I went to a concert at the Granada the day before yesterday. The Granada has 1,553 seats, and out of all those seats, the ones I bought were right next to W and his sister. I hadn’t seen W since the day he was informed by another family member that I had reported his sexual abuse of me to the police. I had sold the two seats in between us to the couple who was sitting there, and if I had not I would have been seated next to his sister, just one seat over from W. If all had gone according to my plan, my daughter and niece would have been there, too.
I leaned over and touched his sister’s arm and greeted her warmly. W looked over at me and I gave him a little half smile. I wanted to say “I forgive you,” that was in fact the exact phrase that came to mind when our eyes met, but it wasn’t an appropriate time or place for it to be spoken. There were three people seated in between us, two of whom were strangers. I hope my look conveyed at least a little of my forgiveness. I have worked hard to let go of my anger towards him and to forgive him. I didn’t do it for him, but I was glad to find that no anger came up when I was actually face-to-face with him again. I don’t know what that would have been like if the two young girls I love most in the world had been there as well. My mama bear protective instincts might have changed that. Anger is a powerful guardian.
Aside from my feelings toward W himself, I have done so much work to process my trauma from his his sexual abuse, and I think I’m in a very healthy place with regard to all that. However, I have not fully worked through my trauma and fear of water as a result of his actions in both ocean and swimming pool.
What happened was this: I was very young. I did not know how to swim and didn’t feel very comfortable in the water, so I’d hold on to the edge of the pool, or stay on the sand with the water no higher than my knees. W would grab me and throw me into the water unexpectedly, repeatedly. I felt like I was going to drown. I’d get my feet back on the sand or thrash my way back to the side of the pool, and just as I was catching my breath, he’d throw me back in again. I remember him and my cousin laughing and seeming oblivious to my struggles as I gasped, coughed, choked, sobbed and begged him to stop. I was utterly terrified, and it seemed that nobody noticed or cared. Even at his parents’ senior community pool, no one ever spoke up on my behalf. As an adult, I can’t imagine that W didn’t notice my distress and fear.
There were a few more incidents in the water that were traumatizing, but really only because I had such a fear of water going into them. Because of this early trauma, I never felt safe enough to put my face in the water without holding my nose, and so I’ve never really learned to swim, other than such strokes as can be done without putting one’s face in the water. I’ve never dived into a pool. I’ve never learned to boogie board, surf or scuba dive. For most of my life, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to do those things.
Water danger even haunts me in my dreams. Since I was a teenager, I have often dreamed of huge tsunamis washing over Santa Barbara. I’m standing on the cliffs at Shoreline Park watching the tsunami come in. Near the house where most of my sexual trauma occurred, over Ledbetter, the beach where the worst of the water trauma occurred. I don’t particularly like that beach, and I rarely go there.
For years, starting soon after my daughter was born in 2005, I have had occasional dreams about sneaker waves sweeping children (especially my daughter) into the ocean. The sneaker wave comes, and we are trapped against the cliffs (often under Shoreline Park). Or children are playing, closer to the water than their parents and are swept out before we can get to them.
I also had recurring dreams where we were on one of the docks in the Santa Barbara Harbor (right next to Ledbetter), and she was dropped or fell off a dock into black inky water and disappeared beneath the surface. For some reason I and the other people on the dock couldn’t jump in after her. We were all paralyzed. She was in a realm where I could not protect her. What W did to me—my greatest fear, the closest I’d ever felt to death—was happening to her, and there was nothing I could do to save her. (As an aside, I think these dreams went even beyond my fear of water to one of the essential realities of being a parent. We can't protect our children from everything. We can’t protect them from so many things in life or, in the end, from death. We give them life, and to be alive means to die one day. That is a difficult thing to accept, but of course we must.)
For as long as I could remember, my dreams were almost exclusively lucid. Drowning dreams were my only nightmares, my only dreams in which I did not control the dream. They were the only dreams in which I couldn’t change the scene if I didn’t like what was happening. There was no pursuing enemy to embrace with love, nothing I could do to change the situation. From the dreams of my daughter drowning, I invariably woke with a gasp, trembling, my heart racing and my body drenched with sweat.
After my husband died in 2009, when I completely stopped lucid dreaming and let my subconscious guide my dreams, rather than my conscious mind, I started having terrifying nightmares about drowning, myself. At some point in one of these dreams, I couldn’t hold my breath any more and accepted that I was going to drown. I breathed in the ocean water, in full expectation of stabbing pain in my sinuses, throat and lungs and then death. But, to my surprise, it felt like any other breath. I was breathing normally underwater. And then I noticed that my entire body felt warm, relaxed and comfortable (I was feeling my body, asleep in my soft, warm bed). In my dreams I can now swim and dive deep into the ocean without fear. I can breathe in the water of the ocean and I feel safe there.
