learning swimming essay

‘Learning To Swim At 24 Taught Me An Important Life Lesson’

Assistant editor Naydeline Mejia shares how she came to peace with the water.

It was the summer of 2018. My sister, cousin, and I were aboard a motorboat with seven other wide-eyed tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunken statues off the coast of Isla Mujeres, Mexico. As we pulled away from the beach, I watched the celeste-hued water transform into a midnight blue and realized I could no longer rely on my fragile safety net—the knowledge that I’d be able to see my feet on the ocean floor. This was deep sea.

After about 15 minutes, our captain stopped the vessel and began to distribute the essentials alongside his assistant: life jackets, flippers, and goggles.

“Anyone who wants to get in and see the statues, now’s your chance,” he announced in Spanish, our shared mother tongue.

While I’m aware of the human body’s natural buoyancy in saltwater, I’m also conscious that the ocean will not hesitate to swallow one whole at the first sign of fear. In other words, I wasn’t about to risk it.

I’ve never been a particularly strong swimmer.

While I'd participated in an entire year of swimming lessons in the sixth grade—a rare opportunity for a low-income Black girl attending a West Bronx public school—sometime between the start of puberty and the beginning of adulthood, I had become increasingly aware of my own mortality. For me, this awareness largely manifested in a fear of drowning. When it comes to water-based activities, I prefer to stand comfortably in the shallow end.

And so, one by one, my boat mates made their way into the water. But I stayed onboard. As my family members and the other tourists followed the captain to see the life-sized sculptures which sat 30 feet under the surface, I began to viciously sob—failing miserably to hide my shame from the deckhand watching me as I swallowed my own salty tears.

I’ve always felt a deep connection to bodies of water . Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I search for a waterfront—a rarity in my concrete jungle home of New York City. My affinity also makes sense, since being in or near water has been linked to a reduction in stress, alleviated anxiety, and a boost in overall mood, according to licensed therapist Shontel Cargill, LMFT.

Yet, the visceral pain I felt that day from not being able to jump freely into the water is not something even I truly grasp. It felt like I’d tapped into a deep source within me—an ancestral struggle, almost. It was like I could hear the synchronous wails produced by my collective bloodline, begging for freedom from the forces that kept them shackled to the island of La Española—fearing yet worshiping the water gods.

It’s a common racist trope that Black people can’t swim.

But it’s hard to ignore this one’s startling reality. Nearly 64 percent of African-American children have no to low swimming ability, compared to 45 percent of Hispanic children and 40 percent of Caucasian children, according to USA Swimming . Moreover, Black children drown at rates three times higher than white children, per the CDC .

And it's not just children who are affected. Black people, in general, drown at higher rates than any other demographic, says Paulana Lamonier, the founder and CEO of Black People Will Swim , a mission-based program empowering Black and brown people to be more confident in the water. I first learned about Paulana and her mission after reading a feature on her on CNBC , and knew that when I decided to begin my swim journey, it would be with her.

“The reason why it’s important for us to teach people these life-saving skills is simply that: because it is a life-saving skill,” she tells me. “We’re really giving people that chance to dream again; the chance and opportunity for freedom. When you’re on vacation, you no longer have to sit poolside—you don’t have to be scared to jump.”

Twenty minutes past noon on Saturday, May 20, 2023, I went to my first swim class.

I arrived at CUNY York College’s Health and Physical Education Building where classes for Black People Will Swim’s spring 2023 program were being held. By the time I reached the 25-meter swimming pool, class was already in session.

Paulana, a warm yet commandeering figure, was teaching the class, and invited me to join. As I slowly and awkwardly slid my way into the pool's shallow end, I took in the expressions around me. There was a variety of ages in our adult-beginner course, which was made up of all Black women. Young 20-somethings, like myself, women in their 30s and 40s, and even a few Aunties—elders, often mature women over the age of 50.

Our first lesson started with a breath. We were to learn how to breathe underwater.

