A Chat on the Stoop: Hasna Muhammad and In Deep Water
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Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Suzanne Rust, the curator at the Moth. And I'm Leela Day, co-creator of the Stoop Podcast. And we're your hosts for this episode.

One of the things I love most about The Moth is the sense of intimacy that listening to a story gives you. It creates this beautiful, like almost sacred space. And that space can let you think about things in a way you didn't before. Consider new perspectives or maybe feel truly seen. And maybe for the first time. And I'm reminded of that special intimacy when I listen to one of my favorite podcasts, The Stoop.

which is co-hosted by Leela Day, who's sitting right next to me. Hey! Yeah, so on The Stoop, my co-host Hannah Bhabha and I, we try to tell stories that are from the Black diaspora that people just don't hear enough of.

Like stories about folktales and psychedelics and black joy and beauty and ballet. We really try to go there. Yeah, and you really do. And I feel like I'm part of that conversation when I listen. You really bring us in close. You know, so on this episode of the Moth Podcast, we're going to be doing something a little different.

In addition to playing a story from The Moth, we'll also be playing a part of an episode of The Stoop. And we'll be talking about the larger theme that both The Moth story and The Stoop episode touch on. Swimming and the black community's relationship to it. There are so many incorrect stories and stereotypes about black people and swimming. That we don't know how to swim. I've even heard that our bodies aren't visible.

made for swimming? Oh, I've heard that too, and so many more things. Let's talk about it, but first let's dip our toes in and start with a story from Hesna Muhammad. She told this at New Haven's College Street Music Venue. Here's Hesna live at the mall. Thank you. I learned to swim in summer camp when I was five or six years old.

I held on to the edge of the cement pool. I put my face in the water and blew bubbles. I turned my head from side to side to breathe, lifted my feet and kicked my legs behind me. I had to let go of the wall to learn to tread water and to float, first with someone's hand at my back and then all by myself.

I moved my arms and legs to get from here to there and there kept moving from someone's arms a few yards away to the middle of the pool and then the end of the pool where my feet couldn't touch the bottom. In pictures of me as a little girl, I am in a bathing suit.

I'm standing by a pool, jumping in a pool, diving in a pool, laughing and giggling with my brother and sister with my father's arms nearby. I wasn't really swimming, but I was having so much fun. And now I love to swim. Over time, I learned how to really swim. And now I swim laps for fun and exercise.

I swim in open water, but most times I swim in pools. I swim in public pools, private pools, indoor pools, outdoor pools, 25 yards, 50 meters. I swim every chance I get in any pool that I can. My dream swim is in the center-most lane of an outside Olympic-sized pool.

It's 80 degrees and sunny outside. There's a blue sky and wisps of clouds overhead. And I am doing the backstroke. I am all by myself and completely naked. I had to let go of the inhibitions about my body in order to swim. My breasts turn into my belly. My belly turns into my butt.

I have a varicose vein down the entire length of one leg and my thighs rub together when I walk. But I am out there in my one-piece competition bathing suit letting it all hang out. That's because I am a swimmer girl and I love to swim.

Now, I live right near Danbury, about 35 miles from New Haven. And I swim three or four times a week at one of two Y's in Connecticut. And that gives me a choice of four pools. And when I swim, I don't ever see anybody who looks like me

Swimming laps for fun and exercise. Now I'm not talking about water aerobics. I'm not talking about wading in the water with your sunglasses on. I'm talking about swimming freestyle, backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly, back and forth, a mile at a time. Counting yards, practicing drills, racing the clock, swimming long, hard, and fast for about an hour.

Now maybe I have to go to a different pool on a different day or at a different time because black women do everything everywhere all the time. I cannot be the only one. I was raised by two staunch hardcore artists and activists.

And I was raised during the vortex of the Black Power Movement, the Black Arts Movement, the Women's Live Movement, and the Civil Rights Movement of the 20th century. So being black and seeing black and female is my lens for everything. So when I am in my car getting ready to go for a swim in Hawaiian, Connecticut, and this black man

driving a black Volvo SUV with a black girl as his passenger, pulls into the space next to mine, I take note. We get out of the car together at the same time and we say hello to each other. And inside I'm saying, yeah, black people. I forget my mask in the car so I go back, they go in the building, I lose track of them.

