In the 1990s, there was a popular inflatable
alligator for the pool and the beach. I remember my
brother having it with us that day on the beach. My
dad and brother were out deeper than my mom
and me. I don't recall exactly how deep we were,
but suddenly, we were being pulled under by a
powerful undercurrent. It was instant chaos and
panic.
No amount of swimming prepares a child for the
terror of being caught out of sync with the ocean's
waves. I remember my mom trying to hold me up as
she went under herself. I gasped for air, flailed my
arms and legs, trying desperately to stay afloat. I
felt a new kind of panic and terror that day, like
looking life and death in the eyes. Luckily, my dad,
brother, and that silly inflatable alligator saved our
lives.
That memory burned itself into my mind, heart, body,
and nervous system. For years, I had dreams about
that day or dreams about chaotic ocean waves. I
gained a decades-long fear of water, especially the
ocean. It took me 35 years to make peace with the
ocean and realize that surviving the sea's power at the
age of 10 was a remarkable feat. Understanding this
helped me to fully understand that I am a wayfinder
for myself and others. Unfortunately, it was only one
of many childhood experiences I would endure.
That day at the beach became a metaphor for my life.
Again and again, I found myself caught in
overwhelming, unexpected experiences, emotionally
drowning in waves of trauma. Helplessness,
hopelessness, and overwhelm felt like a constant
state of survival for me. I often wondered when I
would finally be pulled under for the last time.
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