One by one, Paulana went around asking each of us to hop down into a squat until our fingertips touched the pool floor. Once there, rather than sucking in air through our nostrils, we were to expel that air by blowing bubbles—holding in the remaining oxygen in our mouths. When my hands touched the bottom of that pool and I was surrounded by blue I felt—if only for a second—at home. If only I could breathe underwater , I thought, I would never leave .

“The water was like my getaway,” says Maritza McClendon , a 2004 Olympic silver medalist and the first Black female to make the U.S. Olympic swim team. “Every time I get in the water, I’m in my happy place—I’m in my element.”

McClendon—who, after being diagnosed with scoliosis, began swimming at the age of six per her doctor’s recommendation—has always found solace in the water, even when the pressures of competitive swimming weighed her down.

"When I got in the pool, it was like I went into an oasis and forgot about everything—it was just me and the water.”

As I re-emerged from the pool after that first drill, I suddenly became aware of my senses. The silence from being submerged disappeared, and I was met with the noises around me.

To my right, one of my classmates—an older woman perhaps in her mid-60s to early 70s—was holding onto the edge, quietly blowing bubbles to herself as the rest of the class moved onto the next lesson.

I pondered what experience may have caused her to develop this palpable fear, and ultimately lead her here today. I also wanted to grab her hand and walk her to the middle of the pool, so we could float together like two otters, holding on tight to ensure the other wouldn't float too far away, and she could share some of the joy I felt.

The truth is, part of the reason why many Black and brown Americans don’t know how to swim today is a result of racial and class discrimination.

“There were two times when swimming surged in popularity—at public swimming pools during the 1920s and 1930s and at suburban swim clubs during the 1950s and 1960s. In both cases, large numbers of white Americans had easy access to these pools, whereas racial discrimination severely restricted Black Americans’ access,” wrote Jeff Wiltse, a historian and author of Contested Waters: A Social History of Swimming Pools in America , in a 2014 paper published in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues .

The systemic impairing of Black Americans’ ability to swim—thanks to poorly maintained and unequal swimming pools, private clubs that barred Black members, and public pool closures in the wake of desegregation—meant that swimming became a “self-perpetuating recreational and sports culture” for white Americans, says Wiltse. Black communities struggled to literally and metaphorically get a foot in.

“[Swimming] is a predominantly white sport,” says McClendon. (FYI: Of the 331,228 USA Swimming members, less than 5 percent are Black or African American, according to the 2021 Membership Demographics Report .)

“Growing up, I was definitely one of the few at every single swim meet, and even on my swim team,” McClendon recounts. “As early as nine years old, I remember finishing a race in which I got first, and walking past a parent who said, ‘You should go back and do track or basketball. What are you doing here?’ Sort of questioning why I was in the sport. If anyone else would’ve won the race, they would’ve been congratulating them.”

While most of McClendon’s career spans the 1990s and early 2000s, she says instances like this still happen today.

I missed the next three weeks of classes, so by the time I walked into my second swim session, I felt energized yet daunted.

As soon as I got in the pool, I asked my classmates about their reasons for joining the Black People Will Swim program.

One woman shared that she wanted to learn how to swim because she’s the only one in her family that couldn't and she had a seven-month-old son: “If he’s drowning, I want to be able to save him,” she tells me.

The second woman I spoke to said almost drowning twice pushed her to want to learn.

Unsurprisingly, most of these reasons pertain to survival. Swimming , at the end of the day, is a skill needed to live; it’s an ability and privilege that so many take for granted.

At the start of that second class, I was anxious. I had missed so much during my time away, and we were at the point of the program where everyone was expected to navigate the 14-foot end of the pool. Our first lesson of the day: butterfly backstrokes. I tried my best to prolong my turn by generously offering that my other classmates go ahead of me, but eventually I had to go.

As I positioned my feet on the wall, held onto the edge of the pool, and laid my head back, I silently repeated to myself, You got this! You are a child of the water. You will not drown. “Ready?” asked the instructor who was teaching my class. With one deep breath, off I went.