But when I get into the women's locker room, I see the girl. She's about 13, 14 years old. She's tall. She's got a crown of hair over her head. And she's standing at the end of the bank of lockers, frozen still. But she's wearing a bathing suit, looking down at the swim cap in her hand. This girl is going to the pool. This girl is going to be swimming.

This girl better not take up my favorite lane. I say hello to her again, and I make a mad dash to the locker, do a Superman change so that I can get the lane that I want, close the door, turn around, and she's still standing there. But this time, she's stuffing her dry hair into her swim cap.

And I want to say to her, "Baby, you gotta wet your hair before you put on your swim cap. That way the water gets in the cuticle, you put a little conditioning in there, then you put on your swim cap. That way the chlorine doesn't damage your hair that much." But I didn't want to embarrass her. She looked so uncomfortable, like she wanted to be invisible. So I kept my mouth from a stranger closed. I said, "Have a good swim." She mumbled something back.

And then I went on and I took my shower. When I'm wetting my hair, I'm thinking, you know, maybe I should have said something to her about her hair, but she'll see that my hair is wet and then she'll learn that she should wet her hair too. I get poolside and this girl is in my center lane. She obviously did not take the obligatory shower you're supposed to take before you get into a pool.

All the other lanes are taken except for the one right next to her, so I claim that. And I want to say to her how happy I am to swim next to her, somebody who looks just like me, albeit 50 years younger. I wanted to tell her, ask her, did she know that there was a time when black people weren't allowed to swim in pools? When even with the submersion of one toe, the pool was empty.

That most black people don't know how to swim and most people who drown are black and brown. But I didn't want to interrupt. Her father was squatting on the deck talking to her and she was listening to her father. She was listening to her father but she was looking at me. And it's not the look that I get when I come on deck and all eyes scatter.

It's not the look that I get when I talk about swimming in standard English. It's not even the look I get when people see that I tan, like all over. This girl was looking at me to see how I navigate this space. She was looking at me to see how I be in this pool.

So, she watches me as I pull out my fins and my kickboard and my pull buoy and my paddles and place them on the deck. She sees me cup my forehead with my swim cap and tuck my wet hair in. She sees me put on my goggles and straighten the strap. And then she watches as I slip into the pool and glide streamlined into the liquid cool.

My skin awakens all at once. My legs are straight, my toes are pointed, arms with my ears, my hands are stacked. The only thing I hear is my exhale as the water parts to let me through. I see the reflection of the water shimmering above me. I see the shadow of my body passing over the bottom of the pool that gradually deepens below me.

I start an underwater stroke and when my body signals the need for air, all my chakras tingle. So I rise up and take a breath and come back down, rise up and take a breath and come back down. And when I'm about a foot from the wall, I curl my body into a ball and flip over. Bubbles swarm everywhere. I'm upside down. My knees are bent. My feet are on the wall and I push off.

roll over and start to swim. By that time, the girl is swimming too. And we are swimming laps, peeking at each other over the lane dividers. She's faster than I am, but I'm steadier than she is. And I see a lot of bodies in the water.

But when I see her brown arms and legs piercing the water, doing freestyle and flip turns, I feel like a proud mama bear. And she stops to watch me too. She stops and treads water and watches as I pick up speed and start to sweat and focus on my workout.

When I take a break between sets, I notice that the girl and her father are gone. And once again, I am the only black person in the pool. I finish my workout, do my cool down, then I play like that kid in camp. I make angels in the water, dive backwards, swim upside down, do flips and handstands. And then I run to the shallow end, pack up my gear and get out.

And that's when I noticed that the girl and her father are back. She's in her street clothes, and he's braiding her hair. And as I pass them, I want to ask, have you ever heard of the Harlem Honeys and Bears? Have you ever been to blackgirlswim.org? Do you follow those black Olympic swimmer girls? But I don't want to intrude.

So I just smile at them like I smile at everybody else on my way into the locker room. When I'm in the shower, I am kicking myself for not saying anything to that girl. There she was, somebody who looks just like me, was swimming right there. And I didn't say any of the things that I thought to say. My mother would have said something. My grandmother would have said something. But neither of them knew how to swim.

