Why I Scuba Dive

Heart racing, trembling hands, shallow breaths, and a dry mouth — this is how most dives start for me. And that’s after the multiple bathroom visits and queasiness before we even reach the dive boat. I thought it would get better with more experience, but my nerves are something I can always (reluctantly) depend on.

Still, I dive. Mainly because my desire not to be defeated by anxiety is stronger than the fear that rises before a dive. My fear of missing out (FOMO) is also pretty persuasive. The beauty of the underwater world — and the peace that comes with being beneath the surface* — pulls me in as well. *Unless there’s strong current… then I’m not sure “peace” is the right word.

This post is about why I choose to dive despite the discomfort. It can sometimes suck, but it’s all worth it.

I started scuba diving in 2021. When the idea of getting certified was first floated to me, I dismissed it. It felt far-fetched. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember what went through my mind: “That’s not me. I’m not capable. Operating the equipment is scary...“

But my partner was getting certified and my FOMO is strong. So with some apprehension, I joined him and completed my PADI Open Water Diver course. The same reaction — dismissing it, then warming up to it — repeated with my Advanced Open Water.

Then my partner got his Rescue Diver and suggested I do mine too. His reasoning was that if he’s trained to help me in an emergency, it was only fair I could do the same for him. Hard to argue with that. So off I went to get my Rescue Diver certification, battling pre-dive anxiety all the way through.

Over time, my pre-dive anxiety has improved — I no longer throw up before leaving the house — and I’ve come to genuinely enjoy diving more and more. But I still dream of the day I wake up feeling excited instead of anxious before a dive. At the time of writing this, I’ve completed about 110 dives… and still, I get anxious. So I keep dreaming.

My anxiety has improved over the years, though I still regress occasionally — especially after a break from diving.

When I was just starting out, I’d have nervous coughs and even throw up a little before leaving the house. After a few dives, that stopped.

Our local dive sites are close to two hour’s drive away, which gave me time to mentally prep — but also time to overthink. Eventually, I noticed improvements: first I felt anxious the whole drive, then just the last 30 minutes, then only the last 15. Nowadays, it’s almost nothing.

Still, after a break, the nerves creep back in. On my most recent trip, they returned around the 15-minute mark. Not overwhelming — just there.

On dive trips abroad or liveaboards, it’s a different story. New environments bring new layers. I’ll often have a sleepless night, multiple morning bathroom visits, nausea (sometimes helped by nervous coughing), a racing heart, and a heaviness in my chest. My mind pleads to skip the dive and scans for any excuse to back out. Thankfully, most of this passes once I’m on the boat — though dry mouth and shaky hands often linger.

Once I’m in the water, the nerves usually melt away. If they don’t, I might burn through air quicker. I might check my dive computer obsessively. Sometimes, I’ve spent a whole dive just counting down to the end and not really appreciating what’s in front of me. Those dives suck. And my anxious mind is quick to use them as ammo for sitting out the next one. Luckily I’ve never panicked underwater — I think I’m too scared to.

Not every dive is great. But bad dives happen to everyone — not just the anxious.

I don’t think my anxiety is extreme or clinical, but it’s real and fairly consistent. So I’ve learned to expect it, manage it, and keep diving. It’s not ideal. I don’t like it. But it’s part of me — like any other trait.

If anxiety shows up almost every time, why do I keep diving? The reasons are many.

Once I descend, my nerves often fade. I focus on my breathing to stay calm — and that brings peace.

The underwater world is magical. I love looking out into the blue, taking in the vastness of the ocean. I marvel at nature’s artistry — the patterns, the colours, the creatures. And I light up when I spot my favourites: dogface pufferfish or batfish. I could follow them all day.

I’m often buzzing once I surface. After a trip, I’m itching to go again, already dreaming of the next diving holiday. There’s also something deeply satisfying about pushing through nerves and finding joy on the other side.

I’ve come to accept that pre-dive anxiety will likely always be part of my routine. So I’ve built ways to manage it — from my morning habits, to my packing, to how I talk to myself as I approach the water.

I acknowledge it, prep for it, play calming music, and lay out everything the night before to ease the rush. Once I’m in the water, I return to my breath.

The more I dive, the better it gets. There are setbacks, and progress can feel slow. But I’d rather keep chipping away than give up.

So, why do I dive despite the anxiety? Because my reasons outweigh the obstacles. Because…

Anxiety doesn’t get to write my whole story — and it doesn’t have to write yours…