We’re delighted to publish the winning entries, and the runners up, from our 2021 short story competition. Young writers from all over Ireland competed for prizes of €250, sponsored by Tertulia Books in association with Spot-Lit EU. The competition’s theme, “Waves”, inspired work of an extremely high standard. The winners were selected by acclaimed YA author and guest judge Deirdre Sullivan. We thank all who entered and we encourage everyone to keep writing.
Sink or Swim by Ella Jones Bourke (aged 14) was runner-up in the junior category.
Sink or Swim by Ella Jones Bourke
As she stepped out of the (probably unhygienic) changing rooms onto the (definitely unhygienic) pool deck for the first time in nearly 2 years, Seren was overcome with nostalgia at the familiar smell of chlorine and sweat. Seren embraced the repetitive sound of the gentle waves of water lapping up against the poolside created by joyful young swimmers, in the pool purely for the fun of it, splashing in the shallow end and the competitive swimmers she used to call her closest companions, there purely -not- for the fun of it, diving in almost seamlessly.
‘I certainly don’t miss this’, she thought to herself as she cringed watching her past coach berate one of the girls about a minor error in her stroke that no one else would’ve picked up on. She offered her a sympathetic smile as she herself was once the girl being yelled at and remembered how belittling the experience felt. The girl gave her a sheepish smile back.
Seren had quit swimming two October’s ago with no warning on account of her (deteriorating) mental health.
After an excruciating year filled with secrecy, exhaustion and comments about her shrinking body. A year where her malnourished brain was numb to almost all emotion and even that could almost be considered a positive because it softened the blow of the lost trust and friendships restriction brought with it. A year shadowed by a loud, destructive voice that came in as a friend, a comfort, something to help her, yet somehow ended in crying parents, no personality and an anorexia nervosa diagnosis.
Seren was forced to stop swimming and although she put up a fight, to both recovery and quitting her “passion”, she was secretly grateful underneath the destabilising fear. Grateful for the break, the moment of respite that her apologetic and comforting parents brought from the war inside her head.
No one prepared her, however, for when the emotional and financial cost became too great for her support system and suddenly she was left alone to fight off something that she felt as if it had latched onto her brain. The constant support morphed into bi weekly therapy sessions and weigh-ins
and when your therapist starts to give up on you, that’s a whole new bout of hopelessness.
Seren had minor relapses before but had been rescued from these stormy seas last minute before suffocating under water.
However, this time, when she was on the verge of relapsing and falling back into anorexia’s welcoming clutches, there was no one there to help. she was the only thing standing between her and being swallowed away by a treacherous flood.
If she hadn’t found a flickering glow of perseverance – like a candle trying to stay aglow in a breezy, dark room – within herself, she would’ve been swept away for good in a large, foreboding wave, that wouldn’t have shown any mercy.
Seren had read many books and watched countless movies about being rescued valiantly by a significant other (no volunteers, unfortunately), a friend, a family member, sometimes an unexpected stranger. Now, that’s not to say she hadn’t acquired some endlessly supportive friends and that her family hadn’t been to hell and back to help her. Regardless, these people were on, what felt like a job rota and once their shift ended, their support went with them.
Being your own lifeguard and training your mind on how to pull yourself up before drowning in waves that are too strong for even the most accomplished of swimmers, she had come to realise was far more reliable
because support and sheltering from others only goes so far and sometimes it’s up to you, and only you to pull yourself through the waves, even if it looks like a questionable doggy paddle (that her coaches simply would not have been able to cope with) rather than a perfectly composed stroke.
And that’s why she’s here.
After 2 years of recovering that manifested itself as struggling and grappling with incredibly dark emotions mixed with bursts of pure happiness she was back
at her second home, as she used to call it, almost completely rid of the shackles that anorexia had used to clamp her down.
The place where every morning without fail she would train at 4:30 (insert exhausted parent’s sighs here) before going to school half asleep (Seren blames swimming for her dependency on caffeine) only to come back late to the pool late that evening.
a place where love triangles were messy and friendship groups were a tangle of “how could you do this to me?” and “oh my god, i wish i looked like you” and “her jumper was ONLY €50? the poor thing has no money *insert fake sympathetic smile here*”
and relentless coaches would yell for reasons that, looking back, seem completely unnecessary
and tears were shed when times were so narrowly missed after months of never-ending laps of the pool.
Yet, in the midst of it all there was a comfort in being part of something unique and admittedly, what many people couldn’t fathom doing considering the sacrifice and dedication.
So, unsurprisingly, stepping foot on the pool deck again brought an incredible spectrum of emotions with it.
She’s back because Seren managed to pull herself out of the succumbing current of anorexia.
She cut off old friends that glorified unrealistic bodies,
made new ones who celebrated individuality and stepping outside of the ruthless (yet somehow, normalised?) society that pressures young people into being
thin
beautiful
apologetic (Seren was overly so)
perfect (Seren worked every day for months to learn to cope with not being so)
and never, ever
outside of the acceptable box.
Instead of so called “friends” and boyfriends idolising her thin, sick body, she now had friends who made her feel beautiful in a body that allowed her to lead a much better, fun-filled life that included spontaneous ice cream, train trips and coffee dates along with picnics and painting on top of fresh grass adorned with budding flowers.
She started to call herself out on old, lingering behaviours that would only lead her to unsafe waters, replacing them with newer habits that would give her an abundance of energy and spirit to pursue the greatness she was told she could achieve from a young age
while also releasing herself from this pressure to force herself to pursue said greatness because Seren realised that perhaps this pressure and the unrealistic expectations she had set for herself was what had paved the path that anorexia had taken to walk into her life as a control mechanism, something to truly be the best at when academics and “passions” started to fall away.
She found a balance between happiness and success.
Seren began treating herself with respect by no longer cruelly reprimanding her body that does so much for her and instead speaking to herself with kind words,
dressing and acting in a way that makes her feel at home in herself and not in a way that is purely to please others.
In front of everyone’s eyes,
Seren started to smile instead of sulk, a perk in her step replaced the drag, she began saying yes to adventurous days out instead of saying yes to the voices saying to relapse.
Treating herself with the respect that her body and mind was crying out for transformed her into an evolved version of Seren.
A version even better than before she got swept away with anorexia.
However, this journey was not without hardship.
She had made promises and broken them before,
had these moments of convincing motivation,
only to fall through and be encapsulated by anorexic waves
this lost the trust of her therapists
and most importantly,
her parents.
Whenever Seren wanted, and craved, to move forward she had to reassure her parents (and sometimes herself) that it was going to last this time.
No one believing she was recovering gave her more drive to pursue it.
And she did.
Now dressed proudly in her new uniform of red shorts and yellow t-shirt, she stands with her toes over the edge of the pool, feeling the gentle ripples fall softly onto her feet, shocking them momentarily with the cold before retracting back into the pool, a small droplet rolled down her cheek as she embraced the new beginning, or perhaps redoing, that being back at the pool would surely bring.
Only this time, Seren isn’t here to train.
She’s here in a newer, replenished body.
She’s back with a more caring and well-rounded mindset.
She’s here for a summer job lifeguarding to earn some money and have fun (and, knowing them, probably fight) with old friends,
not to burn calories or punish herself needlessly by pushing her body to extremes.
Although she’s regretful of how her journey with swimming ended, Seren is endlessly grateful to herself for being her own lifeguard and beginning her journey to loving, nourishing and truly being herself.
Because you can’t always expect the waves to part for you,
or for anyone else to pull you out just in time.
Sometimes, it’s up to you to swim free.
