Struggle

I like swimming. Has always been a favorite of mine. Not like swimming laps, just swimming. I might even love it.

For being an activity I love so much, I find it ironic that swimming can also trigger a rapid, intense panic in me like no other. It happens when someone dunks me and holds me under the water. I hate that. Immediate panic. It also happens when falling off a raft before I could swim. The temporary fear from when I was 4 years old is still real. The threat of no air defines maximum anxiety in my book.

The way I feel about swimming, I feel pretty similar about being a mom.

Yesterday I feel like I spent my whole day being held under water. And I felt that panic, that desperation for air. Where love gets lost in desperation for survival.Where drowning is only a single, tempting breath away, threatening with every passing heart beat.

I know it will be ok. Somehow it always is.

In fact, I'm swimming again today. The oxygen filling my lungs is crisp and present.

But that doesn't erase the realness of drowning I felt yesterday. Or the fact that Deeter is still screaming a whole lot today. In a couple hours, air might be a fading mirage.