As soon as I started kicking my feet and pushing the water forward with my arms, I was making headway. It felt so natural, like muscle memory. Perhaps those middle school swim lessons did teach me something. After about five strokes, I was ordered to stop so the next person could demonstrate if they were ready to move on to the next step.

Swimming is easy enough when you know you can safely land on your feet the moment you start to panic, but once the depth of the pool is above my own height (at 5'4"), I no longer feel at ease. So you can imagine my nervousness when the instructor said we were about to backstroke the entire 25-meter pool.

As I prepared for that feat on the wall, I recounted the memory of that fateful summer of 2018, when I was too afraid to jump off the boat without a lifejacket. Then there was another memory: 11-year-old Naydeline, unafraid to jump into the deep end. Instead, exhilarated by it.

“Ready?” asked the instructor.

Off I went, rapidly backstroking across that 25-meter pool. I was making headway, but as I reached the 12-meter mark, I stopped. I was beginning to swallow water, and the chlorine-tinged liquid filling my throat made me panic. I was no longer swimming, but sinking. I quickly grabbed the nearest lane rope to stabilize myself.

“What happened?” asked my instructor. “You were doing so well.”

“I panicked,” was all I could say. The intrusive thoughts had started to pour in as soon as I sensed the depth of the pool change from six feet to eight feet to 10 feet: You’re drowning, you’re drowning, you’re drowning , and my anxiety took over.

It took a few seconds to catch my breath, but then I turned to face the deep end of the pool. I realized there was no getting out of this—I had to keep going. With my instructor situated behind me to catch me if I began to drown, I shut my eyes and inhaled for three counts, exhaled for three counts, again and again. Ready?

I was off once more. I didn’t stop until I hit the end of the pool.

A month after the end of the swim program, I headed out on a trip to the island of Aruba.

The schedule was filled with walking tours, parasailing, and an exploration of one of the island’s many natural pools.

The author parasailing off a boat at Palm Beach, Aruba.

On the second to last day, we kayaked across a small portion of the Caribbean Sea to go snorkeling. There would be coral reefs, parrotfish, and lobsters. I opted out.

I wasn’t confident that I wouldn’t start to panic and drown. So, while the rest of my tour group and the instructor went ahead, I stayed seated on the dock. As I looked out at the expansive sea around me, noticing how the colors transitioned from celeste to navy, I breathed in deeply: 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 . I was trying my best not to cry.

Our reserved, yet warm tour guide had also stayed behind. He claimed he was tired of beautiful beaches and ocean views—they didn’t impress him, he said. After noticing that I had been sitting alone on the dock for what felt like half an hour, he came to sit next to me. I told him about my deep affinity for the sea, but also how much it terrified me.

“The trick to swimming,” he said, “is letting go of fear. […] The water will do most of the work for you. It’ll hold you up, but only if you let it. You must remain calm, and trust yourself.”

Perhaps that is the missing puzzle piece: trust. Trust in the water, but most importantly, trust in myself. Trust that I could keep myself alive, and the water would help me—if I let it.

Naydeline Mejia is an assistant editor at Women’s Health , where she covers sex, relationships, and lifestyle for WomensHealthMag.com and the print magazine. She is a proud graduate of Baruch College and has more than two years of experience writing and editing lifestyle content. When she’s not writing, you can find her thrift-shopping, binge-watching whatever reality dating show is trending at the moment, and spending countless hours scrolling through Pinterest.

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Essay on My Swimming Experience

Students are often asked to write an essay on My Swimming Experience in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on My Swimming Experience

Learning to swim.

My swimming experience began when I was young. My parents enrolled me in a class where I met my coach. He was kind and patient. At first, I was scared to put my face in the water, but with practice, it became fun.

My First Lap

The day I swam across the pool without help was exciting. My arms and legs moved together, and I felt like a fish. It was hard work, but very rewarding. I was proud and couldn’t wait to tell my family.

