Diving In

S began walking at 18 months. Because she waited so long, she never had that adorable drunken sailor weave that many toddlers have when they take those first steps. Instead, she simply got up and, well, went. Regardless, in some people’s eyes, that was scary-late, but I knew that the only reason she waited so long was because she wanted to be absolutely sure she could do it before she actually did it. She was afraid: afraid of falling, afraid of failing, afraid of not doing it “just right”……

Even after she found that delicious new freedom with her steps, S was never the type of kid to break free from me at the playground and gleefully fling herself across the jungle gym or throw herself down the slide. Instead, she stood neatly by me, her hand safely tucked in mine, where she could first scope out the scene, observe the other kids in action, and only when she felt ready did she let me lead her to the swings or slide or monkey bars. Even then, she always kept her eyes on me to be sure my eyes stayed on her.

As S has grown into the loud-laughed, long-limbed kid that she is today, she has experienced and conquered many fears along the way. Shadows? Check. Flies? Check. Sleeping in her own bed by herself? Check. Water? Check. Sand? Check.

But it seems like with every fear she has conquered, she has managed to find another one to replace it with. Today’s fears range from moths to thunder to railroad tracks. And darkness is still way up there on the list. Do you KNOW how many things hide in the dark? Lots!

I can see S visibly struggle to overcome her fears, the way she wrings her hands together, or zips hastily through a dark room before whatever-is-lurking-there comes to get her; it all kind of breaks my heart a little. I did it, too, and I remember it: Growing up is HARD.

But I’ll admit it: I lose my patience from time to time. I mean, seriously? You need me to walk you to the bathroom in your own house? Yes, she does. And I have to remind myself that she isn’t just looking for a free escort; she is truly afraid. And just because I don’t see it or feel it doesn’t make it any less real for her.

Yesterday S and I met up with a friend and her two fearless kids at the pool. Her kids are cannon-ballin', lap-swimmin', bike-ridin' daredevils, and I can’t help but clutch my heart just a little at how crazy-brave they seem to be. While I want S to try things, I also find just a bit of selfish comfort in knowing she won’t, because knowing she won’t means she can’t get hurt. But then I realize while she won’t break her leg for not trying, she may break her spirit. And that somehow seems worse. So when S climbed up onto the diving board yesterday, the one that jutted out over 12 feet of water, and stood at edge, I marveled at how small she looked. I also marveled at how big she looked. Because there she was, my daughter, the one who just last summer could not even put her head in the water, now willing to have her entire being swallowed up by it.

I watched her face, and could see the thought process. She inched closer to the edge, and then, just like that, she jumped. And so did my heart. She cheated a little, made sure she jumped sideways so that she landed as close to the edge as possible. But she jumped. And as she swam up to the surface, I could see the smile on her face – that precious childhood “I did it!” smile. I clapped and cheered wildly for her. She hadn’t done anything fancy, really – it was just a simple little jump. And honestly, there were kids smaller than her making that same leap. But I knew what it meant for her to make that jump, and in my mind, it was worth 10,000 backflips.

~Patti