I'm an educator, and I missed the opportunity to teach this child. And when I'm getting dressed, I'm thinking, well, maybe she didn't want to hear anything I had to say anyway. Maybe she's just a Gen Z teen unburdened by the racist history of black people and swimming.

Maybe she doesn't want to be seen as black. Maybe she doesn't identify as a girl. Maybe she just wants to be a spiritual being, having a human experience, swimming. I mean, isn't that what it's all about? Just being yourself?

When I get to the parking lot, I see that black Volvo SUV and I decide I'm going to tell her everything. And maybe she waited for me because she felt glad to swim with me because she gets those looks too. Maybe the lifeguard made her prove that she could swim before he let her into the deep end. That's what he did to me. By the time I get to the car, I see that the girl and her father are not in it.

and they don't come even though I linger before I pull out and drive away. Every time I go to that pool, I look for that black swimmer girl. I haven't seen her yet, but I know that she and other black women and girls who love to swim are out there. I know because I'm not the only one, and there will be more. I know

Because for about an hour on a Sunday morning at a Y in Connecticut, there were two black swimmer girls swimming laps for fun and exercise. We were defying the assumptions about black people, black girls, black women, and swimming. And it didn't matter what I said or didn't say to this girl. She saw me.

And I saw her, even if no one else did. I wasn't alone. We were together and we both belong, even if just to each other. Have a good swim.

That was Hesna Mohamed. In addition to being a certified scuba diver and a member of U.S. Masters Swimming, she's a writer, visual artist, and educator whose work focuses on social justice, education, and the human condition. She's also a photographer who recently published her first book, Breathe in the Sky, Poems, Prayers, and Photograph.

Hestness currently working on a memoir, Places to Stand, about her experiences growing up as a daughter of two legendary actors and activists, Ozzie Davis and Ruby Dee. So, Leila, I wanted to talk to you a little bit more about Hestness' story and what were your feelings on it? Because I had so many feels for this story, and all the black women in the office were like in tears. She just hits on so many really poignant moments and so many different stories.

Yeah. Yeah. So many things. I mean, one of the things I thought about was how many times have you been the only black girl in the pool? Yep. Right? Yeah. Yeah. And I don't know why it's something I really related to hearing her story because I

I remember as a child being the only in the pool looking around thinking like, is everyone looking at me? Is everyone looking? Am I swimming right? Am I doing things right? And to be honest, you know, I also would have moisturizers and creams on my hair. And I'd always be embarrassed that they would be in the water and that there would be like a little...

a little oil slick maybe like nearby and that people would see my moisturizers and like my hair creams in the water yeah i don't know if you've ever i i do completely i remember when i was a little girl we had swimming at school and i was really young because my mom was still doing my hair with those little yarn you know those little threads that they used to tie her hair up with and i i think i went to school with braids but i got my hair got wet and it did little afro puffs and no one had seen me with the afro puffs and everyone's like oh my

got your hair. And for some reason, you know, I just felt you made you stand out. And I felt funny and I felt uncomfortable. And it just, hearing the story just kind of reminded me of that because I also love to swim. You know, it's something I love to do. I love to float. I love to swim. I'm always the first one in the water. In fact, when I was about five on a family vacation, I loved the water so much before I could even

I didn't even knew how to swim. I dove in the pool and my mother had to like scoop me out. And I think immediately after that, I got swimming lessons, you know, like age six or something. So, but yeah, that, that feeling othered in the pool and other places, I think speaks to so many of us. Yeah. And one thing I really related to in her story was Hasna saying that she wanted to go and she, she had this urge to speak with this girl. Right. Yeah. And,

It's something that we often do when we're the only as like, let me connect with this person. You feel like this urge that you have to make your presence known, like give the nod or something. Right, right, right. I mean, she wanted to go even deeper than the nod because I think the nod is that, you know, presume that you're both aware. And I think...

