It always gets easier

I first learned to swim when I was seven. I could kick, float, and cover some distance, but I was never comfortable. I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure no one taught me the important things how to bubble, how to breathe, and why breathing matters in swimming. I didn’t know that in swimming you inhale through the mouth and exhale into the water. I knew how to blow bubbles, but I thought it was just a way to clear the nose or lungs. Imagine a kid swimming laps without understanding the most basic thing. That was the primary reason I struggled, swimming became a chore.

My coach would tell me to do laps, but I couldn’t. He scolded me for “not trying,” but the truth was I didn’t know how to swim properly, so how could anyone expect me to complete laps? I started skipping sessions. When my mum asked why, I told her I didn’t want to do the laps. She spoke to “Badi Miss,” and they agreed I wouldn’t have to. The important lesson is this: I wasn’t taught how to do things, but I still blamed myself for not being able to do them as I thought I wasn't good enough and won't be able to do it.

Fast forward to today. I’m 24 and I got back in the water. In the first week, the old pattern was back instantly, I could move, but couldn’t breathe. This time, I chose to fix that first. For the next three weeks, I focused only on breathing: rolling my body, inhaling quickly through the mouth. It wasn’t pretty—my form had gaps but the breathing started to click. I felt that everything else would come later, first I needed to actually breathe during a high intensity cardio activity like swimming.

By the end of six weeks, I swam 25 meters nonstop. Just one length, but it felt like a summit. I still finished panting, heart hammering. Then my trainer gave me a counterintuitive advice, breathe less. I was over exhaling, dumping air too aggressively, then scrambling to inhale. He told me to keep a gentle, continuous stream of bubbles, even when panting, exhale underwater and inhale with your mouth, even when you are resting on the side. Don’t force it. Don’t empty the tank. Stay just ahead of the urge to breathe.

That tiny adjustment changed everything. My body stayed calmer. My stroke still isn’t perfect, but I’m taking it one step at a time. I can breathe. I can move without gasping. It’s still not effortless, and I still pant, but it’s easier now.

This is why a good coach matters. At seven, I thought I wasn’t good enough. I believed others could do it naturally and I just couldn’t.

It always gets easier, not because the task becomes small, but because the skill becomes yours. First the breathing, then the form, then the rhythm. In that order, ease appears as the result of doing the right hard things consistently.

Everything comes from trusting the process, the ongoing journey where the destination matters less than the checkpoints along the way. That first 25 meters rekindled my confidence and taught me something important: survival shouldn’t be the goal. I should never settle for just getting through. I should aim to achieve that flow, the ease and then everything would be breathable.