It's OK to Spit out and Breathe out
How learning to swim as an adult teaches me about boundaries and self care
My first visit to a swimming pool marred my relationship with water for the rest of my life. But I’ve decided to overcome this trauma, no matter how late in the game I am.
It was a hot summer’s day in the 1980’s Hong Kong. I walked gingerly along the slippery edge of a huge swimming pool in Victoria Park. Dressed in my one-piece black swimming suit — the very first I ever owned — I was feeling extremely awkward walking among so many half-naked strangers. Big Sister Lucy had already reached the other end of the pool. Did she walk or swim across? I didn’t even notice how she got there so fast. I was mostly focused on studying the shape, color and texture of the swimming pool. It was my first time to ever set foot onto one. I was 12 that year and had just graduated from elementary school.
There were so many screaming kids in the pool that it was hard for me to find a spot to get in. Finally I saw a one-by-one-foot unoccupied spot and put my right foot in, imagining the floor to be just like a regular floor. I didn’t notice the steps on the side of the pool that were supposed to help me lower myself gradually into water. Within a second or two after I put my foot into water, my body started to bob up and down and sideways. I completely lost control and flapped my arms frantically in an attempt to get above the water — to no avail.
I must have drunk a lot of pool water in those few seconds that seemed to have lasted a lifetime. I balked at the smell of chlorine and felt like choking. As no one came to my rescue, I believed I was going to drown and die. But then, my eyes adjusted to the blurry view under water, and caught sight of a fuzzy, flesh-colored outline of a girl’s arm. I grabbed it with all my might and wouldn’t let go. I used the arm as my leverage, and finally managed to stick my head above the water. The girl glared at me with a look of surprise and contempt.I could tell she wanted to get rid of me at once. But I stared at her with pleading and grateful eyes, relieved that she saved my life.
Failure to Float
Since then, I had taken swimming lessons with my classmates, all 30-some of them in my junior high class. I had tried again and again to float in pools, dip into the edge of oceans and lakes with attempts to overcome my fear of water. To no avail.
Why is it so hard to remove the imprint of the trauma that happened to me 40 years ago?
Over the years, I had secretly hoped that the men in my life — my brother, my ex-husband, and my ex-partner, all of whom were excellent swimmers, some having worked as lifeguards in their youth — would help me become a swimmer. To no avail.
In fact, they would enjoy themselves in the ocean like dolphins and leave me behind to watch them. I secretly longed to enjoy the water with my partner at the time. I ended up with repeated disappointment, both in the swimming and in the relationships.
Adult Swimming Lessons
Finally, at the age of 52, after I said goodbye to the last man of my life, the man who sexually betrayed me, I decided to stop fantasizing what would never happen. Instead, I decided to give myself the gift of swimming by enrolling in private swimming lessons. That was one of many steps to reclaim my life.
To my great luck, I found a swimming school equipped with a salt water pool just 10 minutes away from home. I started taking lessons from a woman in her 70s. She’s originally from Brooklyn. I could tell from her accent, which sounded familiar and endearing to me since I was once a New Yorker. She put a floatation vest on my back and gave me a super thick “noodle” so I could feel extra safe.
I was surprised how easy it was to put my head into the salt water. It didn’t sting like chlorinated water. That took away one of the major “turn-offs” for me. Despite all the floatation devices, I was still scared when told that the deeper end of the pool is 8 feet deep.
After six lessons, I finally had the courage to swim from a shallow end to a relatively deep end with ledges on the side. When I landed on the ledge, my heart was pounding and I was shaking all over. I told my teacher how scared I was. “But you’re doing it!” she said encouragingly with a big smile on her face.
I thought about how silly I was. Didn’t I just swim across the pool? I did it, didn’t I? But I still heard the stubborn and fearful voice in my head, casting doubt to my fleeting confidence: “Yea, you did it this time, but that’s not a guarantee that you'll be able to do it every time.”
My Biggest Obstacles
The biggest obstacle to my sense of safety and enjoyment in water, besides that traumatic incident and the fact that no one was there to make sure I was safe in the pool, is my inability to coordinate my breathing.
