone up two sizes in one year alone.
The shame was scalding. It ran over every inch of your body with searing self-doubt. The idea of walking across the pool deck where people could see you was nauseating. If you could barely look at yourself in a mirror, how could anybody else? It didn’t matter what people said. You felt odious and wrong. That’s the thing about self-loathing, Little C: it’s all encompassing and irrational and never leaves you be.
I know that this is painful to think about. Trust me, it’s painful to write. I’m thirteen years older and thirteen years wiser, but I still feel uncomfortable in my skin most of the time. So why bring up this sadness? This body anxiety you try so hard to hide? Well, this is the year you tell mom you want to quit swimming, and we both know that is a lie. You love swimming. You live for it. Swimming isn’t what you hate. It’s the feeling you get of being lesser than, that you’re taking up too much space.
Keeping yourself from something you love is a recipe for regret. Your body anxiety may seem all-encompassing, but don’t give up just yet. Insecurity is an irrational fear, outmatched by the purest kind of joy. When you feel that shame come building up, focus on the things you love instead. Remember how glorious it is to spend hours upon hours swimming with your friends. Think of the pride you felt when you held your breath and swam the entire length of the pool. Focus on the feeling of delight that rushed through your veins as you did a backflip for the first time off the board. You had been so scared but you stuck with it, Little C. You didn’t let your insecurity call the shots then. Why start now?
Quitting starts a dangerous pattern of relying on the “whens.” I will swim when I am thinner. I will travel when I have mastered the language. I will apply for the job when I have accomplished more. You are joyful, powerful, adventurous, and strong. Don’t focus on the “whens,” Little C. Choose to love who you are right now.
Loving who you are isn’t always easy. It’s much easier to focus on the things you wish you could change. At twenty-five years old, I am finally learning to accept the notion that I can do the things I love regardless of my size. I knew the perfect place to start. I went back to my happy place — swimming — the first thing I gave up.
Two weeks ago, I walked into the YMCA where our aquatic adventure began. After changing into my swimsuit, I fought the urge to wrap a towel around my lower half. I held my head high as I strode through the hall to the pool, and no one stared or laughed. With each step, my heartbeat quickened, but with excitement instead of fear. I smelled the familiar chlorine scent that I missed for so many years. I curled my toes around the edge of the pool and took a deep breath. I found myself filled with an unfamiliar sense of calm. For the first time in thirteen years, I didn’t care how my legs looked because they were strong. I didn’t care about my jiggling arms because they truly give the best hugs. And I didn’t care about my stomach because that was where my belly laughs lived. I jumped into the pool, and then I was home.
Don’t quit, Little C. Take the plunge. Don’t let insecurity keep you from doing what you love.
Love,
Claire
