As part of our first year anniversary celebrations, the bf and I decided to go on holiday. We booked it, packed everything and off we set.
Now, I knew at some point during this holiday, I’d be coming into contact with water. Because we’d booked a self catering studio apartment, and were stay in a harbour town, I was fairly confident I wouldn’t be seeing a swimming pool anytime soon. If you’ve been on a self catering holiday with no actual resorts to stay in…I’m sure you’ll be aware that in order to swim, one must get into the ACTUAL sea.
This doesn’t sit well with me at all as I don’t like open water, and always imagine I’ll just float out to sea and drown. This might seem over dramatic, but I can’t help my water anxiety.
My bf being the natural swimmer that he is, took straight to it and went snorkelling. It took me two days to get in the water, up to my knees….that’ll be more than enough, thank you. It was freezing and I was scared and anxious. By the 4th or 5th day I’d managed to get in, up to my waist and even manage to float and do a little doggy paddle.
On the 6th day, the sea was far too rough, so my bf sat with me right by the shore and we giggled as we got battered by every wave that came… I felt slightly disappointed with myself for not getting in properly but the anxiety of not being able to see the floor, let alone touch it if I got into any perceived danger was too much. I need an escape route….you don’t get that safety net in the sea.
So today, the final day. I clambered over these rocks and lowered myself in slowly. It was only waist deep, but I stayed sat down and moved further and further in. I leant back and let the water rest just above my chest. I lay like that for a good 10 minutes. Finally I felt satisfied and proud of myself. I was officially under the sea.
Water 0 – Carina 1.