Braving the Deep End: Why Learning to Swim Taught Me More Than Any Book or Coach Ever Did.
Most people learn to swim when they’re young. It’s just one of those childhood rites of passage—like learning to ride a bike or blowing a bubble with gum. But that wasn’t my story.
I grew up in a big city in Poland, far from lakes, beaches, or backyards with pools. Add some health challenges as a child and a protective mother into the mix, and swimming just never happened for me. I always wished it had, but over time, the desire was replaced with quiet resignation.
Not knowing how to swim as an adult is more than inconvenient—it’s debilitating. You miss out on a lot of fun. You carry a secret shame that creeps up every time someone mentions a beach day or a pool party. It’s awkward to admit, and even worse to face the reality: if something went wrong in the water, I wouldn’t even be able to float.
Now, fast forward to the present—I’m a mom to three wonderful kids, ages 7, 6, and 2. And if there’s one thing I knew for sure, it was this: they would learn to swim.
So I signed them up for lessons. And I watched those lessons like my life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. I sat poolside, observing every teaching technique, mentally taking notes. Because deep down, I wasn’t just there to support my kids. I was preparing myself.
That summer, we had access to a pool. The kids were thriving in the water—but I couldn’t follow them. I stayed in the shallow end while they wanted to swim freely, even into the deep. And the truth hit me hard: if something happened, I wouldn’t be able to get to them in time. That terrified me. Lifeguards are great, but no one watches your kids like you do.
So I decided: I would learn to swim. No more excuses.
Private coaching wasn’t in the budget (three kids isn’t cheap), and I knew I learn best at my own pace. So I went full DIY. One of my favorite romantasy heroines taught herself to swim—why couldn’t I? Plus, my husband’s aunt, a swim instructor, told me her oldest student was 86. That sealed it.
I started at the very beginning. Face-down floats. Short glides. Doggy paddling just a few feet toward the pool wall. Still in the shallow end, still scared—but now in motion.
And I began unpacking all the resistance I had to learning something new as an adult:
Fear of water.
Fear of looking silly.
Fear my body couldn't do it, especially with my limited hip mobility.
Fear of that awful water-in-the-ears feeling.
Fear of not being able to hold my breath.
But here’s the thing: each fear had its own root. And I started facing each one individually. When fear arose, I slowed down. I breathed through it. I talked to myself like my own inner coach. I made small adjustments to my approach to help myself feel safe and in control.
Little by little, it worked.
I began floating face down. I dunked my head. I glided farther. I felt the water hold me—and I trusted it. And then one day, I looked at the deep end and thought: Okay, maybe.
I clung to the edge at first, testing the waters. Literally. To my surprise, I could float upright in the deep as long as I moved with intention and stayed calm. That breakthrough opened the door to more.
Next came the back float—something both my best friend and I struggled with. So we decided to work on it together. And let me tell you, that parallel effort? It changed everything. Encouraging each other, laughing through the awkwardness, celebrating each little win—it gave the experience a sense of joy and connection that outside support just doesn’t quite touch.
Eventually, we both got it. Floating on my back gave me a new kind of freedom in the water. From there, I was swimming across the pool, even daring to dive for my kids’ toys (okay, maybe not all the way down, but close enough).
Am I fast? No.
Am I strong? Not yet.
But am I comfortable in the water now? Absolutely.
What I Learned in the Water (and About Life)
1. Mental blocks will show up every time you try something new.
Your brain’s job is to keep you safe. That means any past experiences, limiting beliefs, or unchallenged fears will rise up like floaties. But if you stay present long enough to observe the fear and name it, you can adapt your approach. Resistance doesn’t mean you’re failing—it just means your brain needs convincing.
2. Beliefs and mindset shape your reality.
Not believing you can do something will stop you before you even start. I had to witness others swimming, remind myself that everyone learned once, and deliberately choose to believe that I could, too. I had to shift my internal dialogue—especially around my body, embarrassment, and capability—and keep exposing myself to experiences that proved my old beliefs wrong.
3. Imperfect but consistent action always wins.
This isn’t just a motivational slogan—it’s a neurological truth. Your brain builds new pathways through repetition. If I had demanded perfect technique from the start, I would’ve quit. Instead, I focused on consistent exposure, small risks, and trying new things each time I got in the water.
4. Focus on progress, not the goal.
It’s tempting to measure your success by whether you’ve hit the goal: swimming across the pool, doing a back float, diving. But that can be overwhelming and discouraging. What worked for me was shifting my focus to movement toward progress. Every time I challenged a fear or tried something new, I was succeeding—even if I wasn’t at the “end point.” When you focus on progress, your brain stays calm. When you stare at the goal and feel how far away it is, your brain panics. So I stopped staring at the finish line and kept walking forward instead.
5. Parallel growth with someone else can be more powerful than external support.
My family cheered me on. My kids rooted for me. But when my best friend and I worked on our floats together, struggling and laughing and trying again—that kind of support hit deeper. It wasn’t just encouragement. It was shared courage. Sometimes, what you really need isn’t someone on the sidelines—it’s someone in the pool beside you.
6. Your brain will resist, unless you give it a why.
Our brains are stubborn. They default to protection, inertia, and hesitation. I call it the donkey mind—stubborn, skeptical, and not moving unless it sees a carrot. My carrot? My kids. I wanted to swim with them. I wanted to play, explore, and be there for them. I didn’t want to miss out—and I didn’t want to make them miss out because of my limitations. Every time fear tried to win, I imagined us laughing in the water together. And that joy pulled me forward.
Final Thought: Everything is a Skill
No matter what your goal is—starting a new business, setting boundaries, healing old wounds, or learning to swim—it all boils down to skill-building. Fear doesn’t mean you’re incapable. It just means you’re learning.
So slow down. Observe the fear. Keep showing up.
Be kind. Be consistent.
Keep moving toward progress.
And when in doubt, dangle the carrot and let your donkey mind follow.