Fear is a four-letter word…

I am standing at the top of a ladder that descends into the belly of a small submarine. By some bizarre twist of fate, I am the last person to enter the craft. I am probably the most reluctant passenger on this little voyage beneath the sea. Leaving me in the open salt air to consider the wisdom of the action I’m about to take isn’t necessarily the best thing for me. I have too much time to think about what I’m doing.

Finally the crew member at the bottom of the ladder beckons me down. I take one final breath of fresh air and climb backwards down the ladder. 42 other people are seated down each side of the sub; each one facing a porthole about 18 inches in diameter. The windows, I’m told, are three and a half inches of thick polymer.

I am taking in deep breaths through my nose and quietly breathing out through my mouth. The hatch above me is closed and the radio speaker crackles to life. There are some brief words spoken between the captain of the submarine and the small ship on the surface that ferried us out to the sub. Then I hear, “Dive. Dive. Dive.”

It’s just another day in Paradise…

I’m in Maui with my two sisters-in-law and two of my nieces. A series of events found them with an extra ticket and My Sweet (who had recently heard my “I hate winter” rant) said, “Why don’t you ask Cathy if she’d like to go?” Ten days in Maui, one of the most beautiful places on earth; ten days in the place we’ve been waiting to back to together. That’s how much he loves me.

We’ve done all the usual things – road trip to Hana, seen the summit of the dormant volcanic crater Haleakala, whale watching tour, turtle spotting, and countless hours at the beach. It is our last full day before we head home. What else can we do that we haven’t already done?

“How about the glass bottomed boat? Or maybe the submarine?” I ask.

In my defense, I truly thought the submarine was a glass bottomed vessel that just took you over the shallow reefs as an alternative to snorkeling. There is a yellow submarine that is exactly that. I didn’t realize this was an excursion on a completely different submarine. A real submarine.

It’s when the ticket seller starts talking about at least 45 minutes of full submersion that the realization of what I have suggested begins to dawn on me.

My sister-in-law looks at me and says, “Are you going to be okay with this?” My anxiety about anything underground or confined spaced or underwater or simply on the water, for that matter, is well-known.

“Sure,” I said, “I can do this.”

In my head I’m like the little engine that could…I think I can. I think I can.

No one to blame but myself…

I admit that after the tickets were purchased I started scouring the stores for some form of anti-anxiety supplement. No luck. That’s how I found myself in a little submarine moving along the bottom of the ocean at a depth of 150 feet doing deep breathing exercises to keep from losing my mind.

I confess there was a moment when we started to descend that I began to feel tears welling in my eyes. I could barely stand the thought that the water was rising above my head and I was trapped in a sinking tin can filled with people. I also had the helpful knowledge, supplied by the tour narrator, that the batteries were capable of maintaining life support for 25 hours. Thanks so much for that little tidbit Mr. Chipper.

When the first tropical fish swam past my viewing port, I started counting:  one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Except the only visible colours at that depth were pale yellow and blue, so even though I know there were red fish I couldn’t have pointed one out. I counted until my field of vision was filled with fish, hundreds and hundreds of fish. And then a white tipped reef shark resting on the bottom. And then a flock of spotted eagle rays ‘flying’ through the depths.

And somehow I managed to keep counting and breathing until almost an hour later, we returned to the surface.

Diving deep off the edge of my comfort zone…

It’s been almost a week since that day and even as I’m reliving it, writing this, I can feel my chest tighten and my breath catch a bit in my throat. In my mind, it was a test; a test of how far I have come in learning how to manage my anxiety. A failure though, in that sinking sub full of people, would have been mortifying and so, I think, maybe failure wasn’t an option in my mind. Maybe that’s part of why I managed it.

I know that compared to others my anxiety is not a big deal. I know others suffer far more than I do. But I also know I’m not in a competition for whose struggle is worse, whose experience is harder. I know how hard it was for me to get off the transfer boat and climb down into that submarine and I am so incredibly proud of myself for doing it! I also know how many steps have come before this one, each one a lesson in what works and what doesn’t work for me.

I can’t say I’ve conquered my fear. I can’t say it won’t always be there competing for headspace. It might. And it might not.

Here’s the lesson I walked away from that submarine with: I’m so much stronger than I think I am. I am braver than I give myself credit for. I have dived farther off the deep end of my comfort zone than ever before and survived. And let me tell you, it feels good!

If you think you’d like to read more about how I’ve learned to manage my anxiety, you can try this essay
https://www.cathytubb.com/know-your-limit-play-within-it/ or maybe this one
https://www.cathytubb.com/light-from-the-dark-places/