In 2010, my dad handed me an envelope for Christmas. Inside, the paperwork for my open water scuba diving class told me I would be starting in the local pool in two weeks. Four days later, on my birthday, I was given a tank, a buoyancy control device, a mask, snorkel, and fins. Like an angsty, bratty teenager, I complained that this would just be more work.

But, coming from a nautical family, and truly being my father’s daughter, by the time we got into the pool, I was excited to breathe underwater. In fact, I was so excited that I forgot to take my phone out of the bag I’d put my fins in. My phone ended up going for a dive before I ever did.

Taking a scuba class in the winter in New England means lots of pool work. We couldn’t do the open water dives until the spring, when the Gulf Stream brought “warmer” water to our shores. The weekend of May 1 and 2, I met with my instructor one-on-one, and we proceeded to walk down the rocky shoreline of Newport, Rhode Island, into freezing cold water that promptly went right up the back of my very thick wetsuit. 

I remember a few things about those dives: I remember feeling so awkward in 7-9mm of neoprene that I struggled to get my fins on as I floated like a cork in the water. I remember the shock as cold water rushed across my cheeks during the mask removal portion of the skills check. I remember my instructor presenting me with a baby lobster, and that baby lobster holding onto my thickly gloved finger with its’ claws. I remember staring at a starfish in that ghostly blue-green environment, and not noticing the jellyfish I swam directly into. That is, I didn’t notice until we were on land and the giant red sting mark across my exposed cheeks became apparent.

As soon as I finished the course, I began to overthink everything. I was excited to be certified, but also irrationally afraid of sharks. (My little brother’s obsession with Jaws and all things shark didn’t help my fears.) That summer, a few great whites were sighted off the coast of Newport, and I held off dipping my newly certified feet in the water. That summer, even though I’d just gotten certified, I let my fears hold me back.

“I’ve learned that fear limits you and your vision. It serves as blinders to what may be just a few steps down the road for you. The journey is valuable, but believing in your talents, your abilities, and your self-worth can empower you to walk down an even brighter path. Transforming fear into freedom – how great is that?” Soledad O’Brien

Six years went by, and although the opportunities to dive were always there, I continued to allow my fear of open water to consume me. There was always an excuse, a way to save face. I wasn’t honest with myself. Telling people I was a scuba diver was great for small-talk, but in reality, the thought of going into cold, east coast water and not knowing what I’d find scared the crap out of me.

After I joined the military and graduated college, I found myself living in Hawaii. My friend persuaded me to spend Memorial Day weekend on the island of Kauai, and we chartered a snorkeling sailboat to sail up the Na Pali Coastline. I had no intentions of snorkeling. I’d been saving face for six years now, and I thought I was pretty good at it. She’d go snorkeling, I’d lay on the deck and tan and enjoy the mai tais.

I was very wrong.

My friend did not take “no” for an answer, and, shoving me off the boat and tossing a mask, snorkel, and fins my way, I found myself swimming in the ocean in water much deeper than I was tall.

I panicked.

Hyperventilating, doing some sort of awkward water-treading doggy paddle, I attempted to communicate my discomfort to her verbally. She told me to put the mask on and look beneath me.

Oh, no, I thought. I know what’s down there. Sharks, and monsters, and things that can eat me, living in that big dark blue abyss. Nope, I was going to swim towards that boat and get right back on the swim step.

Starting to swim back, I put the mask on. She pushed my face in the water.

There were no sharks. There were no monsters, and no dark blue abyss. There was a reef, and three green sea turtles, and plenty of little brightly colored fish. The ocean seemed to embrace me, and pull me down into it. I went from “get on the boat” to “I never want to leave” in less time than it took Han Solo to do the Kessel Run.

That was the moment I inadvertently conquered my fears and started on a passionate track to sharing this wonderful experience with everyone else. Six long, fearful years after I became a diver, I finally embraced the underwater world, and fed this new passion with zeal and excitement. Within 13 months of that day, I became a PADI Divemaster and was leading deep dives off a boat in Hawaii.

To this day, I don’t understand how I went from excited scuba diver-in-training to fearful poser. I believe part of my desire to pass the course was not so much out of a love for diving, but because I wanted to prove I could do it. Dad had forced my hand, and I wasn’t going to let him down.

To my teenage brain, all I needed to do was pass the class. Who cared what I did afterwards?

Well, to be honest – no one did. My certification was for me, and it was up to me to do something with it. Although Dad introduced me to the sport, I was under no obligation to continue playing. That part was entirely my own responsibility.

Diving has become almost like a religion for me. It is my meditation, my healing, my self-care. I wake up early on Sundays to go dive rather than attend church. I preach about the benefits of diving as though I was getting paid to do it (I am not, sadly). Diving is a community that, for me, has provided more meaningful friendships than I’ve ever had before. Diving is my passion, and my obsession. When not diving, I’m talking about diving. When neither of those are an option, I’m reading and dreaming about diving. This sport opened the door for me to explore better ways to be ecologically friendly, and led to a passion for not only breathing underwater, but for advocating for our world’s oceans and the life within them. Becoming a diver was a very good thing for me.

But it was not an easy road, and I have many, many people to be grateful towards for believing in me and sometimes pushing me when I was unwilling to push myself.

Getting certified was not, in fact, the finish line. It was, instead, the beginning of a very long journey.