This month I took my first-ever swimming class.
I was so anxious before the first class on the 9th. I couldn’t sleep the night before though that’s been the norm lately too so maybe it’s unrelated.
I had panic attacks upon panic attacks in the days beforehand.
I should have learned to swim as a child. My uncle tried to teach me for a while when I was maybe eight? Life got in the way. Had I been in real school versus being “homeschooled” I would have learned; had I lived in a non-abusive home I would have learned.
The class itself went great! I did better than I thought I would. But it brought up so many emotions, so much resentment. I am so disappointed with choices that were made (or not) for me as a child.
I’ve had to teach myself medical terminology in a rapid amount of time. I’ve had to learn how to navigate insurance quickly. I’ve even had to deal with LITERALLY rebuilding parts of me that should never have deteriorated in the first place.
I tackled riding a bike on my honeymoon.
Swimming has been the last big issue, the final sticking point regarding my maltreatment in my childhood. I’ve worked on everything else, just a bit, already.
This is the final way to throw the motherly shackles off, to kill the fear monster she created, and to take back my life fully.
I could never do it without T and my sister, never.