She had her questions were correct. Does this young woman want to be brought into this? Does she just want to not think about it, just want to be a being in the pool, like doing just a natural thing instead of having to have it kind of discussed? But I think at the end, she gets to that point where she said that we belong to each other even if no one else knew it. And I think that was the beauty of it. She realized she didn't necessarily have to tell her all this, but just by them being there and this young woman seeing this older woman there,

You know, it's like gives hope to both of them. You know, looking at an older person, it's like, oh, I could be doing this when I'm her age. And Heston looking at this young girl is blazing a path in the water. You know what I mean? So that kind of silent nod and watching each other, I thought was just a really beautiful way of them communicating. But what I really loved about this story, too, is that she didn't.

speak with this young girl, that it never even happened. And all these perceptions in her mind of like, oh, black people must connect. We must seek each other out and we must show solidarity with one another. It's like, if it doesn't happen, it's what you take from it. You know what I mean? You still feel it. And I feel like we sometimes feel like we have an obligation, like I said, to share our stories and share our experiences. And I just love that Hudson was like, I did

It didn't happen. Yeah. And I'm okay with that. It was okay. It was okay. You know, and maybe she never saw her again. But again, it was that moment that they shared, that kind of moment of silent solidarity and connection that I thought was really beautiful about the story. I really loved it. I know. Me too. She's phenomenal. And one of the things I was thinking about too was when I was growing up going swimming, I remember my dad used to tell me, you know, why are you out in the sun so much? You're going to get darker. Yeah.

And so swimming was associated for him with, like, getting darker. Right. And, you know, a conversation about colorism, you know? Yeah. So there was times where I would...

Not when I was quite young, I remember not going in the pool sometimes because... Because you heard his voice in your head. Because I heard his voice saying, like, don't be in the sun. That's so heavy. I mean, it just follows you, right? It's kind of those words from your parents. I mean, it's heartbreaking, you know? Yeah. One of the things I think about, too, with swimming is... I mean, we talked about hair a little bit. But the idea of, you know...

What are the reasons why some of us don't swim as much as, you know, you would think we should, right? I mean, a lot of it, there's a big hair issue here. You know, getting in the water, like you said, your hair turns into poofs and all of a sudden, you know, it becomes this...

other layer of something that you have to think about. For the women who spend anywhere upwards of $50 to $150 for their silk plaits and their blowout, they don't want to mess their hair up. They're not going to do that. It's exercising too, all of these things. It's definitely a reason for many people not getting in the pool, along with the history, obviously, of us not having access to the pools. Then the other history of just like

not being able to go to the doctor, not being able to visit a doctor if something happened to you and you're sick. Were you going to get health care if something happened to you? So that sense of caution that I think is so deeply ingrained in the black community, this fear, because if you cut yourself doing something, well, the doctor down the street might not see you and you might have to go an hour away and maybe then you'd be dead. So there's a sense of protection that also plays into it. There are just so many levels for reasons why people don't swim. Right, exactly. Yeah.

Up next, we're going to continue our dive into swimming and the Black Diaspora by playing a section of Leela's podcast, The Stoop. You'll be hearing from co-host Leela Day and Hana Baba in a clip from one of our favorite episodes, In Deep Water. Leela, can you set this up for us a little bit? Yeah, so this episode centers a story of a young man, Leon, describing almost drowning in the ocean. And then it goes deeper. Let's get into it.

And then it's crazy how fast you think when your life is on the line because it was in that moment where I was like, well, I need to conserve whatever oxygen I do have so I stop screaming. Because at some point it just became like almost like, like you ever have laryngitis? Like talking like that, trying to ask for help with no volume coming out. And so like this is a waste of energy I need to conserve. As I'm fighting to keep myself above water, like...

The real, like, it's crazy. People often ask me after the experience was, you know, does your life flash before your eyes? And I'm like, no. Have you ever walked into a mall and you heard, like, sometimes your ears would pop or like it's like a light buzzing noise? Like, that's what I started to hear. And then everything kind of went silent.

And then visually, like everything that I saw had like this lavender hue. And it was almost like it fell as I was kind of like sinking into, you know, I guess you want to say a coma or something. But that was like my last thought, like my memory of that experience. That was my last memory. Okay, so clearly Leon survived because we did interview him about this experience.

And we're going to get back to his story later, but first, we're going to talk about this some more. We need to because this story, I've heard it so many times before, over and over again. These stories of people almost drowning. I mean, lots of us have had friends or family who can't swim. And I've even gone on vacations with people where lifeguards and strangers had to jump into the water and totally save them.

And when they were pulled out, I remember one friend of mine was acting as if it didn't even happen. Like the entire world didn't just stop to save his life. So why, though? I mean, was it like, were they embarrassed or was it something else?