I listened to a podcast on animal spirit guides in late 2010, and as a result I bought a recording of guided meditation to encounter one’s own animal spirit guides. The first time I did the meditation, it was intensely hallucinatory, and I met a fish, a young female California sheephead. I asked her for a message, and all she would say was “swim.” Again and again I asked for something else, and again and again “swim” was the monosyllabic answer. This was, of course, the absolute last thing I wanted to do and the last thing I would ever have wanted to hear anyone advise me to do. The species of the fish was also very curious. A few weeks after that dream I visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium and saw a big male sheephead in the kelp forest tank. I was so excited to see it, and then I read the informational card about it on the railing. I was amazed to discover that California sheephead are all born female. Depending on their environment (and if they live long enough) at some point in their life cycles they will all morph into males. Like the dragonfly, they are, to me, symbolic of complete transformation.
As a result of this vision, I realized that I needed to do some work to overcome my trauma around water. I had come so far in my dreams, but clearly, I still had so much more work to do. I found that it wasn’t nearly as easy in waking life.
Step one was starting to wash my face in a full basin of water and splashing water on my face rather than using a wet washcloth. Some water inevitably would go up my nose. At first, this induced full-on panic.
When I started spending time on the ranch in Big Sur, where there was no shower, I had to wash my face in the bathtub in the same way. I also started taking baths and washing my face in the huge bathtub in my home in the Santa Ynez Valley. With water up to two feet deep, it was even more scary. It was very, very hard to get to a point of being okay with that. I started resting with my face forward in the water for as long as I could hold my breath. Then I moved on to submerging my head totally, with and then without holding my nose. The first time I sank my head backwards into the water and water went up my nose I lost it completely. I didn’t feel safe again until I was not only out of the bath and mostly dry, but had the bathtub drained as well. That was a huge setback. But I continued to make progress, to have fewer and fewer episodes of panic.
When I was living in Big Sur, I bought a membership to the Carmel Valley Athletic Club, with the express purpose of using their hot tubs and pool. I wanted my daughter to spend a lot of time in the water and become a strong swimmer, and I wanted to continue to move forward with my healing around water. It was huge. My daughter is a great swimmer now, with no fear of the water. In fact, she loves to swim. I even got to the point where I could swim underwater while wearing a swim mask-without holding my nose! But this was in their warm, clear pools. Even in the hot tub I had a hard time if the jets were on, moving the water and sending bubbles up my nose.
Natural (and colder) bodies of water are another thing entirely. I thought I was doing so well. I swam in the ocean once last summer, really swam way out past where I could touch the bottom, and it was fun. I felt safe. I swam out with my sister and our daughters. My brother-in-law and nephew were out there floating with big surfboards that I could grab on to for a minute when I got tired, and I discovered how easy it is to float in the ocean if you are calm. I was excited to continue to swim in the ocean, but I am not a strong enough swimmer to feel safe going out by myself, and there was just never another opportunity to go out with anyone who I felt safe swimming with before the water got cold again.
Yesterday I went into the ocean and had a completely different experience. While I was swimming past the waves, I got water up my nose and down the back of my throat, choked a bit, and I started to hyperventilate. It was not a scary situation. The waves were small. I was really close to shore, just barely past where I could touch the bottom. I thought I’d just get past where the waves were breaking and float on my back to calm down, but I discovered that I was hyperventilating and couldn’t hold enough air in my lungs to float. I started to feel concerned, like I was going to be in trouble if I didn’t head back to shore. Hyperventilating where I couldn’t touch the bottom just seemed like a really dangerous thing. I told my friend I was panicking and needed to get back to shore, and she held my hand for a minute and helped me calm down until we got back to where I could touch the bottom. She was very sweet. I went back up on the dry sand and laid on my towel in the sun. My legs were shaking and I was a bit dizzy. It was so strange because out in the water my rational mind had remained totally calm. My self-talk was like “Uh, body, you are in no danger here. The waves are small, and we are really close to the shore. The water is warm. Calm the fuck down and let’s float here and enjoy this beautiful scene.” But my body just couldn’t calm down. It was like some danger signal had been sent when that water made me choke. I guess I am still not to a point of being okay with water going up my nose like that. But I swear I had been. I’d been so much better. I think seeing W the other day that somehow stirred up old traumas.
It seems so strange to me that I have this fear, in a way, because in my conscious, rational mind, I am not afraid of death. Especially since my husband died. I had to face my own mortality, and discovered that I find the idea of non-existence to be a peaceful and totally acceptable thing. I’m not afraid of the water because I’m afraid of drowning, of death. At least, not consciously. It seems that I have a primal, instinctual, totally unconscious fear response to water that has to be unlearned, untrained.
A friend warned me that this might not be possible to totally heal, that in the attempt to work through this trauma, I need to guard against retraumatizing myself. I think that is true as well. It is something that must be done totally at my own pace, without any outside pressure or internal expectations.
2016-07-05
Note: This was a journal entry, and so is a little more raw and unedited than what I usually post.
me in the mid 1980s
I remember this day so clearly. My Dad had taken me camping at the Pinnacles, and my new friend had convinced me to get in the swimming pool with her. I remember being so delighted that I felt safe and was having fun in cool water.