Swimming with Friends

Swimming is more fun with friends. We play games and race each other. It’s a good way to stay healthy and cool in the summer. I love the feeling of floating and splashing around.

Overcoming Fear

I used to be afraid of deep water. But as I got better at swimming, I learned to enjoy it. Now, I can jump into the deep end without fear. Swimming has taught me to be brave.

250 Words Essay on My Swimming Experience

My first laps.

After I got the hang of floating, it was time to try swimming across the pool. I remember taking a big breath and pushing off the wall. My arms pulled and my feet kicked. It was tiring, but I made it to the other side! I felt proud and couldn’t wait to do it again.

Joining a Swim Team

Once I could swim well, I joined a swim team. This was a new challenge. I learned different strokes and how to turn quickly at the wall. Races were thrilling, and being part of a team was fun. We cheered for each other and worked hard together.

Swimming for Fun

Swimming isn’t just about lessons or teams. I also swim for fun. On hot days, jumping into cool water feels great. Playing games and splashing around is a good time with friends. Swimming is not just a sport for me; it’s a way to enjoy and relax.

Swimming has been an amazing experience. It has taught me not to give up, to be brave, and to always keep trying. Whether it’s for a race, with a team, or just playing around, swimming is something I love to do.

500 Words Essay on My Swimming Experience

My swimming experience began when I was around seven years old. My parents signed me up for lessons at the local pool. At first, I was scared. The water seemed so vast and deep, and I was afraid I would sink. But my teacher was kind and patient. She taught me to kick my legs and move my arms in a way that kept me afloat. It was like learning a secret dance that let me move through the water.

My First Swim Meet

After a year of lessons, I joined the swim team. I’ll never forget my first swim meet. I was nervous, with all the other swimmers around me and so many people watching. When it was my turn, I stood on the edge of the pool, waiting for the signal. Then I jumped in.

As I swam, I forgot about being nervous. I focused on my strokes and my breathing. When I reached the end of the pool, I saw my time. It wasn’t the fastest, but I had finished my race, and that felt like a huge win.

Overcoming Challenges

Not every swimming experience was easy. Sometimes I struggled to learn a new stroke or improve my time. There were moments when I felt like giving up. But I remembered how far I had come since those first scary days. I kept practicing, and with time, I got better.

One of the hardest things I learned was the butterfly stroke. It took so much effort to coordinate my arms and legs. But when I finally got it right, I was so proud. It was a reminder that hard work pays off.

Swimming’s Lessons

I’ve also learned that it’s okay to be scared at first, as long as you don’t let that fear stop you. Each time I faced a new challenge in the pool, I became a little braver and a little stronger.

My swimming experience is filled with memories of learning, growing, and having fun. It’s a part of my life that has shaped who I am. I’ve learned valuable lessons about persistence, courage, and the joy of achieving something you’ve worked hard for. Whether I’m racing against others or just enjoying a swim on a sunny day, the pool is a place where I feel at home.

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Reader Essay: The Times I Taught Myself To Swim

This essay was reader-submitted for our essay series on themes of joy, bliss, lightheartedness, and wonder.

By definition, the Bay Islands in Honduras would’ve been the perfect place to learn. The gentlest of waves, privacy in at least one of the watery nooks on the islands, sea so transparent it cannot frighten or confuse at all, seemed like very adequate reasons. I had even gotten into the habit of choosing my rentals based on my coming routine, a preliminary to my life as a 6 a.m. swim kind of girl. The intention was that one day I’d walk home, sun and salt water bleaching the hair on my arms and my head a reddish, coppery color, and that it would become normal for the month I was visiting. 

“I’d eventually pause, anchoring my toes in the sea bed, confiding that I couldn’t go much further because I couldn’t swim—yet.”

Two weeks in and I was still untransformed by sun rays and sea water exposure. I had made two new friends since arriving and they could both swim. After getting waist-deep in the waters, I’d eventually pause, anchoring my toes in the sea bed, confiding that I couldn’t go much further because I couldn’t swim—yet. In always adding the ‘yet’ they’d understood my intention and separately offered to teach me. Both admitted that they were not the best, but more than able to help me float, doggy paddle, or just drench myself a little further out than where I stood. 

