Drown Proofing a Pandemic

 I am a swimmer.  And oh how I'm missing my early morning swims at the pool these past months!  

Honestly, it's been almost a year since I set foot in the building, except once to just chat at the front desk about how to put my membership on hold until I feel safe to interact in the gym/pool environment.  By now I'm longing for the quiet pull of my arms through the water, the rhythmic breathing on every fourth stroke, and the overall flood of endorphins when I climb out and towel off.

I feel safe and strong in the water, my swimming confidence the result of summer childhoods by the lake and Red Cross instruction at camp every July.  One skill required to advance to the next level (can't remember which by now) was the rather bluntly named 'drown-proofing.

The imagined scenario is that you are in over your head and for some reason are not close to shore or any other object to hold on to, AND you're tired.  Drown-proofing teaches you how to rest in the water.  You literally stop swimming and, holding your body in a certain posture, face down arms and legs spread, you allow yourself 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3, Mississippi, 4 Mississipi.... and longer as you get better at this, before you bring your face up out of the water, take a long slow breath, and do it again.

I remember really not liking it at first.  Wait?  I'm tired in the water, and I have to put my face IN the water?  I remember having a hard time resting while holding my breath, and coming up too soon in a gasp.  But after a while, with good coaching from the swimming instructor, I actually ended up enjoying it, finding it oh so quiet and peaceful in those moments of Mississipi counting, held up by the water itself.

We were not allowed to advance to the next level of swimming until we could do this perfectly.  It was essential, we were told, to have this skill if we were going to have any long confidence in our swimming ability.  It could save our lives, they said.

In a way, I feel like we all need this skill right now.

For this idea, I need to acknowledge Gail Patterson, mental health therapist at Joseph Brant Hospital, and her comments at a mental health webinar I attended Saturday morning through Anchor Ministerial Fellowship where I hold my credentials.  

In her talk she suggested that the pandemic has us all in over our depth, treading furiously just to keep our heads above the water.  All the pressing realities force us into skill sets we never knew we needed; navigating technologies, schooling our children, working from home, caring for elderly parents, leading and loving our communities of faith, grocery shopping, banking, you name it.  We're all on a learning curve and a coping curve and an anxiety curve that has us all exhausted.  And all without the normal supports - sort of like things we might grab hold of in the water - to keep us buoyed up and enjoying the swim.

Drown-proofing.  Resting in the midst of this.  Refusing to thrash about in an energy-wasting panic, but instead, floating face down with confidence, ready to swim again...in just a moment.  Stopping to look out the window.  Standing up for a good stretch.  Going for a walk around the block.  Moving to my reading chair not to read but to sit and meditate on some gratitudes for a few minutes.  Making sure to protect my restorative time in a world where work/rest rhythms are all off.  

And letting myself be Held by Arms that do not become fatigued.

Because the imagery of drown-proofing isn't quite complete without another memory from my swimming childhood.

I am maybe seven years old, swimming off the dock with my favourite cousin who was more like a brother.  A big brother, stronger and taller, who would put me on his shoulders and walk way out beyond the dock to where I am normally not allowed to be without a life jacket.  I love it up there.  I feel so safe, knowing his feet are on the bottom, allowing me to take the risk, push my fears just a little.  I trust him.  

There is a moment, though, where I realize just how much I trust him.  I am laughing and saying, "I could never touch bottom way out here."  And he takes one more step and says, "Neither can I!"

My mood rockets instantaneously from happy and fun to all out panic.  But just for the quickest of seconds, because all he does is step back, and we are all good.  And I am immediately in a space of joy and well being again.

This is such a long swim, my friends.  Some days it's like we're out in the middle of the lake and we can't even see a shoreline.  Whatever lets us count to 5 Mississippi, let's do it!  And may we ride with confidence, even joy, on the shoulders of a great big God who's feet are always solidly planted, no matter how far out we are.

For All The Mamas

 

[I'll begin with a disclaimer.  I celebrate and am in awe of all the Dads who are partnering with the Mamas to nurture and protect your young ones during this time.  I write from a mother's perspective and would not dare to assume I that I remotely know what that's like for you.  Kudos for who you are and what you do.  Perhaps one of you will write a piece For All The Dads.  We'd love that!]

My heart is stretched with many prayers these days.  

Top of the list right now is all the Mamas.  Especially the ones at home with new babies.  Especially the ones who are guiding their children in distant learning.  Especially the ones trying to work from home. Especially the ones cut off from the family and friends who, in another reality, would be your 'village' in a hands-on concrete, play-date, let-me-hold-the-baby-for-a-while, out-for-ice-cream, or sleep-over-at-Gramma's kind of way.  And VERY especially for those for whom all of the above is your reality in this momemt.

The mothering you are doing right now is nothing short of heroic!

These nurturing-band-new-people days are intense.  Even in the best of times.  I remember them well, and I'm almost 40 years past them!  The times when I would get an overwhelming sense of accomplishment if I got the bed made.  The times when the evening 'colic' (did anyone ever find out what that really was?) would hit like clockwork at 7:15 and run until 9:30 every night, reducing us all into a big sobbing mess.  The times when the one task of feeding these little humans seemed to obliterate anything else I might dare to hope to do in a day, hence that swell of wonder if I got the bed made.  The times when sleep deprivation made it ever so convincing that the balled up sock in the hallway was crawling its way towards me.   Those days.

And in none of this was I required to isolate.  Heaven forbid!  The group of sister-moms I belonged to was my lifeline!  Play dates were essential!  Just a walk down to Tim's for a tea and some Timbits was a grand outing that could redeem the most wretched of days.  My own kids didn't have Grammas that were geographically close enough, but in the community of faith they were certainly passed around as if.

So, Brave Wonders, know this.  I am in awe of you!   You and your wee littles are not forgotten.  Not by us, not by God.  By a God who sees a sparrow fall?  No way.  Every bit of this He's, on it with you.  

And right here and right now I so want to offer some sort of guidance or wisdom, but I really have nothing.  Because....how different this is from any sort of parenting anyone's done in probably a hundred years!  What could any of us from our generation offer you, as much as we'd long to?  But perhaps some of the mama mantras that carried us through may be even just a little bit helpful.  Just a little?  And with that faint hope in mind...

 It's not easy being the world's future (for when they are crying).                                                                Celebrate the little things (like making the bed).                                                                                  There will come a time when they sleep through the night/cut their own food/wipe their own bums. Fresh air is sometimes the best cure for crazy.                                                                                    Watch them for a little bit when they're asleep.                                                                                        Do one thing each day that's just for you.                                                                                                Your child isn't the only one that's growing, so pay attention to all that's transforming in you.                  This too shall pass.    

Reach out.  Trust your network.  They're still your village.                                                                          

And just one final note.  You really have no idea what your nurture is preparing them for.  The picture above is of my daughter Kristyn, age two, in a tender moment with her new baby brother David.  She's now mothering through a pandemic herself, heroically so.

Love to you Mamas!  Love and power and tenacity and peace and grace and wonder.