This is a topic that I have seen come up more and more recently, and it's sparking a really interesting conversation within the scuba community.
Most people would assume that anxiety is something for a novel diver to overcome during their first stages of training, when in fact it can happen to any diver at any time, no matter their level of experience.
Of course, many factors are involved when it comes to triggering someone's feelings of anxiety: new or unfamiliar dive gear/ conditions/ dive buddy/ marine life etc. However everyone is different and so it's difficult for me to offer advice, because what may work for one person may not for another. All I can do is share my own experience...
At this point in my dive journey I was a fresh-faced Divemaster and had been working at the Bay Islands College of Diving for about one month, rounding up my total logged dives to roughly 200. I was confident at guiding larger groups of divers and was starting to know the dive sites very well, along with identifying the marine life. This experience of mine took place during a night dive, which I would assume could trigger anxiety for many people. By this stage I was totally comfortable on night dives and had signed myself up to fun dive with my friends every chance I could when a night dive was scheduled. I loved the opportunity to see different life than during the day: squid, octopus, slipper lobsters, bioluminescence - it was all such a thrill! I also enjoy how on a night dive you have a focal point. Your vision is restricted by the illumination of your torch, meaning you have narrow field of vision and can truly examine every little detail on the reef within your ring of light. Sometimes during the daytime I'm constantly looking around, not wanting to miss an eagle ray gliding past or something in the distance. That option isn't available at night, and I really enjoy it (though I hate to think of all the cool creatures that have swam over my head or right next to me at night which I've completely missed!)
As I was watching my divers set up their gear on their tanks and perform safety checks on their equipment, I realised that this was my first time guiding a night dive! In the month I had officially been working as a guide, my colleague had been scheduled to lead every night dive until now. I can't actually remember if that's just how the schedule fell and it was a coincidence, or if the manager had purposefully waited to schedule me until I felt more comfortable; either way, the realisation only hit me at that moment.
I was excited. My night dive briefing went smoothly and we were heading to Ted's Point, a site I had been to many times both during the daytime and at night, so I was feeling confident. Everyone in my group was Advanced Open Water certified so I mentioned in my briefing that we would slowly drop down to about 20m/ 65ft and follow the sand bank along, looking out for upsidedown jellyfish, stingrays and octopus until we reach a small shipwreck at 23m/ 75ft. I was excited to show my divers lobsters hiding under the wreck, maybe even a green moray eel would be there too! Then I could point to inside the wreck where a large cubera snapper or barracuda might be hanging out before turning around to head back along the reef.
We geared up, performed our pre-dive safety checks, turned on our torches and made a giant stride into the water. The sun had only just set and there were still pink and purple hues across the sky. At our dive shop, we like to enter the water on a night dive before it gets completely dark, that way divers feel more comfortable; especially when it's their first ever night dive and they need to perform a compass skill underwater, making it much easier for them to focus and see without worrying about the darkness.
As we began our descent, I checked in with each diver to make sure they could equalise before setting off along the sloping sand, scanning the bottom for signs of life to point out just as I had planned. After about five minutes I noticed that the sunlight had completely gone and darkness had fallen, all I could see were the beams from our torches. I checked everyone's air and kept heading in the direction of the wreck. Another five minutes went by, and then another. I tried to repress feelings of panic but I was certainly confused - where was this wreck? We were at 23m/ 75ft, we should have approached it by now. I looked down to my dive computer to check my decompression time. I had been moving at a consistent depth for a while now and needed to shallow up soon and turn the dive around. I spun around to face my divers, checking their air again and feeling a twinge of guilt that I hadn't found them anything interesting yet - I was relying on this wreck!