I thanked them both but immediately realized this was not what I wanted. I returned to my original plan; I would try alone first. The next Monday, I wandered out to the transparent bay waters, feeling sure this would be the day. I waded in slowly, to my core first and then a little further somewhere level to my heart. I stood there, swaying in the quietness. A few speed boats bolted past, bringing with them a generous array of waves. And then, stillness again. I stood, feeling the salt in the water wanting to carry me with it, letting me know, gently, that I was sort of in the way, that everything here exists in flow. It reminded me of dancing in a group or moving in the direction of a strong wind, though rooted. Lifting one leg, being taken enough to have to hop, and feeling how my body was apparently more comfortable with submersion than my expectations, I’d place it down again. The salty body of water was too eager and I was not ready, yet. 

Taking a trip to Jamaica for the first time and glimpsing a life that could’ve been mine was not an affair I could judge from land alone. My grandparents traded lushness, collected rainwater, and Sunday dinners by the river for life in London. My first time going to the beach in St. Ann Parish was a test to see if I belonged to the waters, the way I knew I belonged to the waterfalls, like my grandmothers. At this time, I had no intention to swim. I just wanted to cool down. I thought a lot about blending in, being among distant kin, and then if I could belong to the waters that once brought us there.

“My first time going to the beach in St. Ann Parish was a test to see if I belonged to the waters, the way I knew I belonged to the waterfalls, like my grandmothers.”

My relationship with the ocean, as a Caribbean person, is a matter of trust, then. It’s not just the beauty of the Caribbean sea that I was encountering for the first time, but how many chose to remain beneath it, how it is a place of freedom and a consequence of bondage, how it is alive, memoried and very new for someone born on the other side of it. I did not swim but let myself go as far as the gut would allow. I watched the sun set, ate well and humored the man who asked me why I wouldn’t swim, why I would come to the beach to ‘wet my foot’. He reminded me that our humor and ability to make jokes out of everything is likely born from survival mechanisms and big island character. I sat and admired fellow Jamaicans who had made peace with their waters. 

There was one lady who had an enormous laugh even while her head bobbed above the water. Her turquoise bathing suit made her seem as if she had herself become the sea. She made me want to stay and enjoy the ocean just a little longer, so that I didn’t feel like I was still so in-between worlds. She noticed me as I made my way back to the sand, “You look like a beautiful little mermaid, girl” and she would float, led to wherever the water would want her.

Once replacing my favorite beach spot (the former favorite was not actually ‘secret’ but unvisited because the mangroves are suggestive of crocodile territory), and enjoying a WhatsApp video call with my grandad, who demonstrated what I should be doing with my legs while swimming—phone lop-sided in his hand and the other used for the demo—I had unlocked all that I needed to swim. Mainly this was courage, gratitude for grandparents, and the first days of the rainy season in Belize’s cayes, which makes everything immediate. 

“My first attempt didn’t work, not because of anything in the water but because I was embarrassed.”

My first attempt didn’t work, not because of anything in the water but because I was embarrassed by the one family and the several workers who were posted at the beach in the moments before a two-day-long downpour. I got in, looking around in case anyone was watching, which they were, then sat on the shore, thinking to wait them out. The sky grew grayer, the children playing seemed cold but still adamant on gathering their rocks and then, deciding it would be annoying to ride the pot-holed path home in the rain, I left. I did some sun salutations, thanked the water and observed the almost full moon making its daytime appearance. 

Two days later, I went again, when the road had dried up, leaving too early for the suggestion of rainfall to matter. An empty beach and blue skies were all that awaited. I got in, speaking my intention, asking the ocean permission once again to host me for these few minutes while I reacquainted myself. Remembering my grandad’s digital demonstration, I crouched, sea up to my neck, slightly giddy at my decidedness. With my palms flat on the seafloor, I didn’t resist my body’s natural desire to rise this time. Before long, it was one arm followed by another and then brief coordination, and then stopping and remembering breath, and then my first stride forward and my second and my feet, arms, and entire body working to stay up, swimming.

