Trauma Analogies, Part 4: Swimming With Your Trauma

This post was written by Life Psych therapist Mike Rodgers, as part of a four-part series he authored on trauma.

Michael Rogers, LPC

September 2025

The scene wavered before me. As I brushed away the tears, I saw more clearly the tragedy laid out in front of me. The pool was full of ugly, miniature beach balls. The ugliness of these floating spheres would have been bad enough, but as I watched I saw a young woman in the center of the pool, getting more and more tired. Huge tears dripped from her eyes as she struggled. Amazingly she wasn't focused on staying afloat. As I observed the tragedy working its way out before my eyes, I noticed this woman had only one thing on her mind. She was frantically trying to keep every ugly sphere from floating to the surface. Just as she would get all of them below the surface, one would pop up, eliciting an excruciatingly painful scream from the beautiful woman at the center of this ugliness.

I called out, only to realize she couldn't even hear me. She was so focused on her "task", that anything going on outside the world of her battle couldn't penetrate the darkness caused by the grotesque pictures on each sphere. Standing on the edge of the pool, I could see what would happen if she continued on like this. She would lose her battle with the beach balls, Drowning would inevitably be the result.

I turned and walked away. But not for long. I was looking for something. I searched high and low until I found it. There, at the very edge of the pool property, rested a long pole with a net on the end. Grabbing ahold of it, I calmly and quietly walked back to the pool. Watching, I waited patiently for the next ball to come to the surface. I heard the woman scream in pain as the inevitable happened. This time, however, before the woman could get to the grotesquely bobbing sphere, I threw the net around it and began bringing it up out of the pool. At first the woman began to hyperventilate. Frantically she grabbed at the sphere but I quickly brought it up and put it in a basket at poolside.

Slowly her eyes locked onto mine. Through her tears she pleadingly requested "Please, please don't take that. Please, I can't bear to have anyone see that. I can't bear to look at it." Holding her gaze, I told her I was here to help her. She cussed me out, screaming at me but I lovingly held her gaze. I sat down at the edge of the pool, waiting.

Soon, another ball bobbed to the surface. Before the woman could reach it I swooped in with the net, lifting the ugly sphere to the surface. I looked at the sphere, commented on what I saw there, and then told the young woman she was strong and beautiful and not defined by the ugliness of the miniature beach balls. Again she screamed at me, cussing me out. I didn't leave, however. I just put the sphere in the basket, sat down, and waited for the next one. This went on as the woman fought to keep the spheres hidden. Time after time I grabbed a bobbing sphere, lifted it out of the water, and commented on the strength and beauty of the woman, telling her she was not defined by the ugliness of the beach balls. Time after time she cussed me out. Until finally, there remained one sphere which the woman held fiercely.

Looking at me she almost dared me to try to get the ball from her. But I noticed something different in her eyes now.

Along with the pain, anger, and despair, there appeared a glimmer of hope. She spoke quietly to me. I responded in kind, lovingly assuring her of her beauty, strength, and the possibility of living completely separated from scars of the past, pictured on every previous beach ball. Slowly she began to swim toward me. Pleadingly she looked into my eyes. I knew it was about to happen. I shook with pleasure as she gingerly lifted the last ugly sphere out of the water, offering it to me. Glancing at it, I commented on what I saw, then focused my eyes on the beauty of her clear, strong, hazel eyes. Reaching into the water, I drew her out of the pool, gingerly dried her shaking body, wrapped my arms around her, and felt her fall into a restful, peaceful sleep. Closing my eyes, I thanked God for my wife. I thanked Him for the struggle.