Getting Scuba Certified

Aka: That Time I Voluntarily Didn’t Breathe Above Water

Let’s start with the obvious: I’m not a mermaid. I don’t have gills. And I definitely wasn’t born with an instinct to sink into the ocean and relax. So why did I sign up to get scuba certified? Great question. Still don’t have a solid answer.

Maybe I was chasing a bucket list moment.

Maybe I just wanted to prove something to myself.

Maybe I blacked out during the sign-up process and came to with flippers on.

Who knows.

What I do know is that from the moment I strapped on that oxygen tank and waddled toward the water like a confused sea turtle, I was "ferrified" — equal parts fascinated and terrified.

The first time I went under, everything in my body screamed NOPE. My brain couldn’t compute that breathing underwater was okay now. One good quality I have is taking direction very well; unfortunately for the other classmate, who kept choking on water and floundering, did not. Every sound underwater felt like it was echoing inside my skull. My heart was doing a solo performance on the drums, and I was fully convinced the ocean was plotting against me.

But then… something shifted.

Somewhere between the shallow water panic and the deep-water dive, I found these weird pockets of peace. Like my body finally stopped fighting and started flowing. The silence was incredible. The slow, steady breathing felt meditative—like underwater yoga, but with more fish and fewer Lululemon pants. I saw coral that looked like alien cities, a little crab family that gave zero cares about my anxiety, and schools of fish moving in sync like nature’s screensaver.

There were still plenty of "what if I die down here" moments. But there was also a kind of magic I’ve never experienced on land—this feeling of weightlessness, of surrender, of being part of something ancient and beautiful and completely out of my control.

And when I finally surfaced for the last time, I felt two things at once: exhausted and invincible.

I did it. I got certified. I breathed underwater and didn’t die. I conquered one of my weirdest, most specific fears. I now have an official card that says I’m legally allowed to hang out with sea creatures below 30 feet.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Would I still panic a little before each dive? Probably. But that’s kind of the point, right? Doing the thing that scares you, just to prove that you can.

Besides, the ocean may be vast and mysterious, but so is courage. And sometimes, you don’t find it until you're 30 feet under, trying not to pee in your wetsuit (apparently that's a rite of passage if you can). - Story for another time. Let this be your sign to go scuba diving!