ESSAY • MEDITATIONS IN A SWIMMING POOL // WELLNESS, MEMOIR
Jon Hamm as Don Draper; Mad Men. Photo via tumblr.com.
The reason I like the Don Draper indoor pool scene on Mad Men has nothing to do with Jon Hamm’s dad bod.
It has everything to do with my mental health.
This scene is part of an episode called, “The Summer Man”, in which Don attempts to start over after the death of his friend Anna Draper. He starts making healthier choices in an attempt to clear his head and turn the page. He cuts back on drinking and starts swimming at the New York Athletic Club.
While Don smokes and writes in his journal, he makes a list of things he’d like to do as he starts along this attempted new path. One of his goals, he says, is to “gain a modicum of control over the way I feel.”
The first time I watched this scene, a voice inside my head said, “Me too, Don. Me too.”
For anyone else who, like me, is a) a highly sensitive, emotional person, and/or b) lives with stress and mental health issues, you may also have the same goal. Personally, I feel like I’ve been seeking this modicum of control for as far back as I can remember.
Since I was young I have always been led by emotions — it’s just how I’m wired. Chalk it up to my ENFJ classification or my Enneagram 4 type, or my sun in Pisces and moon in Scorpio (I have a lot of water in my chart.) Whatever way you package it, who I am is deeply rooted in feelings.
In adulthood, I began to recognize that I was struggling with my mental health. In therapy, I started to understand the push and pull I had been living in between the hypervigilance of anxiety and the weighted vest that is depression. To cope, I used many strategies, some healthy, some not. Centre stage were my old pals, food and drink. For the life of me, I was going to push down that anxiety with carbs, and numb my sadness with a few glasses of wine. In the beginning, it felt easier to just tell my feelings and intrusive thoughts to shut up by shoving a handful of chips in my mouth. But of course, this isn’t healthy, nor did it do any good.
The pandemic has made me feel a lot like post-divorce Don Draper in that sad little apartment he lived in…
What does this have to do with Don Draper and swimming pools?
Well, like the true Pisces that I am, one of the only places I’ve ever truly felt calm is in the water. If you know me, you’ve likely noticed that I’m not a calm person. However, I did learn in therapy that my chattiness and intensity are actually largely symptoms of the anxiety I’ve been living with my entire life, even if on a good day, I’m also just a really outgoing, loud, type-A person.
My journey to better mental health has taught me that I need to work on finding healthier ways to create the calming peace I seek in my life. To replace the carbs with meditation, and to bring more joy into my life in order to lift my depression.
Enter swimming.
But first, here’s what got me back into the pool.
The pandemic has made me feel a lot like post-divorce Don Draper in that sad little apartment he lived in (although I really dig my new place). I know I have been privileged in many ways, like having the opportunity to stay employed, work from home, avoid a positive COVID test, and have a loving family and understanding, fun friends in my life. But also, in the words of Jonathan Van Ness, I’ve been a bit “struggs to func.” (struggling to function).
As soon as COVID hit, I was working from home and my workload had ballooned. I and a few colleagues took on the lion’s share of managing the logistics and digital details of pivoting to online service delivery to clients. I was working around the clock, and I was also beginning to realize this job wasn’t the right fit for me.
Not long before this, I was told after renting the same apartment for 11 years, that the owner was selling the unit, and I had to find a new place to live.
All the while, my sweet canine companion Eddie was in the sunset of his life and was suffering from spinal issues, anxiety, and canine dementia. Getting through the day was like being in a coding marathon for 12 hours where you’re glued to your desk chair chugging Red Bulls, except I was producing Zoom calls, tracking stuff in spreadsheets, and chugging coffee, while trying (and often failing) to keep my anxious senior dog relaxed and happy.
As the days went by and my apartment started looking more like a cardboard warehouse, Eddie’s anxiety increased and the only thing that would calm him was to walk every 2 hours. That last week, I didn’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time. Things came to a breaking point, and I simply could not watch my sweet boy suffer from his many ailments anymore. I knew the move was coming, and I just didn’t know if putting him through that added stressor would be wise. So I made the hardest decision I’ve ever made in my life and decided to end his pain. At the vet’s office, when his breaths no longer made his body expand and contract, the veterinarian looked at me and said, “He’s gone.” At that moment, I had a flash of internal anger, and a bitchy, sarcastic energy rose up — I really wanted to clap back at her in my best David Spade tone and question this obvious statement, but I held my tongue. I realized later that she was likely required by law to tell me when his life had medically ended. I was glad I stayed silent.
Immediately after, I regretted Eddie’s medically-assisted death, and at times, I still do. So many “what ifs” — so many. What if I had more money and a car and could have taken him to water therapy? What if I had started that water therapy years ago? What if I had spent more money on medications and supplements and continued to search for more solutions to his problems? All of these thoughts were swirling around my head, even though I knew full well that I paid handsomely for his meds and emergency vet visits in the final months, and that no therapy or supplement would solve the fact that his spine eventually would cause his hind end to be paralyzed, and no medication would stop his brain from declining further into dementia.
Right after Eddie “went over the rainbow bridge” — as we obsessed pet owners say — I moved into my new apartment and continued working super long days sitting at the computer. Cut to 2.5 years later and not much has changed (although, I have started looking for a job that better suits me).
It occurred to me that while I had been grieving my best friend, working overtime, and battling stress, anxiety, and depression, it felt like I’d been wearing those soggy, weighted clothes again.
Over this pandemic period, I’ve become more anxious, more depressed, more unhappy, and physically heavier. My knees are weak, my sleep is horrible, and my muscles have become so tight I literally have to go to physio to have someone dig into them for 30 minutes a week. My weekends have become simply a time to sleep and repair in order to start another work week. Part of this, of course, is my own self-wiring and the fact that I don’t know how to work at half-speed.
But a lot of it has nothing to do with me at all.
I’m sure I’m not alone. Even for people who love their jobs and feel they are living their purpose every day, the pandemic seems to have made everything harder.
It reminds me of what it feels like to swim in clothes and shoes.
When I was 16 and taking my National Lifeguard Service training, a survival drill we had to complete involved swimming in clothes and shoes. That day, we came to the pool wearing long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, socks, and shoes over our swimsuits. We had to tread water for many minutes, practice tows and carries, and swim to the bottom of the pool to retrieve a brick. If you’ve never swum in clothes and shoes, let me tell you — it sucks.
It occurred to me that while I had been grieving my best friend, working overtime, and battling stress, anxiety, and depression, it felt like I’d been wearing those soggy, weighted clothes again.
So, like Don, I’ve decided to dive into the pool — this time without the long sleeves. I haven’t eaten pasta for weeks and I’ve opened up a fresh journal. I found my goggles deep in the bowels of my closet, and I’m getting back in the water.
Is this what a swimming meditation practice looks like?
Of course, I’m not 16 anymore and my body no longer fits into my favourite black and purple Speedo. These days I stop after each length to take a breath, but I’m also starting to remember how calm and present the water has always helped me feel.
Just being in the pool makes me feel more like me.
All the water metaphors apply. With each breath, I am feeling myself working toward gaining that modicum of control over how I feel. Each time my arm cuts through the water, I am feeling cleansed and healed. My head is starting to become clearer.
Is this what a swimming meditation practice looks like?
My hope is that this jump back into the deep end will indeed help me create a sustainable lifestyle that will heal my stressed, depressed, and anxious best friend — who incidentally isn’t actually my former pup, Eddie — it’s me.
See you at the pool,
Heather
Medium, April 2022.