My go-to way of dealing with my breath has been, insteading of exhaling, holding my breath while my head's under water. Then I’d open my mouth when my head’s above it, but my mouth isn’t fully closed when my head re-enters the water. So I’d end up drinking some water. What’s worse is that I’d continue to keep my nose shut and blow bubbles only through the mouth. So when my head emerges above water, I’d be so tense that I’d gasp for air. I’d end up not having enough time to fill my lungs for another stroke while holding my breath again.
For those of you who know how to swim — and I’m guessing that’s the majority of you — doesn’t this sound like a total mess?
Well, in today’s lesson, two things lit the light bulb in this novice’s head:
If I swallow the pool water, I am allowed to spit it out. My reflex was to swallow it as I felt that it wasn’t polite and respectful to spit in a public pool.
When I put my head in the water, I should breathe out through both my nose and my mouth. Holding my breath under water tenses me up and makes me want to rush to the other side as soon as possible.
These things may come naturally to you. But for a novice, these are skills that need to be learned after the erroneous habits are unlearned.
Once I understood how to coordinate my breathing, I no longer felt the need to rush to the other side of the pool in panic mode. I knew I could rely on my continuous breathing to swim to the other side and I would still be floating. As a result, I was finally able to swim a few strokes without getting water down my windpipe or esophagus. A small step but a mighty win!
Spitting out and Breathing out
This epiphany in the swimming pool lit up some other light bulbs in my mind in the context of how I need to rewire the way I relate to people and to myself.
Spitting out. In the name of respect and kindness for others, I was conditioned in childhood to tolerate and swallow any BS coming from an emotionally immature, abusive or toxic person. My father modeled that for me. He never pushed back or confronted my mother to resolve conflicts. He preferred to avoid conflicts and would either tolerate her verbal abuse or give her the silent treatment, neither of which was a mature way to handle conflicts. But in my innocent eyes, he was being “virtuous,” as tolerance is a revered quality in Chinese culture. So I aspired to be like him — calm and unruffled. Little did I know the depth of his discontent and perhaps even depression as he turned his anger inwards.
I never learned that pushing back and saying “no” to what you won't tolerate or accept was even a remote possibility. In fact, I never learned that it was OK to NOT tolerate or accept anything. Just as I never learned that I could actually spit out the pool water I swallowed. To some, this seems so obvious. But to me and others who grew up in a dysfunctional family, what’s obvious to others is obscure and foreign to us. It takes major effort to rewire our brain and a lot of practice to be able to say “no.”
Breathing in is for survival. Breathing out is for releasing tension. In this simplest act, I can tell my body that I deserve to love myself by giving it the time and gift of exhalation.
Breathing out. Whenever I focus on a task, I inadvertently hold my breath until I’m done. Just as I used to hold my breath when my head was under water, I subconsciously thought that holding my breath would help me concentrate and get me to my goal faster. How silly is that? Yet it seems like the hardest habit to change. I hold my breath when writing an essay. I hold it when driving, washing dishes, working on a ballet or yoga pose, or just about anything requiring focus and attention. At the end of a task, I’d let out a deep exhale, as if I only deserve to breathe and relax when I’ve accomplished something.
This is bonkers! From today’s swimming lesson, I’ve realized that I must breathe out after each inhale. Breathing in is for survival. Breathing out is for releasing tension. In this simplest act, I can tell my body that I deserve to love myself by giving it the time and gift of exhalation. Yes, I deserve a second to release tension from my being. And so does each of us. Don’t wait till you’ve finished your work or reached your goal. Breathe out now.
Wow, this is so beautiful and liberating! "Breathing in is for survival. Breathing out is for releasing tension." and "Don't wait until you've finished your work. Breathe out now."
Beautiful, Louisa! Those lessons that come to us at last and change everything are so precious. You did a beautiful job here of capturing the way we can be transformed by trying something again in a new way, as a new version of ourselves. 🌊💕