“I went in search of a relationship with the water, in several places, and received new definitions of bliss.”

The memory that I will carry with me is how I went in search of a relationship with the water, in several places, and received new definitions of bliss. I released the fear of what lurks physically and historically in the ocean, fear of being seen, of being perceived as a beginner, of burdening others, and the weight that I thought would follow me into the ocean. I learnt what no instructor could teach me; peace of mind that I am good at surrendering. 

“I learnt what no instructor could teach me; peace of mind that I am good at surrendering.”

I still swim, and want to return to all the places I have had to admire from dry land. I want to plunge into the Cypriot waters, go back to a cenote in the Yucatán state on my birthday and, this time, get in, and call people in while floating and treading water, telling them not to be afraid to jump. I’ll dive off boats, float under moonlight, watch as, over time, maybe a string of weekends in August, I’ll find myself the furthest from the land that I have ever drifted.

The sea is a new terrain that I’m excited to witness myself in. This time as a gentle teacher, persistent student, insisting on 15 minutes longer, the taste of salt on my lips, rinsing my skin and hair before peddling home barefoot. I celebrate myself for the small wins, gliding and splashing loudly somewhere in the warm Caribbean sea.

Amara Amaryah is a Jamaican poet and essayist, born in London. Her writings are interested in voice — often voicelessness — and reclamations of identity through definitions of home. Her work has been received, translated and read internationally. The Opposite of an Exodus is her debut pamphlet (Bad Betty Press, 2021).

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Learning to Swim, Essay Example

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Learning new skills or ideas has always been a scary experience for me. All my life, I have always admired swimmers and wished that I could learn the art myself. The thought of being in water without drowning has always amazed me. How can someone go into a bottomless end of a pool of water without drowning? That has always been my primary question. Swimming is one of the hardest things I have ever had to learn. Since I was a child, my parents always encouraged me to learn how to swim, but I always brushed that view aside because of my fear of water.

One day I decided that swimming was a great skill, which I had to learn by all means. This is because it was fun to watch people swim and the activity would form a good exercise for me since I needed a way to work out so that I could be able to keep fit. However, it did not dawn on me that swimming could increase my self-esteem and make me such a confident person.

Learning new activities has always made me uneasy; this was the same case as with my first swimming lesson. I took my time to change into my swimming costume, said a prayer in the locker room and then walked to the poolside. I stood timidly by the poolside as I waited for the swimming instructor to take me through my first swimming lesson ever. This was the biggest moment for me, and I could not let my fear of water or anything else ruin it for me. After some minutes, the swimming instructor emerged from the locker room. She smiled at me warmly and introduced herself. She then called three other ladies who had enrolled for the swimming classes to join me. I was scared initially but on knowing that the other ladies would join me in learning how to swim, I felt confident. We started the swimming lessons by doing a few warm up exercises and finally got into the shallow end of the water.

The instructor carefully took us through the swimming basics. She helped us try a few easy swimming techniques like how to breath and hold your breath in water. I was amazed to see that the other two ladies who were older than me were not embarrassed at all about not knowing how to swim. They made me feel at ease, and together we learned how to swim with the help of the instructor. After a couple of swimming classes, I had learned how to float on water. This was very encouraging. It took me several other classes to master the skills of swimming and learn various swimming styles. After a couple of weeks, I was able to do the backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle from one end of the pool to the other without difficulty. Surprisingly enough, I was even able to swim at the pool’s deep end, something I never thought I could do.

With my good swimming skills, I decided to join my school swimming team where I perfected my swimming skills and even participated in the school swimming competitions. Today, I can stand and brag about being one of the best swimmers my university has ever had. I have participated in various competitions where I have emerged triumphant. My room is full of trophies that I got from winning swimming competitions. I was missing so much before, and I am so glad I learned how to swim.

