For example, My baby is a little over a year old and I have come through a difficult time struggling with perinatal depression. It is time  to challenge myself physically and mentally. I want to try something new and challenge myself. I search around the community and see what they have to offer me. I talk to different women I know about opportunities to help me feel the best I can. I narrowed it down to a few options: adult swim team, art class, or a cooking class. I was visiting with a friend and she had wanted to try the early morning adult swim team at the college. I decided to dive in head first with her.  

In addition to me wanting to take a plunge in the deep end, Cheri Engberson, a therapist, helps us understand that when we start moving a little bit each day it can motivate us to have additional accomplishments in our life.

“Motion equals Motivation”

Cheri Engberson, MSW, CSW

On the Contrary my motivation is always waning at the crack of dawn. The alarm resounded in my ear in the dark hours of the morning. I turn and squint to see the glaring red numbers registering 4:30. I roll over with nerves wracking my body. Why am I doing this? I did not really learn to swim very well when I was taking lessons as a young girl. I know the very basics of swimming. I never learned to breathe properly and my endurance has never been substantial. My friend that is joining me at the pool reassured me that there will be a beginners lane for us to both drown in together. At least I won’t look like a waterlogged middle aged idiot all by myself.

As I get ready to leave the house I peek in at the sleeping kiddos, quietly grab my towel and suit, silently tip toe downstairs, and softly turn the skeleton key knob to our front door. A few more steps across the painted wooden porch and I am sitting alone in the dark waiting for my car to warm up. I drive down the hill to pick up my friend and together we will anxiously make the drive to the pool. I wait and wait and wait and she never comes outside. I send a text and tell her I will meet her at the pool. My nerves pulsate through my body all the way to the front door of the University pool entrance and they bounce me the rest of the way to the women’s locker room. 

 I am unfamiliar with my surroundings as the cool morning air feels my lungs and the chlorine rattles my nose hairs and stings my eyes. I find a secluded corner in the locker room and I pull down my loose sweats and T-shirt and forcibly pull up my swimming suit. I look around at all of the other women who have swam on college teams and have maintained perfect toned bodies. I do not belong here. I have second thoughts of jumping in the chemical filled pool that is only steps away. I want to hide my body, my abilities, and my thoughts under my crumpled up sweatpants on the floor. I never intended on doing this brainless activity on my own. I fake it! I fake everything as I walk half naked with my counterfeit confidence to the coaches standing by the wall on the concrete floor. 

I look to them as my only lifeline of help and hope. I receive a courtesy nod for the newbie in lane one and they point in the direction of the pool gear in the adjacent room. I grab mismatched hand paddles, a pool buoy and a broken kickboard. I line up at the front of lane one and the coach looks at me with a questioning glance. “What do we do now?” I stutter. The coach responds,”Get in! We are going to start.” I look towards her, “Right now?” I was hoping for fifteen minutes of hot yoga or something. She retorts, “Yes!” I stretch my daughters swim cap over my head as I pull parts of my hair out of my scalp. No matter how hard I try I look like a boy with dragon spikes on my head. I can’t seem to suction the silver silicone cap over my head tight enough. I plug my nose and I jump into a crowded frigid beginners lane.

The Coach shouts from the deck the warm up drills. The lane is filled with beginner swimmers. Everyone pushes off the side of the pool and begins to freestyle. I am the last to follow on the right side of our lane. I hold my head out of the water because I do not know how to breathe out underwater. The coach spots me immediately and pulls me to the side. She quickly states, “You have to learn how because I will not let you continue without correct breathing. Go under water and practice until you have it. It’s like humming under water.” I am dunking myself over and over again and I come up spitting and coughing. There is no use. I can’t do this. I dog paddle back to the front of the line as I am bumping into the other swimmers. I feel alone and defeated. The hour of water torture is finally up and I pull my body out of the pool and get dressed.

I pull into the driveway and I feel this sense of accomplishment. Even though I failed miserably this morning I feel like I can hang up my flag of defeat with pride. I want to go and try again. 

The alarm screams in my ear the following morning and I repeat the same routine. I pull up in the dark to the parking of the pool. The worst part of all of this is over. I can show up for the second worst part of this nightmare and that is the second day. I jump in the cool pool and I am persistent about nose breathing while I am swimming. I swallow water, I stop the line of swimmers behind me, and I am constantly making mistakes. Other swimmers start to get frustrated with me stopping halfway and blocking the lane. Right before the clock strikes six o’clock I finally am able to blow bubbles through my nose. I hit the water with excitement and I can’t wait to tell my husband that I am capable of continuing in the beginners lane. I look over at the other seven lanes and I have a desire to be able to swim as swiftly and  precisely as the other swimmers.   

Drills, technique, breathing, timing and cool downs are persistently being yelled from the deck. I am starting to learn more and pick up a steady rhythm. I still have so much to learn. 

Today I am stuck behind a ninety year old man with long black flippers. The coach does not encourage flippers but he is the exception to the rule. I have a little bit quicker pace than he does and so I look up and the lane is clear to pass. I bolt out of my lane to pass him and his long black flipper collides with my head over and over. I yell out in pain under the waters and a ream of bubbles appear beneath me. I steady my pace and I stay behind him the rest of the morning. 

In addition to swimming in the early mornings I have a conversation in the locker room with a swimmer that is far more advanced than I am. She says, “I was once where you are. If you want to improve physically and in your technique you should also come in the evenings. I started seeing improvement in myself when I started swimming twice a day.” I thought about her suggestion and decided to try an evening practice.  

The evening practice is a lot more relaxed and there are a lot less people. I am free to pick any lane I want to swim in. I jump into lane seven and follow the routine the coach  put together for the hour. I am concentrating on progressing in the back stroke. The coach occasionally stops me and shows me a recording of my swim and then helps me correct my mistakes. I start again correcting my arm strokes. I am hyper focused on pulling my right shoulder up out of the water and extending my left arm out to get a good pull. I am clipping along at a good pace and with every pull I feel my confidence increase in this particular stroke. I take another upsweep of my left arm and I come down into the water with force. My hand hit something! I panicked for a moment. Did I come into someone else’s lane? Did someone rudely crash into mine? My first impulse was to maybe squeeze my hand so my mind would register what it was. Then without the initial squeeze I quickly knew what it was as he swam past me and I turned my head. My hand in cupping shape came down on his buttocks. I was veering into his lane and I had over extended my arm on top of him. He never missed a beat. There is no mistake that I just gave that young man a good spanking. I swam as fast as I could with my face turning the color of a tomato and I bore the resemblance of Goofy doing the windmill stroke all the way back to the wall. I jumped out of the pool fifteen minutes early that night and decided I would stick to my morning routine.   

Furthermore, I became pretty good at the new skill I set out to accomplish. I later was able to hold my own in my lane and teach swimming lessons. I gained confidence in and out of the water because I had accomplished something difficult.   

Three things I learned that helped me steady myself and continue on to a happy life after a serious period of perinatal depression:  

1. Physical activity: When I challenge myself to do one difficult thing everyday I feel less melancholy and I feel more accomplished. 
2. Journaling: I Wrote down three things that brought me happiness and I forced myself to do them often.

3. Friendships: I intentionally put myself around people that bring me happiness.  

Resources: 

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/perinatal-depression

https://www.upskilled.edu.au/skillstalk/mental-health-benefits-learningnew-skill

https://cornercanyoncounseling.com/team/cheri-engberson-csw/

Medical disclaimer: The information on this site are my own thoughts and experiences. This is not a substitute for professional and medical advice. If you need help please consult a medical professional or healthcare provider.