swimming lessons

This summer we've been learning how to swim.  Silas and Damir have taken a few lessons each , and every time we go to the local pool I have been working with them.  They call it "practicing without my floatie".  

Their progress is incredible.  My priority was Silas, and if you've ever met Silas you don't need me to really explain why.  Somehow, by proxy, Damir has also learned how.  Neither of them are quite ready to be too far from me in the pool.  But I feel so much safer than summers before.  We've learned to blow bubbles, scoop ice cream, swim like little froggies under the water.  Silas has even practiced swimming to retrieve toys from the bottom of the pool.  And above everything else, just get to the wall.  

Speaking of summers, ours is almost over already.  Ten more days and I head back to work.  Two weeks after that, five of the six of our kids will be headed back to school.  I am immensely grateful for the time I get to spend at home.  But these last two weeks of the break always prove to be harder than I'd like.  I have been sleep training, we have had medical emergencies, we have been pursuing career goals, navigating behavior changes, our oldest has had a job all summer, and the oldest three have all had sports.  

Today, while I was trying to self evaluate and solve a problem, I thought about Silas swimming.

Sometimes Silas will be in the water and his little arms and legs will thrash around trying to keep his head above water.  He will lift his eyes and chin up high and breathe rapidly, splash frantically.  His eyes get a wild look and he is rarely using his energy efficiently.  When he does this, I do one or two things.  First, I remind him to breathe.  He's over here swallowing water and wasting his energy.  Take a deep breath, Silas.  Get to the wall.  Then, if we are at the end of the pool where we usually are, I might also say, "Silas.  It's not over your head right here.  Put your feet down."  

He will stretch his little toes down to the pool floor and immediately relax, breathe.  

Not only is Silas a better swimmer this summer than he has ever been, he also is often not as far in over his head as he believes.  

Today I thought about Silas swimming, because I was feeling frantic.  Despite how we feel about Brent Brown, I often think about her content discussing the importance of the words we use.  Her story about "being in the weeds" at work and the gravity of the word "overwhelmed".  How we should only use the word "overwhelmed" in a scenario where we can shut down anything auxiliary and reset.  I was feeling frantic, but could not reset.  

It might be true that I am often not as in over my head as I might believe.  It gets loud, it gets hot, they're all hungry, I am lonely, stretched thin, overworked, exhausted, insecure, embarrassed.  And I am thrashing my arms and legs, swallowing water, and life feels a bit like it's trying to drown me.  Like I am unsafe and not going to make it. When in reality, I could probably take a deep breath and have the skill to get myself to the wall.  Or, more often than not, take a deep breath and easily reach for the bottom of the pool with room to spare.  

I am a solid enneagram 6 and an INFJ.  I am always, always seeking affirmation.  I am always prioritizing safety and security.  I am often focused on the importance of words, or the absence of them.  I often hope , in all the thrashing and treading water and gasping for air, someone will come along with a strong arm.  I hope for rescue or aid, when I'm feeling the most frenetic.  Someone, please, just throw me a life jacket. Someone please pick me up. Where is my floatie? 

As this summer starts to wind down and I do my evaluating, as I always do, I am realizing in those chaotic, fearful moments, someone is not usually coming.  Rarely is someone else the answer to the problem I am having.  Whether that's because it is so rare for someone to know what to say and when to say it, or because things are not frantic because I am bad.  They're frantic because life is really hard and I just need to breathe.  But things didn't go badly because I failed or because someone else could do it better.  And there are likely no words anyone could say, which would calm the frenzy anyway.

Usually, I just need to take a breath.  And either get to the wall, or put my feet down.