Ocean Assuages Anxiety

From a very young age, the ocean had always been my sanctuary. The ice cold water felt like an intense shock to my nervous system, but that was my favorite feeling. It made me feel alive, like suddenly all of my senses were dialed to 100. I would feel the waves as they carried me and I entrusted my life into its arms, prepared to lay in that moment forever. Suddenly all of my stressors and anxiety-ridden thoughts were washed away like the shells taken by the tide. I was at the mercy of the waves, but I had never felt more at peace.

In the summer of 2008, my family and I had taken our annual family vacation to Ocean City, New Jersey. Summer fun had started; the endless summer vacation that felt like it would never end had begun. The last day of school was in June, but it never really felt like summer until my feet were in the sand, the seagulls were yelling, and the body of saltwater, only a few feet away from me, welcomed me home. I had just finished first grade and learned the value of a quarter, nickel, and dime, but I also learned what it felt like to have all of the air sucked out of your lungs. I learned what it felt like when you can’t breathe because everyone is looking at you. I learned what it felt like when you believe your heart might actually beat out of your chest because you have to speak up for yourself–but here in Ocean City, I never had to worry about that. That sinking feeling in my stomach that I had just discovered was left back in Blackwood, and the ocean was ready to buff the memories away. I grabbed my boogie board and ran into the arms of my sanctuary.

My dad was the first person to show me the ocean wasn’t scary. He became friends with it a long time ago, and every summer they reunite. His relationship with the ocean is different. It’s more daring and exciting. He likes to test the limits of how far he can go, how many waves he can dive under before they wipe him out, where I on the other hand have to reacquaint myself with my old friend. She is always familiar and soothing to my jittery soul, even when the water feels like it might turn my blood to ice. To have such a turbulent mindset all the time is exhausting; to worry about anything and everything that could possibly go wrong takes a serious toll on the mental and emotional well being of an individual. Some days I would come home and just sleep for hours on end because I spent so much time trapped in my head. I just needed an escape. Unfortunately, my escape was only available during the months of June-August, and maybe September; thank you global warming.

The day before our vacation ended (August 2008), I was fighting the waves and having the time of my life. My dad and I had challenged each other to a body surfing competition, and it had become quite heated. I guess my dad didn’t want to lose to a six-year-old. After swallowing a bunch of salt water, we finally called it a draw and made our way back to the beach blanket for some turkey sandwiches. The feeling of feet sinking into the sand, as the tide retreats back to its mother, and you continue one foot after the other is something I wish I could bottle. You’re aware you’re walking forward, but it feels like everything is moving backwards, like maybe if you aren’t careful the ocean will swallow you up too–and I never thought that was a bad thing. Suddenly, my dad was on all fours digging, like his life depended on it, into a hole he had created with his heel on our way out of the ocean.

“Dad! What are you doing?”

“There’s something in here! It’s digging its way back down, but I think I can gr–GOTCHA, you little sucker.” In his hand like a crab, at least we thought it was a little crab because it was hiding its perfectly-crafted orange shell, and I was over the moon. That was the start of the tradition where my dad would attempt to find me some kind of crab or sea creature in the midst of the big vast ocean. He would steal one of my sanctuary’s children, as an attempt of making me happy, and it did, for a moment. Eventually, I would want to return the soul to its rightful home, in the hopes of assuaging its anxiety, as its mother has done so for me so many times before. Although my body didn’t belong in the ocean, my mind and soul would forever call it home.

I’ve always wondered how something so dangerous, destructive, and angry could be so peaceful to me. A body of water strong enough to level entire cities, to take the lives of innocent victims, and to house some of the most deadly creatures known to man. You would think the ocean would make my anxiety skyrocket through the roof, but it was always the complete opposite. My favorite thing to do in the ocean was simply float. Lay flat on my back and let my sanctuary hold me. The sound around me was muffled and drowned out as my ears were submerged, but my senses had never been more in tune. I believed this was my way of communicating with the ocean, listening to any secret messages she had waiting for me like the ones she left in shells along the shoreline. It would seem like she knew I was home, and she would silence the waves just for a moment, to welcome me back. Maybe it was only for a few minutes, but those moments always felt like eternity, where the calm water would move my body along with its current, and the waves would cease to exist. Here I was never worried about my next final exam, or where I would go to college, or what my friends would say behind my back. I wouldn’t worry about saying “Here” when the teacher would call my name for attendance. I wouldn’t worry about walking in front of the class to turn in a paper and everything that could go wrong. Would I trip? Would people wonder why I walked that way? Maybe I would forget how to walk! Here I could simply be. Here I almost forgot what having anxiety felt like.

