Just keep swimming.

I tell people all the time: I have the best parents in the world. And I mean it. It’s not just how they raised us, or what they taught us—it’s who they continue to be. The way they show up in their marriage, in their community, and in our lives is the kind of quiet, resilient leadership I find myself reflecting on more and more as I grow older. Recently, I’ve shared some of my dad’s words about service and leadership, and about the women in our family who lead with strength and joy. But today, it’s my mom who’s teaching me something I can’t ignore.

When we were kids, she couldn’t swim. But she made sure we could. Every Saturday, she loaded us into the van and took us to swim lessons. She made sure we were safe, prepared, and comfortable in a space that was always unknown to her. And now, decades later, she’s still doing it—stretching herself into the places that once felt unreachable.

A few years ago, after she retired, she joined the YMCA. George and I had just bought kayaks for our boys, and she insisted we get them into swim lessons. “Mom, they can swim,” I told her. “They don’t need lessons.” She disagreed. Strongly. And because it’s Darla, and you don’t argue with Darla, I shrugged and said fine. What I didn’t expect was that when she signed the boys up, she would sign herself up too.

In retirement, my mom enrolled in swim lessons for the first time.

This week, she texted our family group chat to let us know that, on her second anniversary of starting lessons, she swam a full mile. In seventy minutes. Uninterrupted. The text came with five, well-deserved, exclamation marks. We cheered, my brother teased her (because teasing is how he says “I love you”), and we celebrated her big moment. It’s been nearly a week, and I can’t stop thinking about the courage it took to do what she did.

It’s one thing to try something new. It’s another thing entirely to walk into a space that’s always scared you, acknowledge that fear, and choose to face it anyway. To literally jump into the deep end and trust that your body will remember what it’s learned. That’s not just a new skill—it’s a transformation.

It’s time to take off the floaties.

It made me think about all of us who find ourselves staring down the deep end in our own lives. In our careers. In our relationships. In the parts of ourselves we’ve avoided because they’re unfamiliar or uncomfortable.

There’s something profoundly human about that moment—when you know the ground won’t be there to catch you, and you have to trust yourself to float.

To dive into the next version of yourself, whether that’s a career leap, a bold conversation, or a personal reinvention, it often starts with that same quiet bravery. You don’t become strong by avoiding the deep end. You become strong by getting in, again and again, until the water doesn’t scare you anymore.

Here’s what I’ve learned, watching my mom:

• Growth begins the moment you stop letting fear dictate what’s possible.

• Learning is not reserved for the young—it’s reserved for the willing.

• You don’t have to go fast. You just have to keep moving.

• Find the right help. Coaches. Mentors. Guides. People who’ve stood where you’re standing and swam through it anyway. You don’t have to do it alone.

This is the work of leadership too. The willingness to examine yourself. The humility to try. The grit to keep showing up when no one’s watching. It’s easy to pour your energy into making sure everyone else is prepared—to teach your kids to swim, to sign your grandkids up for lessons, to equip the people around you with what they need to thrive. That’s real leadership. That’s what strong women do.

But sometimes, even the one holding everything together sees there’s more to learn. Not out of necessity—but out of a quiet commitment to keep growing. To set an example that says: we’re never done. There’s always room to get stronger, braver, more free. That’s not weakness. That’s legacy.

If you’re standing at the edge of something today—something that matters, something that calls to you even if it scares you—this is your nudge.

Don’t overthink it. Don’t wait for perfection. Don’t assume it’s too late.

Just get in.

And just keep swimming.