Pools have always been a place of vulnerability for me.
Not just because of the water, but because of what it means—being seen. Being exposed. Letting others glimpse the parts of me I usually keep hidden. It’s not just about scars on my skin… it’s about the history they carry. As a teen, the scars were from my own hands, the cuts on my skin were not by accident and I didnt want others to see. When I went to the pool I would cover up completely and sometimes get turned away because "clothes aren't allowed". It broke me because that was the only way I could enjoy and they took that from me.
For years, I avoided places like this. Too many eyes. Too many opportunities for questions or stares. Too much risk of feeling “less than.” I would find excused, even at private pools like this. Excuses like "my skins too sensitive" or "the chemicals are too harsh" or "I dont want to risk it." When in reality, I was just wanting to hide.
But I’m learning that freedom often begins where fear has kept you bound. So when the youth leaders planned a pool party, I said yes. My outfit—a pair of shorts and a tank—might seem simple, but for me, it was an act of courage. It was me saying: I refuse to let fear write my story anymore.
Sitting in the water, skin exposed, laughter all around, I realized something—sometimes healing looks like stillness. Sometimes it’s the ability to simply be without bracing for impact. That’s what that moment gave me.
Moral of the story: Find the people who make your armor feel unnecessary. The ones who can sit with both your beauty and your brokenness without flinching. The ones who don’t measure you by your scars, your mistakes, or your pain. These are the people who will teach you what safety feels like.
And sometimes, finding them will require you to take the biggest risk—to step into the places you swore you’d never go, maybe even to cross an entire country. But when you find them, you’ll know. And you’ll realize it was worth every single step.
**And maybe healing isn’t loud at all.
Maybe it comes in ripples—
a still moment in the water
where you realize you are no longer holding your breath.
Maybe it’s the sun kissing the very skin you once tried to hide,
and the quiet knowing that the people around you
aren’t measuring you by the marks you carry,
but by the life still burning in your eyes.
Maybe freedom isn’t the absence of fear,
but the decision to move anyway—
to step into the light,
to float in the open,
to let the water hold you
and believe, for once,
that you deserve to be held.**
