"Mom, don’t leave me alone. Please! I’ll drown!" I cried out, panic rising in my chest as I clung to her hand in the middle of the pool.
That day, my mother decided it was time I learned how to swim. And she wasn’t going to ease me into it.
I was just a boy—seven or maybe eight years old—and terrified. Not just of water, but of the unknown.
This wasn’t a fancy, tiled pool like the ones we see today. Back then—several decades ago—some houses had large, pond-like pools. Ours was one of them. And that morning, it became my training ground and, as it turned out, the setting for some of the most powerful lessons of my life.
At first, she led me into waist-deep water, held my hand, and said gently, “Try to float.” I tried. Over and over. But each attempt ended the same way—me sinking and gasping, as she pulled me back up. I was frustrated and scared, and every part of me wanted to get out of that pool and never return.
But she wouldn’t let me quit.
Then, without warning, she grabbed the straps of my shorts and started swimming toward the center of the pool, dragging me along.
I panicked. “Mom! What are you doing?” I spluttered as water filled my mouth and nose. But she kept going.
Once we reached the middle of the pool, the deep end, she let go.
She looked at me in the eyes and said, “Son, from here on, you’re on your own. You have to swim.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Please don’t leave me!” I begged. “I’ll drown!”
She gave me a calm, reassuring smile. “No, you won’t. I’m right here. But now, you have to do this yourself.”
It felt like betrayal in the moment. How could she just leave me there, in the deep water, with nothing to hold on to?
I shouted one last plea: “What if I die?”
Swimming a few feet away, she replied softly, “You won’t. I’ll save you if you fail to float. But now it’s your turn.”
I had no choice. I kicked. I moved my arms. I tried to stay above water. It was messy and ungraceful, but something clicked. I didn’t drown. I swam.
It may have been just a few feet, but to me it felt like crossing an ocean. I made it to the edge of the pool, clung to the side, gasping for breath, but I had done it.
That day, I learned how to swim. But more importantly, I learned something deeper, something that my mother knew I was ready to understand:
1. Fear controls you if you let it.
2. Growth begins where comfort ends.
3. You have to fight your own battles.
She didn’t abandon me. She empowered me. She wasn’t being harsh. She was showing me that I was stronger than I believed.
Years later, if I find myself going back to that moment, whenever life throws me into deep waters -- when I’m scared, uncertain, or out of my depth -- I hear her voice, steady: “You won’t die. You just have to try.”
Image by hartono subagio from Pixabay