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Dive into Life: Unveiling the Transformative Power of Learning to Swim

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Introduction

Preventing accidents: a vital life skill.

Social Interaction and Safety: Beyond the Pool

Health and active lifestyle: the body in motion, independence and confidence: beyond the water's edge, encouragement for everyone: dispelling misconceptions, conclusion: a lifelong skill with widespread benefits.

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Home — Essay Samples — Life — Swimming — Swimming as a Sport: What Life-Lessons I Have Learned From It

Swimming as a Sport: What Life-lessons I Have Learned from It

• Categories: Personal Experience Swimming

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Published: Aug 14, 2023

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The Impact of Dolphin Kicks on a 50-Yard Freestyle Swim

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Learning to Swim Is Hard. Especially When You're 31 and Terrified of Water.

My fear of water has held me back my whole life. So I dived into the science of how and why all of us are scared of something—and then I took the plunge.

That alone isn’t what troubles me, though. It’s that my lack of skill puts me in a petrified state that keeps me from living life to the fullest. If I’m forced to set foot on a beach (and let’s be real: I try to avoid it), I won’t even go into the water up to my ankles. If I’m on a boat, even if it’s the bougiest of yachts, you can find me wearing a life vest with my hand clenching a railing. I’ll only consider standing in a pool if it’s less than four feet deep. I never, ever take baths.

I’m not quite sure what caused my extreme aquaphobia. I have no recollection of being held underwater during a prank, having to dodge the jaws of a great white, or getting warnings from protective parents that left a permanent scorch mark on my brain. There is, at least, a little comfort in knowing that everyone’s scared of something. Whether it’s a fear of spiders or a fear of setting off a social-media disaster, each phobia has the same disruptive effects on our brains and lives. The fear response doesn’t discriminate; it works in the same way no matter what scares you shitless. What I do know is that I was sick of living this way. So I did something rash.

I signed up for eight weeks of one-on-one swim lessons with Life Time swim coach Kevin Dominguez. Trial by water. Whatever you want to call it, I was going to conquer my fear by plunging into its depths and learning how my fear—and all our fears—work.

My first lesson got off to a rocky start. I was supposed to learn to float, but I couldn’t relax even with the instructor holding me up. My heart rate climbed. I started overthinking, then panicking, and afterward I felt hopeless.

So I called licensed clinical psychologist Zach Sikora, Psy.D. , who practices with the Northwestern Medicine Regional Medical Group in Illinois, to help me understand why I’ve been so scared of swimming and why it’s held me back for so long. Sikora says that my intense fear of dipping even a toe in the water is really just my brain doing its job. My amygdala, the brain region that registers fear, “is responsible for detecting threat in order to keep you safe,” he says. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to—it wants to keep me alive, so it’s sending warnings about water, which is the right response, since, after all, I don’t know how to swim.

Meanwhile, my frontal lobe—the part that takes care of reasoning—is trying to rationalize these thoughts and reduce the fear. That creates tension as one area is putting me on high alert and the other is trying to prevent me from succumbing to said fear.

Knowing that the fear and the stress around it are just biology, not a character flaw, helped me feel less apprehensive about the next lesson. But then I got in the water, tried to tilt my head to the side to breathe, and realized that my fear of dying via water had gone on the back burner. Now I was fully engaged in the fear of being a washout—I didn’t want to waste my time, let alone my instructor’s. And I had a sudden fear of dependency when I determined I could only move around in the pool while holding foam noodles. The whole swimming endeavor felt like less of a physical challenge and more of an attempt to correct a personality defect. “It is common for anxiety to breed more anxiety. Your fear may be specific to one situation, but then you find it in other areas,” Sikora tells me, calling it a “generalization of fear.”

