Susan
I had done a lot in my life. A bit of an experience junkie, I had piloted float planes into the Haliburtons of upper Ontario, drove from Boston to Mexico to Canada and back again, explored the world solo, bought three houses and a couple of sailboats. In these things, I was fearless. In my inner world, however, I was “afraid of everything”. That is, I was terrified of voicing my honest opinion if it was unpopular with my audience. I never dared to stand up for myself and cried when I was angry. I was afraid of disappointing others and, as a result, did precious little to protect my own values and boundaries.
I knew that this was a problem. Therapy and dozens of self-help books did little to move me out of my frozen fear state. When I learned of a group of women who were walking into the frigid Merrimack River in autumn, I wanted to try it but was terrified of going solo. What if I had a heart attack and couldn’t get to safety in time? What if something bad happened?
What I believed to be true was that, if I could get myself to walk into cold water knowing that I was in control, I could prove to myself that the extreme discomfort I felt would not kill me. I trusted that this could then carry over into other forms of discomfort in my life. To be precise, I wanted to prove to myself that I could experience the extreme discomfort of difficult conversations and know that I would survive.
Because of a mutual friend, I had been following Libby on IG and longing to try the cold plunges that she was sharing. I had considered reaching out to ask if I might join them but had not quite found the courage to do this when I saw a post by Libby inviting others to join. I jumped at the chance! The Universe had provided.
My first dip was on October 16, 2021. It was as exhilarating as it was uncomfortable. I went back again and again. The community became as important as the cold water. These became my dearest friends. I have continued dipping four or five times a week for the past couple of years. I now have a tank in my backyard where I go almost daily. It is always uncomfortable but the knowledge that I can do this very hard thing has propelled me through many of life’s most uncomfortable but necessary conversations. This simple practice has been the force that has propelled my growth in this last third of life. The effect has been a strength and vitality that I couldn’t have imagined possible.