But There Are Good Times Too

One of the many gifts of facing my trauma history has been the emergence of great and wonderful memories from childhood. It is my belief that what may appear to be the simple or mundane for most adults who do not have our histories, are the precious and the vital to those of us who survived adverse childhood experiences.

As I begrudgingly, began this journey (and the journey, for me, was crucial to my getting clean and sober from drugs and alcohol), I discovered some horrific things about the very people entrusted to look after me. The chief motivator of doing trauma work was the fear of being thirsty again. And for me, to drink again, was to die.

There were other rewards I would discover later on during my journey. And I still find pieces of my soul will align in ways that I could not possibly have imagined when I first began turning my face toward the awful history that was my childhood.

You see. I had been pretty successful in blocking it all out. When I came into detox at Westbrook Hospital in October of 1989, I could only remember my life as it related to competitive swimming, some bullying I suffered in elementary school, that awful incident in Deering Oaks at age thirteen, and not much else. I was none too keen on looking any further, yet here were professionals and recovering people telling me that the pathway to freedom was the truth. My truth, it seemed, had rule over me.

But something else happened as well. I started to remember good things. Mostly swimming things at first. Aquatics had always been good to me. And I find that my life has always had the constant of returning to the water. Coaching, teaching, lifegarding, and all things swimming have soothed my soul and provided comfort for me.

My first exposure to swimming was at the Westbrook outdoor pool; affectionately known as "The Tank." I was six years old during my first summer lessons there. The year was 1968, and my two instructors were Mr. Jordan and Mr. Harriman.

These two men were more than swimming instructors to me. They represented adult, male safety in my life. I spent many summers in their lesson programs. And as I got older, a bunch of neighborhood kids would walk to the pool for open swim from 1:00-4:00pm.

But these men! These awesome, wonderful men! They could swim like nobody's business. I used to linger after lessons to watch them swim. I'd stand outside the fence just to catch a glimpse of their freestyle, with the perfect rotary breathing.

Something happens during swim lessons that may be unique to the sport. Instructors not only organize classes and teach skills sets, they bring kids through fear. It's scary to put your face in the water for the first time. Then it's scary to jump into deep water, or off the diving board, or swim the width of the deepest part of the pool. Mr Harriman and Mr Jordan were with me every step of the way.

During my first deep-end test, I had to dog paddle across the width of the deep end. I got just past the first diving board when I started to panic. Mr Harriman reached in and plucked me out of the water with one hand, and set me on the deck. I thought he was the strongest man in the world!

More importantly, he gave me another chance. He told me I could swim the width, or he wouldn't have brought me down to the deep end. I swam the whole way, and was so pleased with myself. Later that summer, I was jumping off the low board and swimming to the side with the utmost confidence . . . "Cannonball!"

Like my trauma history, this memory came to me in bits and pieces as I processed other difficulties from my past. I quickly found it therapeutic to write about these positive memories, or recount them with friends that were helping me along with my more difficult memories. I think that talking about the good times paid equal dividends to my recovery, as processing the ever-crucial aspects of my history as well.

I will make space for processing and healing on this blog for as many people as possible. What I hope for the comment section of this piece is that people will post positive memories and influences from their childhood.

The floor is yours.

All my best,

M <3