That’s when I understood I might need even more support and wondered if I should call on my trusty therapist to help me become a fearless swim warrior. Instead, I called UCLA fear researcher Michael Fanselow, Ph.D. , who explains that “it would be very difficult, if not impossible,” to just think my way out of this. To navigate this situation really well, I’d probably require a blend of exposure therapy via the swim lessons I was already doing and cognitive behavioral therapy, in which I’d practice reframing problematic thoughts.

This would help me establish pathways in the brain created by the thought that the water isn’t so bad. The process I was undergoing isn’t about getting rid of the fear response—that’s still important. It’s about helping my brain learn to select which association—the water is bad, the water isn’t bad—to act on when.

In the pool, I worked on gaining confidence and ability—“generating some evidence that you’re not going to drown,” as Julie Johnston, Ph.D. , an expert in swimming and sport psychology at Nottingham Trent University, puts it. Both in and out, I worked on questioning established thinking patterns (“There’s no way I can swim”) and figuring out how to think in a more productive way about the water I was in (“breathe, kick, relax”).

In the third session, for instance, I managed to swim a lap using the tips of Kevin’s fingers as a guide. I wasn’t sure if his compliments were only intended to give me confidence or if I was actually doing as well as others do by this point. But I reframed that and realized that getting past this fear meant taking each victory as it came.

Initially, I struggled to separate the concepts of having a less-than-exceptional swim lesson and failing as a person. Eventually, I found an alternative and accepted that I wasn’t going to be the next Michael Phelps and that I might never do a flip turn. I gave up that requirement to be successful and let go, dictating what the outcome of these lessons would be on my own terms. If I left each lesson with a pulse, I was happy.

The weeks flew by—some easier than others. I doubt a triathlon or an open water swim is in my near future. But I know that even if I never learn to love swimming, I don’t have to keep fearing the water. Nor do I have to keep worrying about letting my instructor—or myself—down. By understanding how fear works, I made every one of those 19-yard laps count (even the few that I walked). I came away from every session with a pulse and a little more wisdom.

I’ll take that as a win.

Your 3-Step Plan for Managing Fear

Normalize it.

Recognize that fear is just your brain doing its job of protecting you. It’s good to be afraid of things that can hurt you. Knowing this keeps you from fighting what you’re feeling and getting even more tense, agitated, and incapable of dealing with the problem.

Flex Your Expectations

It’s important not to set a timeline for getting through your fear. When I accepted that I wasn’t going to be crush ing 3,000 yards after eight weeks and chose a realistic goal for each session, I gained control over the process.

Call in Backup

Exposure therapy—getting in the pool—was vital for getting through my fear. But so was learning to identify and challenge the dysfunctional thinking (“the water is going to kill me”) that was perpetuating my anxiety.

This story appears in the July/August 2023 issue of Men's Health .

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Home / Essay Samples / Sports / Water Sports / Swimming

Swimming Essay Examples

Key images in the swimmers moment by margret avison.

In reading “The Swimmers Moment” by Margret Avison the first line Avison addresses the poem “for everyone” by doing so she allows readers to feel and picture the cross roads people deal with in the day to day life. The “whirlpool”, “Black pit”, and “deadly...

The Story of My First Swimming Experience

As I reflect on my first swimming experience in this essay, I am filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. The most memorable day for me would have to be the day I learned how to swim. Learning new things can be a challenging...

Swimming Athletes’ Performance and Records

Swimming first emerged as a competitive sport in the 1830s in England. It gained popularity over the course of the 19th century, and in 1896, men’s swimming became part of the first modern Olympic Games in Athens, Greece. Today it is one of the most...

Why I Like Swimming: Exploring My Passion for the Sport

Swimming is not only a way to stay in shape, but it is also an activity that can be enjoyed by individuals of all ages. As I grew older, my love for swimming only increased. It became a way for me to clear my mind...

The Science Behind Swimming Activity

Science surrounds everything that humans do. This includes moving through water in a sport commonly known as swimming. It seems simple enough, but there are really many components that make swimming the sport that it is today. The physics behind swimming mainly have to do...

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