Watch her swim

Something wonderful and amazing has happened right before my very eyes this summer. My daughter has taught herself how to swim. As I watched her decide to let go of some of her last fears and reservations about "going under," tears literally fell down my face. The overwhelming feeling of excitement and joy I felt for my daughter made me want to jump up and down. I sat in my chair and watched as Morgan played with 3 other girls on 2 rafts in the center of the pool. Another mom was playing the "monster" and swam under the rafts as the girls screamed. The girls scrambled and swam between the two rafts, constantly changing positions. Morgan swam above and beneath the surface right along with them. She was in water that was over her head and she was having no trouble kicking and pulling in order to mover her body where she wanted it to be. I can't even imagine what my own face must have looked like because Morgan had not really ever swam before these moments. One of the other moms who was watching said, "Wow. Morgan isn't even aware of how great she is actually doing." After they played this way for awhile, Morgan swam to the side looking a bit tired. She turned to the mom "monster" and said, "Can we please move down where I can touch." I was overwhelmed again and tears ran down my cheeks.
The tears honestly caught me off guard. The feelings were definitely ones that I had only ever had experienced briefly. I suppose it was a combination of pride in and amazement of my child. Theories that I held about, not only her ability to teach herself to swim, but about the resulting trust in herself that teaching herself would produce were proved before me. Many times throughout the summer I wanted to tell her that she needed to put on her swimmies or floaty. I held my tongue. Several times I wanted to tell her to turn around and go back to the shallow end as she tiptoed deeper and deeper. I held my tongue. Countless times I wanted to say, "kick your feet," or "pull with your arms." I held my tongue. I was silent each time because I believed that she knew what she was capable of better than I did. I was silent because I believed that if I told her to put on her floaty that I would be undermining the trust she had built in herself. And I was silent because I wanted her to listen to her inner voice that helps keep her safe. If I spoke, I was afraid that my voice would become too important and override her own.
My tears were, in part, about the realization that my silence had given her freedom. She had developed a relationship with the water based on trust of her own body and comfortability in it. As I sat watching her swim and play with the other girls in the water, not once did she look to see if I was watching. Her ability to swim did not come about because of what anyone else wanted her to do. She was swimming because it was something she had wanted to do on her own. Learning to swim was something that was important to her and her alone. She accomplished a goal I had seen her set for herself and the reward was being able to swim.
My tears were there as well because I saw Morgan recognize her own limitations and verbalize them. For starters she asked the woman to move to the shallow end when she got tired. Then the other girls were going to jump off the diving board and the woman asked if Morgan wanted to go with them. Morgan said, "No. I can't." Both myself and the woman offered to wait in the water below the board to help her. She simply said, "Thanks, but I am too scared."
The whole evening at the pool was truly a gift. I do not sit back often enough to appreciate my children as the separate and unique people they are. Too often I am enmeshed with the girls and can't see them as clearly as I would like. I hope I am able to improve my ability to step back because I believe it will only benefit my children and our relationship for years to come. Watching Morgan become increasingly independent is the most exciting thing I have ever witnessed. I feel absolutely honored to be a part of her life.