Waiting to Exhale

I don't remember when I stopped enjoying swimming. I remember the kid who had chicken pox who still came to lessons, I can recall gracefully diving into the deep end. I know the butterfly, and the breaststroke. I loved the backstroke.

I could never float though. Even at a young age I couldn't trust enough and give up control - I'd begin kicking my legs and fear would take over and I'd sink to the bottom and come up sputtering.

Fear grew. Soon I was swimming the required laps across the pool without turning to breathe. Holding my breath, squeezing my eyes shut, and hoping I wasn't going to run into the wall at the other end.

Waiting to exhale.

Now I feel like I'm doing the same with my life. Sinking to the bottom as I wildly flail my arms, hoping to get somewhere without running into the rough edges.