My classmates watched with supportive smiles as I stood on the diving block, feeling like a fish out of water at the ripe age of 38. Self-consciousness was creeping in, and I tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. But then, a light bulb moment hit me: sometimes, not trying harder is more noticeable than giving it your all. With a silent prayer, I launched myself off the block and splashed into the water with surprising grace.
I found myself in diving class because my youngest child was halfway through kindergarten, and I felt as if I was finally surfacing for air. Friends were taking on triathlons, but I knew my swimming skills needed a serious boost. Growing up near the ocean, I adored the thrill of the waves and the soothing flow of the river, yet every time I attempted laps, it felt like I was gasping for breath.
During our third class, the instructor posed the question: “Anyone interested in learning how to dive?” My past self had longed to dive since I was about ten, but it never materialized. I had watched my first two kids dive confidently off the blocks at swim meets, while I hesitated at the pool’s edge.
After class, as I rinsed off in the shower, I was surprised to find tears streaming down my face. It felt strange to achieve a goal I had thought I had given up on, yet I also felt a flicker of joy. I had convinced myself I was too old, too afraid, and too embarrassed to dive into new experiences.
Just a few months later, I discovered I was expecting my fourth child. Excitement bubbled within me, as I felt like a parenting pro. I knew how to nurse in a not-so-comfortable chair and always snagged a good role in the PTA. With three wonderful kids, my husband and I were thrilled to welcome our fourth.
However, my fourth pregnancy took an unexpected turn. My son arrived prematurely at 32 weeks via emergency c-section. Though he was tiny, he was perfect—“a feeder and a grower,” the doctors assured us. But just six days later, tragedy struck when a group B strep infection caused severe complications. We were devastated to learn that his brain MRI showed significant damage, and the news felt like a tidal wave knocking us off our feet. My son was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, and every time I felt like I was surfacing for air, another wave would pull me back under.
The early years were filled with a whirlwind of appointments, therapies, and the exhausting task of explaining my son’s journey to eager friends and professionals alike. There was no time to float and observe life; I had to be an advocate, a teacher, and a proactive parent for all my children.
Fast forward to this year—my son now rides the bus to kindergarten in his adorable little red wheelchair, and I’m finally taking a breath again. But the whirlwind of special education remains. What new therapy can we incorporate? Is there a better school option nearby? How do we plan financially for his long-term care?
I refuse to let age, fear, or embarrassment hold me back from being his mother. Most days, I dive right in, even if I’m uncertain if I’ll ever experience that cathartic moment again in the shower. I did finally complete a triathlon, and the swim was a challenge. Battling big waves on my way out, I learned to ride them back to shore. I didn’t cry at the finish line; I simply felt a sense of accomplishment. Once I dove in, there was no turning back.
For those exploring similar journeys, whether diving into challenges or navigating parenthood, consider checking out helpful resources like Healthline’s guide on intrauterine insemination and Make a Mom’s fertility supplements for support. If you’re interested in home insemination, our blog on intracervical insemination is a great place to start.
In summary, diving into new experiences can be daunting, but it’s often where we find our strength. Embracing challenges and advocating for our loved ones can lead to unexpected joy, even amid the waves.