SWIM, SWAM, SWUM
She thought I looked beautiful, because I was happy.
Growing up, my mother had to bribe me with tiny heart-shaped chocolates to get me to swim lessons. Late into middle school, I hopped in the car after school one day and found myself on the way to a solo swim lesson, my mom holding a bathing suit at the side of the pool and encouraging me to get in.
My parents were very concerned that I would find myself in water, unable to keep myself afloat. Over time, I learned enough that I could manage to swim across a pool or get back to shore. Yet time and time again, I opted out of swimming activities. During my years of camp, I never once took the swim test.
I told people—my parents, my camp counselors, friends that invited me to pool parties—that I just hated swimming. The reality was that I hated that swimming required me to show my body. I couldn’t think of a more humiliating, vulnerable situation than a camp swim test or a pool party. Sitting on the side of the lake with my counselor, while my peers went inner tubing, I did not feel regret or loss. Mostly, I just felt relief that I had avoided another close call. I did not want to strip down into an itty-bitty swim suit in a locker room, worrying that I did not know how to shave my bikini line at age twelve. I would sit by myself at middle school pool parties because I couldn’t fathom hanging out with the boys I had crushes on at a pool with my dimpled legs in full view for all to see. Even during my forced swim lessons, I did not want my mom, who would love me unconditionally, to see me in such a vulnerable position.
I never saw this changing for myself. I would always be the girl on the sidelines, at least feeling solace in the fact that I was covered up and safe, watching my classmates splashing and flirting and swimming. There was nothing that could make swimming feel possible, nevermind appealing.
Middle school came and went. High school passed, too—no days at the river, no senior skip days at the lake. Eventually though, a girl came along. The impossible slowly started to become possible with her. I showed her my body in private; she would gently remove my sweaters—only after asking, of course. She would hold my hips while I unbuttoned my pants, giggling with me as I shimmied out of them. While I could not yet show my body in public, I could show myself to her. Our intimate moments provided a space where I could experience relief from everything the world had told me: that I was too hairy, too big, too soft. She made me feel like the way I looked mattered so much and that I was the most beautiful girl in the world. At the same time, I felt like my appearance did not matter at all to her. All we cared about was the feelings in our bodies. I loved how I shivered when she kissed my ears, how I didn’t care that I overheated when we cuddled, how her hand on my belly relieved my stomach aches.
We went on a vacation with my family to a lake where we kayaked back and forth, tiring our arms out and baking in the sun. After coming back to shore, we dipped french fries in soft serve and feasted with my sisters and parents. She gazed at the water, wanting to jump in. I called her my little waterbug because she loved to swim so much.
She looked at me with a mischievous expression and I got up to walk with her to the dock. I slid my overalls off and grabbed her hand. My family was back on the dock, eating. The day was perfect, warm, and spent with someone whom I love and who loved me dearly. She counted to three and we jumped.
In this moment, I didn’t care how I looked in the water. She thought I looked beautiful, I’m sure, but not really because of my appearance. She thought I looked beautiful, because I was happy. She thought I looked beautiful, because I was brave and refused to let the fear of the world seeing my body hold me back from experiences like these any longer. At that moment, I realized I, in fact, did not hate swimming. I had just never let myself find out if I liked it.
Since then, we have been swimming many times. Wherever she jumped, I followed, hand in hand. It’s as though she had taken the little bubble she created for me during our time together alone and expanded it. She protected me at the lake, at pool parties, and I’m sure she would have at swim tests, too. I did not need to escape from the real world anymore, because she reminded me that it was mine to enjoy too, regardless of what it may say about my body.
Ultimately, swimming is not about how our bodies look, but about how they feel. I realized that letting the ocean waves move you feels good. Taking a leap off of a dock into freezing cold water feels refreshing. Kissing her while we push each other’s wet hair out of our eyes feels amazing. And at the end of the day, eating fries and soft serve while our bellies grow in our swimsuits feels incredible.
AUTHOR: Lulu Witherspoon
ARTIST: Kate Tsai is a RISD 2025 llustration student who loves watching historical palace dramas.