I started to scan the water around me, looking out for lights from other dive groups as a sign of reassurance that I wasn't lost: darkness. I pointed my light up the bank to look for shadows from the reef, but all I could see was sand. I wasn't even sure if I could tell whether the sand was sloping or not. Which way was I facing? How many times had I spun around now? I picked the direction I thought was correct but then my computer showed me that I was getting deeper. Now the feelings of panic had travelled from my stomach to my throat and I tried to take longer, deeper breaths. Is this what vertigo feels like? No, I could still tell which way was up and down but I was completely disoriented. I felt so lost and anxious, I just wanted to be back on the boat.
My compass! I had been too arrogant at the start of the dive to take a heading as I was certain of my location, but I still knew which direction the boat was. I had set off east to find the wreck so I now needed to turn around and travel west. I shallowed up and kept checking in with my divers - could they tell I was freaking out? Was this the worst night dive of their lives? Eventually I found the reef and even managed to point out a spiny lobster to my divers - probably the most common creature to see on a night dive but did I care? No. This was a miracle in my eyes. I shallowed my group up to about 7m/ 22ft at the top of the reef so I could spot the large white buoy attached to the morning line, leading to the boat.
Convincing myself that we were heading in the right direction, I then began to worry that we were late. I didn't want to keep the other staff members and their students waiting, (not to mention the Captain) so I signalled for us to begin our safety stop and continued swimming at 5m/ 15ft towards what I hoped was the boat. It wasn't long before I heard a faint banging of metal on metal - other divers! Hooray! Soon I could see other lights along with the mooring line. What a wave of relief. I was no longer lost, my divers still had plenty of air, and my nauseating anxiety mostly floated away. As we climbed back onboard I was waiting for the awkward debrief and post-dive banter with my divers... oh no - will they complain to my boss about me?! I'm literally the worst Divemaster in history.
They removed their masks and regulators to reveal beaming smiles: "How cool was that? What a dive!". Oh how I wish I had photographic evidence of my facial expression - what the...? How did they enjoy that? They saw... a lobster. We never made it to the wreck and I couldn't even recall whether I had been swimming at the speed of light or not due to nerves. I can't believe they had a good dive. On the outside, I must have appeared calm and collected or they were probably too distracted looking out for fish to notice my anxiety. I wanted to laugh!
[Two years later with my Advanced Open Water students after a night dive - all smiles!]
Thinking back to that night, almost 5 years later, I am really grateful that it happened. I am pleased to have experienced anxiety underwater so early on in my dive career and to have learnt how to handle it, and I am glad to say that it hasn't happened since. But anxiety affects divers of all abilities, it can come out of nowhere and sometimes take you by surprise, even more so if you've been diving for a long time. Just recently an experienced instructor friend of mine reached out to me sharing her experience on a recent dive, in which she had her first panic attack underwater. She felt too embarrassed to confide in her colleagues in case they were judgemental or even worse, at risk of her losing her job! Unlike my experience, in some cases these feelings of anxiety aren't actually related to the dive. It can be external concerns, worries and stress that can impact you underwater. Usually, diving offers us an opportunity to relax, an environment where we can change pace and clear our mind of life from above the surface; but often it's the moments in which we slow down that our true feelings come out.
There is no shame in feeling anxious, no matter where you are in your scuba journey. It may take you by surprise, but try to ground yourself and even give yourself a little pep talk. As I said, everyone's feelings and coping mechanisms can differ greatly, but for me, I remind myself that I am a good diver, a good instructor and as long as my divers are safe and I remain calm, it's going to be ok. Take deep breaths, try to orient yourself to something familiar, and never begin the dive with arrogance.
In the end it turned out that on approaching Ted's Point that night, another boat was already moored there so the Captain changed sites. That explains why I never found the wreck, but it was still my error because every other instructor and dive guide on that boat still managed to figure it out, and it is my responsibility to pay attention to where we are. Maybe it was lack of knowing the buoy placement off by heart or my nerves distracted me, but I can tell you that I have never made that mistake again!
I hope this has helped someone feel less embarrassed about an experience or feel a little bit more confident about dealing with anxiety. It happens to all of us, and you're still amazing.
Safe diving & happy dreaming,
A.
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