When we arrived back to the beach blanket and reunited with my mom and sister, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I think it might’ve been too much for my tiny little six-year-old body to contain.

“LOOK WHAT DADDY FOUND!” I was jumping up and down, desperately craving attention. I wanted to show off my new friend.

“What do we have here?” My mom sat up from sunbathing and covered her face with her palm in an attempt to block the strong sun. She examined the creature with intrigue.

“I think that a scallop! How did you find that?” She was looking at it closer now after we had placed it in a bucket with some sand and ocean water.

“Welcome to your new home, buddy!” At that moment, he decided to check out his new crib, and that was when we saw the jelly-like body of the creature and the way it slid across the bottom of the bucket, like it was floating. I now had a new pet, one I would bring back to the hotel room with me and leave outside on the deck. He would undoubtedly miss his home, but I couldn’t bear to let him go just yet.

As the years passed, my anxiety only grew stronger. The butterflies in my stomach turned into knives or fingers wrapped around my throat, making it so hard to breathe. My anxiety turned into a virtual simulation for a heart attack. Does anyone else want to take a spin, because I don’t know how much more I can handle? A list of things that make me anxious in my present life: the unknown, public speaking, the future, failure, group work, etc. Some days I feel like I’ve got a handle on it. I feel like it hasn’t won, but other days, I’m tired of trying to pretend that I’m unaffected. The ocean doesn’t care about my future, the ocean doesn’t judge me on who I am or who I was in the past or who I will become in the future. The ocean only knows the here and now. I’d like to think the ocean remembers me when we reunite. When her waves meet my skin and leave my hair crunchy with salt, I’d like to think she’s welcoming me home, because when I’m in the ocean, I feel healed.

When we arrived back at the hotel, I was so excited to put my scallop outside on the deck. We had kept him in his bucket with seaweed, sand, and some shells, a total bachelor pad. The following morning was our last day in Ocean City, and I had woken up feeling guilty for stealing this innocent creature from his home.

“Daddy, I think we need to bring the scallop back. He’s sad.” I hung my head low.

“Okay, peanut, we’ll bring him back. I think you made the right choice.” My Dad rustled my hair.

Once we finished packing the truck up and the room was empty, we made our way up to the boardwalk. My Mom and sister went shopping, while my Dad and I attended to our unfinished business. After flashing our beach tags to the attendant, we trekked forward towards my sanctuary, towards Mr. Scallop’s sanctuary. I could almost feel his ache to go home, because I felt it too. The difference was that only one of us belonged there.

I dumped the water out, and the sand and seaweed came with it. I held my hand out for Mr. Scallop, as he plopped into my hand. Six-year-olds don’t have very long arms, and I can’t remember my pitch being that strong, but I still prepared to wind it up and launched him as far as he could go. Away from anyone who would take him from his home, even temporarily. Away from any lurking seagulls in search of a light snack, away from any danger. I simply wanted him to reunite with his home, to be welcomed back into the vast big blue body of possibility, of opportunity, a world full of life.

As soon as I let him go, a giant wave swept him out to sea. I never saw that scallop again, I never saw any creature of the sort again. Year after year, we found small crabs, maybe even some minnows, but never a scallop. That one will go down in family history, and I will always remember how beautiful my sanctuary is. Something that can house so many vastly different creatures, a whole ecosystem, one that works because everyone plays their part.

Although the ocean is so violent and destructive, it still has its moments of calm and serenity. On the days where my sanctuary takes deep breaths and calms the angry swells. On the evenings where the sun sets, and the colors of the rainbow reflect onto the water, creating a picturesque scene out of a Disney movie. On the days where it is so crystal blue that you can (almost) see what lies beneath. Sometimes you look at the ocean, and you question how something could be so beautiful and unpredictable at the same time. The way I understand it is that one attribute isn’t enough to describe anything. I am anxious, but I am also intelligent, strong, talented, humorous, etc. You can’t confine something into a box or force it to conform to a label. The ocean is dangerous, destructive, and deadly, but it’s also calm, serene, and healing. I will never be just one thing, so my anxiety will never consume me. The ocean and I are one and the same. We bring out the best in each other, and maybe I resonate with something so turbulent because the mind of an anxious person is anything but calm.

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BriAnna Sankey has been an aspiring writer since the day she learned to hold a pencil. She spends her days attending creative writing classes at Rowan University in Glassboro, NJ writing about things she knows, in the hopes of making others feel something. She has been published in the Spring 2023 issue of Rowan’s undergraduate literary magazine, Avant.