I’m proud of my daughter. Of course I am. No more so than recently, at her first swimming lesson.

We’d reached the point where I was out of my depth (excuse the pun) in terms of teaching my daughter how to swim. She can propel herself in a general direction wearing armbands, but I have no idea how to teach her to swim properly. I’d heard good things about the swimming lessons at my local pool, and my daughter said it was something she would like to do, so I signed her up.

This would be the first time that she would be in the pool without “me” (or her father / her grandparents etc). Just her, and the other children in her class, and the swimming teacher.

As the day of her first lesson drew nearer, she began expressing her reservations. She was “really very worried” about her swimming lesson. She “didn’t think it was a good idea” for her to go in the pool without me. And she “didn’t think she wanted to do it actually”.

I thought she’d really enjoy it, if she could get over her fears. But I wasn’t about to force her. This had to come from her. On the day of her first lesson, I let her choose a new “swimming lesson swim suit” (I’m not entirely above bribery!!), and tried to speak positively about what would happen. She lurched from excited to nervous all day.

When the time came to go and get ready, I’d never seen her so edgy. She was babbling away in the changing room about the colours of the walls and the texture of the ceiling in a flurry of nervous anticipation. We watched the end of the previous class, and this seemed to settle her nerves a bit.

Her teacher came over and introduced herself, and my daughter put armbands on, and reluctantly allowed herself to be led off with the three other children in her class. I’d reassured her I would remain on poolside where she could see me, and her grandad was watching from the balcony. When the other children sat and got into the pool, she remained standing on the edge of the pool. Her teacher lifted her into the pool. As soon as the teacher turned her back, she climbed out of the pool and ran to me.

I walked with her to the edge of the pool, and squatted next to her, not caring that she was soaking my clothes with her wet cuddles. She asked me to get in with her. I explained that I couldn’t: that I didn’t know how to teach her, and that her swimming teacher did. Still she clung to me.

My heart was breaking. My usually confident, happy daughter was trembling and tearful. Right there and then I questioned myself as a mother. Was I pushing her too hard with this? Should I have taken her nervousness and worries more seriously? Was she really not ready? How had I misjudged this so badly?

At this point my daughter heard the swimming teacher asking the other children to blow bubbles. She looked at me and said “I can do that!”. She then asked “Can I get in and do that?”. And just like that she got into the pool by herself and didn’t look back.

She had a huge smile on her face throughout the lesson, and after a while remembered that her grandad was watching upstairs, and sought him out and called out and waved to him.

When she got out of the pool at the end of the lesson, she came to me shivering, but with a huge grin on her face. I asked her how she’d found it and she said “That was amazing!”.

In the changing room afterwards, she couldn’t shake her grin. She told me she was feeling really really happy. I explained that she was feeling proud of herself, and rightly so. She’d been really reluctant and scared at first, but had overcome her fear, and had tried something new. She agreed that yes, she was proud of herself. I said that I was proud of her too, and she then asked if I thought grandad would be proud of her as well.

Needless to say, when she asked him, he was.

As an interesting post script, I was talking about this with my dad afterwards. He said that he didn’t think he could have watched the whole lesson, had it continued the way it had started, because it had been too difficult to see his granddaughter so upset. This blew me away. I’d never really considered that my dad might be bothered by that. As his daughter, I’ve never really seen him disturbed by someone else’s emotional discomfort. He’s always been the person that I know will be considered and rational, and I trust his opinions and advice because in general I believe he is more head than heart.

This changed my perspective a little, and I can see now that it’s been a real challenge for him at times to keep his heart out of his advice, and to hold his emotions in check, whilst being my rock through some pretty tumultuous times. There have been times when I’ve been surprised at how emotionally he’s responded to me, and at the fact that we seem to be arguing when we’re both on the same side.

This parenting lark ain’t easy, and by the looks of it, it doesn’t get easier with time. Children grow up and face different fears. Fears that even as a parent to an adult child, you still wish you could make go away. I think I realised that even as an adult, sometimes I’m still that trembling child clinging to her parents, seeking certainty in a chaotic world. And that they’re still the parents, second guessing themselves, and wishing they had all the answers.