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I’ve always loved the water. My earliest memory is opening my eyes in my neighbor’s pool and seeing the world through this different state of being. It shocked no one when I begged for swim lessons at the age of three—far younger than my older, more adventuresome brothers. When my mother saw me flying off the high dive the summer before kindergarten, she was horrified but not surprised. She wanted to ban me from the pool for a week, but my dad had a different idea: put her on the swim team.

After the crash, my instincts changed. Even the smallest children know not to breathe underwater, but somehow, my mind railed against everything I’d ever known. I thought it was permanent.

I thought fear was forever.