I never learned to swim.

I just watched as all the other kids at the waterpark

put on their goggles and dove into the clear,

cool water.

I sat on a beach chair,

hair dry with a forming sunburn

watching everyone else 

splash around in the water.

The closest I ever came to swimming

was dipping my feet into the pool

to cool off.

I wanted to swim.

I wanted to be like all the other kids.

But every time I got in the water,

I felt like I was drowning.

Even with arm floaties,

or a round raft to sit on

every moment in the water

was a moment of panic.

But, as I grew up,

I learned to deal with the water.

No more panic attacks in the shower,

and after a while, 

I started to dip more than just my feet

into the water. 

Of course, it was still nerve wracking at times.

But every time I told my family

about my fear of the water,

they smiled and laughed.

Said I’ll grow out of it.

They were right.

I did grow out of it.

But I did it by myself.

Whenever my mother used to say

“It took a lot of time and patience

to get her used to the water.”

I’m forced to bite my tongue.

Because it did take a lot of time and patience

to get used to the water.

But she wouldn’t know.

She was never there.

Now, I can jump into the water

with no hesitation.

Of course, at some points

I drift a little too close to the deep end

and have a moment of anxiety.

A moment of a panic.

But I always make it back to the shore,

safe and sound.

Thanks to myself.

I finally learned to swim.