The sand was warm against my toes and the water frigid. I stood there hesitantly with one foot in each element. The sand was stable, comfortable, and still; the water waving, cold, and inconsistent. I knew eventually that I’d have to choose: either dive in fully and start swimming or retreat to land. I came to be in this middle state because I wanted to swim: I wanted to feel the cold water chill my skin and awaken my being, I wanted to become more alive as I took each stroke, I wanted to feel held by this body so much larger and bigger than myself and the weight of my pain. But in this moment in the middle, the sand felt so much safer, so much more welcome, so much more inviting. So, I stood there stalling in my wet suit and white silicon swim cap.
The regulars at this open water swim club in San Francisco were standing there staring at me. Sans wet suit, fully submerged, and at least 30 years older than me, they watched and waited as I pondered my next step: would I be in or out? Would I fully commit to this adventure that would bring me more life, or, would I choose safety on the sand?
Finally, one of the women grew impatient and loudly blurted out, “Well, what are you waiting for? And why are you wearing that wet suit?” “I’m freezing!” I defended. She was unconvinced, “Your body will adjust to the temperature of the water, you just have to allow it to do so. You’re here because you want to swim, so swim.”
I have come to a point in my recovery process where I feel stuck in the middle: one foot is on solid ground, telling my story only to those whom I trust, living a life small and safe, denying myself the more that I so naturally feel when I approach the water; the other foot testing the cold adventure before me, layering on resources to protect me from potential pain on the journey ahead, and attempting to dive into that vast mystery that is my future by living loudly with the message that recovery is real.
Last weekend, I had the privilege of attending a conference with SheRecovers: an organization that plans conferences and events for women in recovery from anything. Most of the women there were at least 30 years older than me and I listened to them share their stories, as I watched them so at ease in themselves after years of recovery. In this moment in the middle, I remembered that old swimmer back in the San Francisco Bay a few years before repeating to me, “What are you waiting for?”
Fears flooded my mind as I discerned diving in: what if I get in trouble for my truth? What if people are unkind to me for sharing my history with sexual violence so publicly? What if I don’t have the energy to move forward and continue on? What if I lose myself in the vastness of the work that needs to be done to solve this problem?
That old lady responded in my mind, “You will adjust naturally, just like all these women did, you have come here to contribute, so contribute.” "But I don’t have the tools I need. How about I layer myself with more schooling, or more writing, or more reading?" I thought in hesitation. “You have everything you need as you are right now. It’s time to choose.”
I had learned to trust this old woman who showed up on the shore and made me move from the middle: she had been right all along- my body, like hers, did in fact adjust to the cold water. I didn’t need a wet suit after all. Every time I had the courage to put both feet in, to finally submerge my tired body into that waving water, I came out feeling so alive.
So I trust her now again today, I trust the women who modeled for me the benefit of movement at this conference. I can put both feet into this business of recovery that I’m trying to build. I can believe that empowering and educating others about healing will continue to contribute to my own healing. I can have the confidence that I am fully prepared to do this work with the tools and resources that I already have. I can stop waiting and start working. No more middles- it's time to dive in sans wet suit!