wash king confessional.
I am drowning in motherhood.
I feel my fingertips dip beneath the cool, murky surface as my depleted body sinks lower……lower……lower.
I’m brought back to the time I was a young child; sitting on the bottom of the above ground pool in the back of our friends yard. I had climbed the ladder attached to the side, stepped over the ledge of the pool, and then back down the other side of the ladder into the water. The only thing was, I didn’t know how to swim.
Blurred shades of blue danced off the walls of the pool as my tiny body slowly descended, coming to a rest on the cool vinyl floor. Muted laughter and sounds from above were distorted and echoed through the water. I closed my eyes and everything turned black.
Who was coming to save me?
What I do not remember or see from this incident is my mother tearing through the backyard with nothing but a white bath towel around her waist. She threw her body over the edge of the pool and pulled me from the bottom, saving my life.
No one saw me enter the pool that day, not even her. Later when asked about the incident, she said she just knew I was there.
It is now thirty-five years later. I’m drowning again.
After all this time I’m still navigating the waters alone. Again, by choice.
Never one to dip my toe in or test the waters, I’ve flung myself full force into this life, and once again without a life jacket.
I’m drowning in motherhood, and if it wasn’t for the thousands invested in skincare, you’d see it dripping off every inch of me. It’s noticeable in other forms though.