daughter of the sea
on revisiting youth, navigating depression, and showing up for myself
This morning, I went to the International Ocean Film Festival with two coworkers. Conversing after we took our seats, we discussed the challenge of finding hobbies as adults. I suspected it’d be worth revisiting what brought us joy as children. I brought up dance as a specific example—a hobby I’ve been trying to find a replacement for since quitting in 2018, without much success. In the moments before the program began, I jotted down in my field notes:
The films began. We learned how mussels grow their “beards” using a “foot,” of a Japanese explorer building a tule reed boat to sail from Sausalito to Hawai’i, of the stewardship by the Kitasoo Xai’xais Nation in British Columbia. I sat in awe. I wrote a couple of haiku,1 my handwriting made scratchy and wavy from the darkness of the theater.
As we were about to begin the fourth film, Daughter of the Sea (link to full film here), I reviewed my program for the IOFF screening committee’s description of the work:
Daughter of the Sea follows Jaeyoun Kim’s transition from corporate life in Seoul to her roots as a haenyeo, a free diver in Mara Island, South Korea. The film beautifully blends Kim’s stunning dive cinematography with a deep exploration of overcoming depression and finding fulfillment, in the healing power of home and nature.
With the opening shot, I immediately jotted down “ocean in slow motion” to add to my every brilliant thing list for April. I then spent the next 18 minutes oscillating between inspiration and crushing sadness. I scrawled down notes, even more shakily this time, of Jaeyoun’s words:
I couldn’t see what I was writing, so it’s unsurprising that it’s barely legible, oddly spaced, and missing a bullet point. But the three bits that called to me were:
it was like going to battle instead of living
going to the sea would heal me
I had no choice but to go back to the sea
I sat through the final film in a daze, my mind still filled with Jaeyoun’s words as she described her life. That she felt like she didn’t have a choice but to live the life in Seoul, even though it was tearing her apart. That she went to the sea to drown herself, only to find that her arms and legs worked against her mind to fight and keep her alive. That in the end she feels rescued by the sea and her return to the haenyeo tradition.
The house lights came on, and I readied myself to put on my usual façade of okayness: “Wow. Wasn’t that great. So glad I came.” But in a moment of honesty, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Yeah, Daughter of the Sea… that one… oof.” I was relieved my coworkers felt much the same. We got coffee together and walked, discussing depression and the distinction of thinking of death in a sad way (I don’t want to live anymore) and in a not sad way (what an amazing thing to have this limited life at all).
We hugged goodbye and walked to our respective cars. I drove away only to pull over 5 minutes later to stare blankly at my steering wheel. I was somewhere objectively beautiful, with blooming flowers and a majestic view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and yet I had the sense that it was muted somehow. I could feel the ache settling back in. The heaviness in the pit of my chest that’s accompanied with a feeling of bleakness and a thought of “something isn’t right.” I wrote another haiku2 and drove home.
I meandered Divisadero with my partner and our visiting friend. I had unenthusiastic reactions to things that would normally delight me, like Japanese cookbooks, friendly dogs, and silly trinkets. I knew I was hungry, but nothing on the lunch menu seemed appealing to me. I know this anhedonia well—a hallmark of my depression coming back to greet me. “Hello, it’s your old friend, did you miss me? I brought my bags, I think I’ll stay a while.”
I don’t blame Daughter of the Sea for seemingly serving as a catalyst for catapulting me back into this state. In fact, I’m deeply grateful I watched it, and I’ll likely rewatch it to continue absorbing and processing. I just think it awakened within me what I already knew but needed to be firmly reminded of:
Just as in my to-do item, I need to revisit what gave me joy and comfort in my youth, much like Jaeyoun returned to her family’s haenyeo tradition.
Something has to give with my current way of living, and I have to ask myself what I am willing to sacrifice and what consequences I am willing to live with in order to make changes.
The youth-revisiting is straight forward enough. I suspect this will constitute things related to creative expression (acting, singing, dancing) as well as spending more time in the ocean, which has always brought me comfort. The real challenge will be deciding how to integrate these into my current life in a meaningful way.
But with regards to my current state, the past month or so has been rough for me existentially. Over the last few years, I’ve poured my energy into understanding who I am, what I want, and what I care about. The enneagram framework has been particularly useful for this. It drew my attention to my tendency to present whatever image of myself I thought would gain love or at least avoid disapproval. I started recognizing that when I paused to try to ask myself who I really was, because I was so used to defining myself through the lens of other people, looking within meant I just saw a blank void.
While I’ve been making slow progress toward showing up as the “real” me, this effort is not without a lot of insecurity and fear of rejection. I’ll be brave and show myself for a little, only to throw on a mask again because it feels safer that way. If I show an image, then I don’t have to worry about someone rejecting the “real” me. But therein lies the trap: people come to like the image, so I need to continue upholding it to avoid being found out as a fraud, all the while feeling a deep sadness that no one sees me.
But I had an experience recently of being truly, genuinely seen by someone. No image, no mask, just me. It was simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. I otherwise have a difficult time describing it. How could I even know that someone really sees me or knows me? I’m finding it ineffable, aside from just saying, “when you know you know.”
And this experience kind of broke me open. It left me feeling grateful and touched, but also like I’d eaten from the tree of knowledge and can’t unlearn what I learned. Is this what it’s like to be accepted, appreciated even, for exactly who I am? Do my friends and family even love the real me, or do they love an image of me? What the fuck have I been doing all of these years tying myself in knots for people? I feel like I’ve been given a gift, but I also am now mourning for myself—so much wasted time I spent betraying myself to be what others wanted me to be.
What Daughter of the Sea drew to my attention today was this: I need to come back to myself, and I need to be cognizant of what I’ll sacrifice or lose by discarding those curated versions of me and existing in an authentic way.
When I stop putting forth an image that I think others will like, the reality is that not everyone will like me. When I start being more ruthless with how I conduct myself in service of my values and priorities, I’ll be using my time in ways others may not approve of. I’ll be making choices that others may find disappointing.
Am I willing to live with that? To lose the potential for future connection? To contend with the very possible loss of friends who will now look at me and think, “You’re not who I thought you were?” To make some drastic changes to my life, ones that will push me out of my comfort zone?
I’m starting to think I am. At least, I understand that I need to learn to be. Life is short, and I don’t want to spend it ignoring myself. I want to trust that those who care for me do so for the whole of me—for my redeeming qualities, and in spite of my flaws. Those people who still show up for me are the ones I want to invest in.
I wish I had a good way to wrap this up, but the I don’t think I can easily tie a bow on something that I anticipate being a continual process. For the rest of my life, I’ll constantly be in a state of learning who I am. I have so many questions, decisions, and consequences to contend with. But I am hoping that I approach those with grace and bravery, and that I don’t again lose sight of who I am becoming.
mussels’ byssal threads
pliable, resilient
a cluster called home
a ship made for peace
tule reeds bound up tightly
through community bonds
bathe me in sunlight
bleach this dark patch in my heart
that tells me, “give up”