Getting Certified: My Anxious Journey Into Scuba Diving

On the final dive for my Open Water (OW) certification, I kicked a sea urchin. My mind went straight to the worst-case scenario, and I bailed. Then the instructor failed me — and in that moment, my fear that I wasn’t cut out for this seemed confirmed.

But that fear wasn’t the truth. It didn’t reflect my ability.

Since then, I’ve passed the Advanced Open Water and Rescue Diver courses, and have logged around 100 dives. Looking back, I’ve come to realise: I wasn’t the problem — not in the way I thought.

I started my scuba journey thinking diving was out of my league. But there was a glimmer of “what if?”— and I’m grateful for that. It was the key that opened the door to a whole other world for me.

We had a holiday booked in the Maldives, and a colleague told me about a Try Dive he’d done there. From what I understood, you’re practically hand-held through a Try Dive. Against the backdrop of pristine water, that felt doable. Plus, I’d tried SNUBA* in Thailand and found it okay.

I went home excited and suggested it to my husband. But when he looked into it, he realised it would cost about the same to get certified before our trip. “Here we go…” I thought.

When he proposed we get certified, I scoffed. Scuba diving felt far-fetched for me — “that’s not me, I’m not capable, operating the equipment is scary” I thought. But he persisted.

Not wanting to be the one limiting our experiences, I reluctantly signed up for the PADI Open Water Diver course.

Ironically, our journey into scuba diving started with a money-saving idea. Turns out, it’s one of the more expensive hobbies out there!

_{*SNUBA = a cross between snorkelling and scuba diving. You breathe through a regulator connected to a surface air supply. You wear a mask, dive belt, and fins — but no BCD.}

I started the OW course afraid I’d fail and be told I wasn’t cut out for diving. With a glimmer of “what if?”, and determined to prove myself otherwise, I aced the theory and exam sections. That gave me a bit of confidence for the rest of the course.

On the first day of practical training, the nerves were back. I threw up before we even left the house. Racing heart, trembling hands, shallow breaths — they followed me all the way to the dive centre. But alongside all that, there was also excitement. I was about to learn something I never imagined myself doing.

The nerves eventually eased — probably because I was focused on the class and maybe because I started settling into the new environment.

Setting up the equipment was a little overwhelming. The steps to setting up my Buoyancy Control Device (BCD) made sense in theory, but when it came to the practical, all the steps were jumbled in my head.

I didn’t grow up doing much sport, or anything equipment-related. Even something as simple as putting on a helmet used to worry me that I’d get it wrong. With that as a baseline, I expected to fumble and be “bottom of the class” when it came to setting up my equipment. I must’ve done things right because the only correction I received was that I needed to align the centre of my BDC a bit more to the tank valve. In my head, however, I told myself they probably didn’t pay much attention and didn’t notice my other stuff-ups.

I’m also slow at doing things — probably thanks to an over-analytical brain. When it came to putting on my wetsuit, I struggled with it. My worry of being slow made me rush and yank my wetsuit up, scraping a bit of skin off my finger. My inner critic chimed in: See? You fumbled. You’re not suited to diving. Classic imposter syndrome.

Now, reflecting on it, I don’t even remember if I was the last one to gear up. And honestly? It doesn’t matter.

On day two, I struggled with the lack of sleep from the night before, and I let that get into my head and stay there.

Then I let a series of things that didn’t go well get to me. I placed the BCD on the tank the wrong way, I was flustered by getting a different regulator first stage (compared to what I used on day one), I struggled getting the weight belt on because I forgot how it worked, my mask was uncomfortable (likely because of how I had my hair), and both my fins and BCD were a bit big.

I didn’t say anything at the time about the fins and pushed through with discomfort. But the BCD was noticeably big, throwing me around in the water, and the instructor had it swapped, holding up the class. I should have said something before getting into the pool.

Thankfully, even though I wasn’t keen on the underwater skills (mask removal, regulator recovery, etc.), I passed them all with ease on both days two and three — and my confidence grew. Maybe I can do this, I thought.

