My instructor, Mark, handed me the snorkeling gear and turned toward his dive shop. “You can practice breathing over there,” he said with a vague wave of his hand.

I squinted into the depths of the seaweed jungle. The slimy fronds mocked me. How was I supposed to forget my fear of drowning long enough to survive this day?

When I signed up to get my Open Water Diver certification, I didn’t tell anyone that I’d never gone snorkeling before. I certainly didn’t mention the panicky feelings that gripped my chest whenever I got in a boat.

I fumbled with the equipment. The mask fogged up as soon as I put it on. I was failing already.

I glanced over at the dock. Mark was busy getting his equipment ready for the trip out. I was happy he couldn’t see what an incompetent student he had.

There was no particular reason why I was so terrified of drowning. No childhood trauma is to blame. I learned to swim as a child and spent many happy summers splashing in the pool.

But the more I traveled, the more it became apparent to me. Something was deeply imprinted upon my psyche. It had been scratched upon my soul with indelible marker by some sadistic god.

I was a strong swimmer, but I wouldn’t go out in the ocean the way other people did. Whenever there was a snorkeling expedition, I ensured I was conveniently somewhere else when it was time to depart. I turned every opportunity to explore the waves into shame-filled excuses. It picked away at my sense of adventure.

I decided to face that fear. I paid for the training, booked a flight, and tried to forget about it.

That worked quite well until I got to Honduras. I sat down and read the first lesson in my manual with dread. There was no way I’d have the courage to do it. How could I strap a tank of oxygen to my back and flip off a boat? If I got water up my nose, I’d drown!

I closed the book in frustration, filled with anxiety.

***

Mark was meticulous and focused. I knew he could dive in his sleep. He’d be watching me as I figured out how to navigate the ocean currents. My life was entirely in his hands.

But first, I had to learn how to breathe underwater.

I peered over the edge of the dock. Were any snakes hiding down there? Sea serpents were absolutely the worst. I slid off the rickety plank with an exasperated sigh.

It wasn’t just drowning that frightened me so much. I was also terrified of large bodies of water. I’d never swim any farther out than my chest. Crossing bridges sent my gut plummeting like a roller coaster. Yet here I was in waist-high waves, weeds tickling my legs while thousands of greedy minnows nibbled at my skin, loving the delicious way I tasted.

Dramatic much? Maybe. It was clearly something I needed to conquer.

I took a deep breath and dropped to my knees. The water splashed on my chin. I lowered my head. My brain panicked. Breathe under the water? Not a chance.

I reminded myself to get oxygen through the snorkel, not my nose. It almost worked. And then a part of me would instinctively realize what I was trying to do, and I’d nearly choke.

I watched the seaweed dance until Mark came to check on me.

***

Several other people climbed into the boat with us. They’d come along for some recreational diving. I was the only student that day.

As we bumped across the vast stillness of the crystal sea, I practiced mindful breathing. Measured inhales and exhales were designed to calm my nerves.

Mark suddenly stopped the boat. Waves rocked us gently. The others suited up and jumped off gleefully.

“Okay, my friend!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. The comment said little but meant everything. It was time for my first dive.

I didn’t flip backward off the boat like they do in the movies. I slid over the side, got stuck, freed myself, and hit the water with a sloppy splash.

And then I just bobbed there. That wasn’t so bad. Salty sea water kept smacking my face. I spit it out, wiping its sting from my eyes.

I had an ungodly amount of weight strapped to my body. I don’t even know how many pounds. The intention was clear, though. It was enough to drown a man.

Mark nodded impatiently. I released some of the air holding me afloat and began to sink.

I held firm to the rope that was tethered to the boat. It was the only thing that would prevent me from getting disoriented and lost in the depths of the sea.

A wave of hysteria sent goosebumps up my arms. I could feel icy claws puncture my belly, even in the tepid water. I was utterly dependent on the science of everything I’d learned.

I got a hold of myself and slowed my breathing. I could see how much farther down the rope we still had to go. I reached my arms out. My instructor thought I was in trouble and swam back to check on me.

I clutched his hand desperately. I intended to hold it all the way to the bottom so I wouldn’t get separated from him. But he had other ideas. He released my grip and swam away. I had no choice but to continue down.

We began to explore the barrier reef. A curious school of fish followed us the entire time.

Mark pointed out the venomous lionfish hiding in the shadows. I marveled at the intricate patterns of brain coral and waving sea fans. A moray eel with soulless eyes stared at me, opening and closing its mouth robotically, like it was struggling to breathe. Everything was mesmerizing and hauntingly beautiful.

Next came the most terrifying exercises. I dug myself into the sand at the bottom of the sea and closed my eyes. I removed my mask and breathing tube and waited until Mark tapped my arm. Still keeping my eyes closed and holding my breath, I had to put everything back on.

I did it.

Halfway back up, we stopped. I took a deep breath and removed everything again before swimming the rest of the way to the top. There was nothing to save me.

I made it.

After my first dive, I bobbed above the surface, feeling a tremendous sense of accomplishment. I had done it. But that was only the beginning. I still needed to go on three more dives to fulfill the certification requirement.

I didn’t want to return the following day. I didn’t care about the money I’d spent. But I knew I’d hate myself forever if I didn’t see it through. So I went back.

It got easier each time. It didn’t look like I’d ever master the seemingly endless list of critical details. I could never stop thinking that if something tiny went wrong, I might die. By drowning.

My worst fear.

***

I had two dives scheduled on my final day. I was cranky and tired of it all, and it was interfering with my vacation. But I knew I’d be cheating myself if I stopped before the end.

At some point, I realized that it didn’t bother me to float in the middle of the ocean anymore. I knew I was too far away from shore to swim back. But it just didn’t seem like such a big deal.

I didn’t think much about what lived on the reef. I’d already seen the sea creatures. Nothing had rushed out to attack us. They just watched us warily as we passed by.

I looked forward to the sporty flip off the side of the boat. It really was the easiest way to get out there when you were all suited up. Water didn’t even go up my nose.

The final dive seemed to drag on forever. We stayed down there for 50 minutes.

I let my mind wander as we swam. Would I keep going with my new hobby? Would I become one of those people who planned entire trips around diving spots?

Would I crave the adrenaline rush of night diving?

I knew the answer, though. There would be no more dives after this one. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do.

And that was just perfect.

As I broke the surface, Mark beamed and shook my hand vigorously.

“Congratulations!” he exclaimed. “You’re a diver!”

***

I walked down the beach later that night. I waded into the water until it came up to my neck. There wasn’t another soul around.

I swam a little farther out until I couldn’t touch the bottom. I hugged my knees to my chest and floated quietly.

I gazed out at the endless expanse of open sea, those gentle waves where I had spent so much time earning my diver certification.

The stars blinked back at me. And I was fearless.