Words: Urvi Goyal (she/her)
It is a place to reflect on my experiences, where water lends an ear and lets my thoughts tumble out, floating away until all that’s left is a sea scattered with me, interwoven and free.
As I dive into the water, I am met with an untameable, wild creature of which I am both bewitched and afraid. Though part of me is intimidated by its vastness, I am able to find my belonging within this body of motion. Wading into the water, it envelops you, offering shelter from the phallocentric nature of our society. Water, in its untamed form, has no allegiance to societal constructs – the silence of the sea offers women respite from society. A space for women to simply be, in the chaos of this natural chasm. The seaside was once prescribed to cure hysteria, suffocating women’s struggles and banishing them from society. But, I like to think that even then, the untameable sea refused to comply, offering a cocoon instead of washing them away. No matter where we are, water interweaves women across geographies, generations, and even myth.
In myth and folklore, water-dwelling women appear again and again. We hear stories of sirens, mermaids, and, specific to Scottish lore, selkies. These figures are known for their seductive nature, luring men to their deaths. Many wrote these as cautionary tales, but I interpret them as stories of women reclaiming the sea as their solace and strength. Selkie myths say that if a man hides a selkie’s skin and she is forced to marry him, then she will always abandon her human life and return to the sea. Here, the narrative is flipped – patriarchal society is portrayed as negative, whilst the sea provides refuge and comfort. The threads woven between water and women have been strung together long before myths, flowing through the hands of Finnish travellers sailing Scottish waters.
I believe women embody water: we follow its fluid and cyclical nature throughout our lives. This rhythm feels intrinsically linked to our bodies – the ebb and flow of a menstrual cycle mirrors tidal waves and their inner workings. Within these oscillations, water has represented a source of calm. I find myself endlessly yearning for the aquatic in some way, shape, or form.
Society’s impulse to call our planet “Mother Earth” echoes the familiarity I find within waves: the instinctual urge to gender the natural world as feminine emphasises its ability to nurture and protect. Fishermen once devoted themselves to the imagined feminine, not only in their creations of folklore, but also through the ships they sailed. Women are honoured in the naming of these vessels; their bodies entrusted to the sea, believing in the protective energy of a mother’s spirit. The containment of a womb is embodied, carrying life across wild tides. This personification reveals a deeper belief that women were valued most for their ability to contain life – protecting, but never steering.
Despite these interwoven narratives of women’s relationship with the sea, the most vibrant fragments of my childhood spark from my memories of running amok on the beaches of Plymouth, where being near the water carried a joyful charge. Even now, water acts as a connecting body between my friends and I. The three of us holding hands during our cold water swims, all freezing from the kind of cold that evokes awareness throughout every part of you. Through the waves, our laughter echoes back to us, ringing out through the shells we collect.
These swims are a ritual: the plunge, the dive, and the moment you first touch the water. There’s always the first breath of shock which reminds me that I’m alive. Once my body adjusts, the surrounding water merges with my own watery nature. The product? Pure stillness. The reminder that I am interwoven with this untameable element of nature – the sonder of it – instils a quiet freedom and awe within me. Water makes no demands, allowing my tangible self to drift away.
I often think about how the women of today choose to enter water, using it as a space of healing. Women are now able to escape the noise of expectation: they let the sea reunite them with their true selves, and watch society’s expectations float towards the horizon. My experiences of water, I’m sure, will echo those of other women. Our embodiment of water becomes an act of reclamation – a source of mindfulness and freedom. It is a place to reflect on my experiences, where water lends an ear and lets my thoughts tumble out, floating away until all that’s left is a sea scattered with me, interwoven and free. The water no longer silences us: it listens and holds. And, as I wade into the sea, I feel the familiar freedom of my body meeting itself.