Then came the final dive.

After all the usual nerves (which I won’t repeat), we were met by a different instructor. The others had been clear, encouraging, and friendly. This one seemed disengaged and grumpy — like he didn’t want to be there.

His communication was poor from the start. For the first skills demo (underwater navigation), he drew something on his slate that neither of us understood. He kept pointing at it like we’d magically get it after the third time. Eventually, my partner suggested we surface to talk. Not a great start.

Despite that, I completed the skills and we moved on to the final stretch — though we didn’t know it was the final part, because he hadn’t told us.

We were meant to demonstrate that we could swim a certain distance underwater — a normal dive, really. But the visibility was about two metres, and he led us too close to a slope where sea urchins were clustered like underwater landmines. I accidentally kicked one.

It didn’t hurt much, but I didn’t know whether sea urchins were venomous or fatal. My mind spiralled. Is it poisonous? Will I be okay? Spoiler: I was fine. I itched a little and that was it.

But at the time, the fear was real — and paired with the instructor’s attitude, it was all too much. I signalled to go up and told him what happened. He offered no comfort. He said nothing as we swam to shore and walked back to the dive shop. Only after we removed our gear did he tell me that I failed.

My fear had come true.

What made it worse was that my partner passed — even though he demonstrated the same things I did. He questioned the instructor, who claimed he saw my partner swim but didn’t see me, and because of that, he “couldn’t” pass me.

“Would she have passed if you saw her swim a little longer?” my partner asked.
“Yes,” the instructor answered.

The instructor had every chance to explain that I just needed to keep going for a bit longer — but he didn’t. If I’d known, I might’ve pushed through.

Instead, we had to go back a few days later and do it all over again. We had a different instructor who was friendly, clear, and even took photos to celebrate. I re-did the skills and passed with no problem. The visibility was still poor, but he kept us well away from the sea urchins.

Going back was hard. I felt embarrassed and my confidence was rattled. I really did not want to set foot back into the water. But I owe a big part of returning to my partner, who re-did the dive with me even though he didn’t need to.

Ultimately, though, I couldn’t walk away either — not when I was so close. That tiny ember of “what if?” kept me going.

Since then, I’ve dived with many Dive Masters and Instructors — none as poor as him.

It took three years and a Rescue Diver course for me to fully understand how bad that instructor was in handling that situation. In Rescue, we’re taught to recognise and assist distressed divers. Yet, he didn’t even check the puncture or offer reassurance. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but I now realise that the failure was on his part, not mine.

At the time, I felt like a failure. Even though I passed in the end, I went on to question myself for a long time. And although now I see it differently, it took a lot of work to get here.

That instructor may have tainted my OW experience, but my own nerves played a part too. Like riding a bike and hitting the very rock you were trying to avoid — focusing on failure might’ve nudged me closer to it. I think most of my mental energy was spent keeping my nerves at bay, which didn’t leave much for anything else that came up, like the instructor…or the sea urchins.

So what would I say to my past self or anyone about to start their Open Water course?

Getting certified can be easy and fun for some. For others, like me, it might be uncomfortable. You may have to battle your nerves while learning new skills. It might feel like a lot, but one thing’s for sure: it’s absolutely worth it.

Don’t let fear or someone else’s shortcomings stop you. You can make it through.

Smooth sailing isn’t guaranteed. You might fail. I failed. But I’ve gone on to dive in amazing places and met kind, supportive professionals.

If there’s a glimmer of “what if?” in you, it’s worth following. It might just open the door to a new world.

Yes — I was lucky to have my husband’s support. But ultimately, I had to take that giant stride.

And if you start to feel like you’re not cut out for this, stop and ask yourself:
What’s making me feel this way? Who’s making me feel this way?
It might be someone who shouldn’t be working with beginners — or it might be you.

If you, like me, hold deep-down beliefs that you’re not capable then it’s worth taking steps to address it. I came across a blog on this website, Fit To Dive, which could be helpful.