The word ‘brave’ has been going round in my head for several weeks now.  Months even.

Confession:  I don’t feel very brave a lot of the time.

A brilliant friend of mine (who also happens to be an excellent coach-and-therapist too) posted a question on Facebook the other day: “What are you afraid of?”

My immediate reaction was “nothing”.  And then I actually sat down and thought about it properly.  I thought about it so hard that I scared myself a bit with all the answers I came up with.

Turns out I think I’m afraid of quite a lot of things.

On a purely surface level: Hospitals.  Vomit.  Spiders. (In my defence I’m only scared of the big house spiders that scuttle *shudder*.  Little ones and daddy-long-legs I can deal with quite easily).

On a deeper level: I’m terrified of falling asleep at the wheel whilst driving and killing my family.  I’m scared of my best not being good enough and that I’ll disappoint people.  I’m afraid of someone I love getting cancer.

As I realised all of this I also began to recognise that a lot of my life is still driven by fear.  I thought I’d let go of most of this stuff, but it turns out that maybe I haven’t.  And I’m limiting the stuff I’ll let myself do because of that.

In turn, something that I am rather more upset by, I’m pretty sure that that’s limiting my girl’s lives too.

And then, as is usually the case when I become aware of something about myself that I need to work on, the answer presented itself beautifully and unexpectedly in the most random of ways.

My husband and I took the girls swimming at the weekend.  In nearly eight years of being parents we have only ever taken them swimming once before (apart from the odd quick dip in the pool whilst on holiday).

Ella had severe reflux for the first 18 months of her life, and projectile vomited, violently and without warning, numerous times a day.  We just couldn’t risk taking her to a public pool.  When Mimi arrived Ella’s health was in the early stages of beginning to improve, but my husband’s job at the time required him to work away a lot and I didn’t think I could manage taking two under-two’s on my own.  By the time Lola came along 18 months later neither of us had the energy to even consider attempting such a complicated excursion.  Excuses?  Yes, absolutely – I know that now.  At the time they felt valid and so we just never went, which is something I really regret.

As a result of our choices, none of the girls can swim, with or without armbands.  We decided to take them on Saturday because Ella starts swimming lessons with her school on Thursday and I wanted her to know what to expect with regards to changing rooms, showers, the environment etc…

When we announced that we were off to the leisure centre there was much excitement and plenty of big broad smiles all round.  Even as we were getting changed in the cubicles, their eyes were still lit up with anticipation.

Then we got to the edge of the pool.  It was busy.  And noisy.  Busier and noisier than I’d thought it would be, and to make matters worse the ‘toddler pool’ was full and we had to go in the big adult pool.  The shallow end was shallow enough that our two older girls could just stand up with their heads above the water, though they did get regular sloshes of chlorinated water slapping them in the face unexpectedly from time to time, thanks to over-enthusiastic doggy-paddles from other young swimmers.

Neil, Ella and Mimi walked down the steps into the water.  I started to follow them and then noticed that Lola wasn’t with me.  Glancing behind me I suddenly realised that she was paralysed at the top of the stairs, her eyes huge.  I returned to her, took her hand and felt her trembling.  Her breathing was super-fast and shallow and she had the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes.  She was quite clearly really, really frightened.

I sat down on the top step and pulled her in for a cuddle, matching her breathing at first and then taking care to gradually slow mine down until she began to mirror me and slow hers down too.  After a few minutes she was calmer and ready to go in, so, with her clinging to me like a limpet with her arms hugging my neck and her legs firmly circling my waist, we slowly descended into the water.  She was still shaking like a leaf, but eventually, as she realised that I would keep her safe and that she was ok, the adrenaline reduced and she relaxed a bit.  We got to the side and she started to join in with the other two, kicking her legs and giggling and splashing Daddy.

Brave.

She was scared to get in the water, but she did it anyway – that’s bravery.

Ella was nervous too.  She gets anxious about quite a lot of things and I knew this would be no different.  She had a few coughing and spluttering fits from swallowing water, she didn’t like getting splashed in the face, and she needed to go back to the side every so often to ‘touch base’.  And then gradually she ventured further and further away from the side.  Just walking through the water, navigating all the obstacles in her path and then weaving her way back to us with a big grin on her face, proud at the small-on-the-outside-but-big-on-the-inside achievement that she’d just made.

Brave.

She was scared of being too far away from the edge, but she did it anyway – that’s bravery.

Mimi loved the whole thing and would probably have gleefully thrown herself in at the deep end, even though she knows she can’t swim yet!  She has bravery by the bucketload.

If our experience at the pool has taught me anything, it’s this:  It’s ok to be scared.  It’s just not ok to let your fear stop you from doing something that you really, really want to do.

So the next time I find myself thinking that I’m afraid of something, I’m going to remember my girls.  They were scared.  And they were also brave.  And that’s all that matters.

What are you afraid of?

And how could you be brave?