And with each deep breath, I could feel the water surrounding me, and begin to rise above my head.   

          I turned the key through the door after a long day of work, as the rain poured down behind me.  

          Being in the office was extremely boring, consisting of nothing but constant meetings and paperwork. I kicked off my heels, letting them fall onto the floor, and dropped my coat on the hook.  

          The apartment was quiet, with the only sounds coming from the stormy rain outside. I sighed and rubbed my temples as I reminisced on how my boss had spent most of the day rattling on about “increasing the business” and “teamwork” words that had long since lost their meaning.  

          It all felt like treading water—constant movement just to keep from sinking. I made my way to the bathroom, pausing to stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair clung to my face in damp pieces, my eyes dull and with exhaustion. For a moment, I barely recognized myself. 

          The shower was hot and suffocating, steam wrapping around me as I stood under the stream. It should have been relaxing, but the heat felt heavy, like the weight of everything I’d been carrying was on me. Deadlines mixed in with bills had been pushing me to question a future I hadn’t even decided if I wanted anymore. And with each deep breath, I could feel the water surrounding me, and as a result, going above my head. 

          There I stood, eyes closed and unmoving as the metaphor played out in my mind. I was drowning, wasn’t I?  

          Not in water, but in life itself—suffocated by expectations I never asked for and responsibilities I didn’t even want.  

          But drowning, I realized, wasn’t just about the weight pulling you under. It was also about the ways in which I couldn’t continue, the moment you decided you give up. I wasn’t ready for that pause.  

           I turned off the shower and stepped out, the air cool against my skin. The mirror had fogged up, but I wiped it away and looked at myself again. This time, I saw something different. The exhaustion was still there, but beneath it was a flicker of something else—determination, perhaps, or maybe just stubbornness. Either way, it was enough to make me reach for a towel and wrap it tightly around myself, a gesture that felt oddly like an embrace. Growth wasn’t easy. Sometimes it felt like drowning. 

          But as I stood there, droplets sliding down my skin, I reminded myself that growth also meant choosing to keep swimming and overcome that “drowning feeling”. I walked into the living room and sat by the window.  

          The storm had calmed finally, with the rain showing light drizzles. I reached for my journal, one I hadn’t opened in months, and began to write. This time, I wrote about the things I wanted to let go of and the things I wanted to achieve.  

          About the ways I’d been “drowning in the abyss, and ways to grow from it” and suddenly, I felt the storm ending, as I knew that through perseverance, I’d continue to grow and not “drown,” one swim at a time.