Last Monday I was driving across the Coronado bridge wondering what the @$#% I had gotten myself into.  I was on my way to day one of the Total Immersion swimming course, which I knew was going to be filled with a bunch of hot-shot swimmers who were there to shave off some time from their previous Iron Man swim.  And then there was me - never learned how to swim and don't really have a clue how to do it.  Ugh, this is going to be awful.  And embarrassing.  Is it too late to get out of it?  

Thanks to my super slow breast pump I arrived to swim class late.  Or maybe I arrived late because I was procrastinating going and looking like a complete idiot.  Either way, I walked in right after everyone had apparently introduced themselves sharing their life history of swimming experience.  My coach told me to go on ahead and jump into the pool and warm up with my freestyle stroke.  Hm, I wonder what that means!?  I guess the prudent thing to do would have been to a-s-k.  But, asking would have meant admitting that I don't know what I'm doing.  Instead, my ego landed me in the pool and I just tried to mimic the others.  The others who have been swimming their whole bloody lives.  

After a couple of laps of disastrous labored "freestyle" swimming, our lead instructor said to lineup as we were about to start the filming, which would be viewed and critiqued by all at the end of the day.  Great, I knew I should have listened to that inner voice telling me to turn the car around and head east on the bridge, back to safety.  I knew that even if I followed through and filmed my famous freestyle that I absolutely had to make up some lame excuse as to why I would have to leave class early, before we watched the film, and never come back.  The babysitter quit. That would have worked.  But, I didn't.  I stayed and watched a very painful two minutes of myself in the water.  And I watched everyone else's video as they beautifully glided through the water.  (Lesson number one, apparently swimmers move through the water, not in the water.  Bet you can't guess which one I do?!)

Despite my humiliation, I continued to show up each day and made a complete idiot out of myself.  But, each day I learned a ton about swimming and the most efficient way to get from one end of the pool to the next.  It was humbling.  And, dare I admit, fun!  (And cold. Man, was it it cold!)  I had to continue to remind myself that I'm new at this swimming stuff and it's okay to suck at it and to feel uncomfortable and awkward.  It's all part of the process.  It's not me versus them; there was no competition or judgement by my fellow swimmers.  In fact, the rest of the participants (and coaches) became my biggest fans.  They loved watching how much improvement I made from start to finish.  And it felt good.  So good.  To do something completely outside of my comfort zone and be okay with the steep learning curve.  

Being a new mom is a lot like learning how to swim.  I've never done it before now and therefore it's going to feel awkward and uncomfortable at times - like I can't breathe.  And sometimes I'm going to feel like I completely suck as a mom, but that's totally normal.  And part of the learning curve.  The good news is, just like swimming, it's not black-or-white or sink-or-swim, there's a ton of gray area.  I don't have to be a perfect mom all of the time (thank goodness since I never am), and it's okay to feel afraid sometimes.  It just means I will have more opportunities to learn.  Opportunities to learn what is causing my fears and check out whether they're even valid fears, or are they based on the silly stories that I create in my mind.  

It's okay to feel totally uncomfortable, like a fish-out-of-water, while I learn how to fill my role as a new mom.  As long as I'm willing to be wrong sometimes, and learn from those who have been doing it longer than me, I'll make it to the other side, hopefully stronger than when I first started this new journey, and certainly more graceful.  Just like gliding throuuugh the water.  One breath at a time.  One very long, deep, relaxing breath.