Could the something else be like that there's some trauma link to this whole issue that we have in our communities when it comes to swimming? Yeah. Over the years, I've heard people bring up lots of reasons why we don't swim. Like what? Okay. Like that it's inherited trauma from the slave trade or that our bodies are different and we're going to sink. That one's racist. Right. It is. Or maybe that we haven't had access to pools because of segregation. Right.

And there's more black people in low income areas and there's no pools there. Or, you know, that it's just not a part of our culture. Okay, now hold on a second. Now that last one about the culture, I got to push back on because, like I said, swimming is deeply rooted in a lot of African communities. You jumped on me earlier for saying the River Nile, but it's true. You know, like I know my people swim.

Life is connected to the water. You know civilizations were built around the water and so it might be the guys Doing most of the swimming but they can swim they get in there at a young age And it's just like they're doing the crawl the crawl the crawl. What is that? It's this

kind of scissor kick, overhand stroke. And so it's the fastest stroke. That is Kevin Dawson. You swing your right arm up and over your head, keeping your arm pretty straight, kind of a windmill fashion. Kevin is a historian of the African diaspora. That is his title. And he's been researching maritime issues concerning Black people. Water and Black folk. Water and Black folk. I focus primarily on

maritime activities, swimming, surfing, underwater diving, canoe making, and canoeing, and consider how enslaved people use these skills to make their lives more meaningful and enjoyable, and then how enslavers end up exploiting those skills to make money.

Kevin is breaking it down in his research. Yeah, so he has studied the details of like how my people in Sudan would swim across the Nile while the British soldiers sat pretty in their boats. Of course they did. And he documented black folks surfing in Africa. And he even found stories from the 1700s of Africans killing sharks and diving to ocean floors to capture them.

canoeing, whitewater rafting, and just like overall our spiritual connection to the water. Africans felt that water was a sacred space, that it was this element where

Spirits lived where ancestral spirits went to after one died. And so submersing oneself in water was a way of connecting with ancestral spirits and other deities. Okay, Leela, I could have told you that we got swimming in our roots. I mean, water and being in the water is just a big part of a lot of African cultures. Okay, but there's also this other thought too. Mm-hmm.

That the reason why we don't swim today is that we might have some kind of trauma associated with the transatlantic slave trade. And it's a fact that trauma is intergenerational. But Kevin says... I haven't seen really any evidence supporting that. He thinks the opposite is true.

And that for enslaved Africans, there were more attempts to find connection to things that were part of their past. Yeah, the Atlantic slave trade was extremely traumatic for everybody who went through it and survived it. But what...

Why I say it's the opposite is that what the slave trade did is that it really inspired Africans in kind of the wake of that trauma to recreate their African cultural practices in America and throughout the Americas. Once Africans arrive in America...

swimming, diving. It had these African spiritual connections. It was a way for them to reconnect with the societies and the cultures they had been forcibly removed from. And so, I mean, I see the opposite. Okay. So what does he think the reason is that we're drowning more, not swimming enough? I really see it as a result of racism and racial violence that developed in

after the Civil War. Yeah, and if we fast forward to the Jim Crow era, lots of beaches that were safe to swim in were for whites only. So as they're segregating them, you began to have racial violence. So you'd have a black beach and a white beach. And black beaches were less desirable.

Swimming pools, they were also segregated. Bleach was thrown into pools to keep Black people out. Kids were attacked with stones.

This is a lot to take in, Leela. And I actually want to go back to Leon for a quick minute here. He's sinking. Sometimes your ears would pop. It's like a light buzzing noise. That's what I started to hear. And he has this theory about why he's sinking. Apparently, I've talked to many swimming experts, and they have told me that it's very difficult for people who have more lean muscle

to float in the water. And we've heard this before when we ask people about swimming. People saying that our bodies aren't meant for it. We just aren't built for it. Black people's bones are denser and therefore they're less buoyant than white people. Untrue.

And what's crazy is that many of us go around believing this, that our bodies are the reason why we are sinking. And it's repeated throughout history. This thought that our bodies are genetically not made for swimming. I mean, the vice president of the L.A. Dodgers was even fired because he said this live on TV. Why are black people not good swimmers?

Because they don't have the buoyancy. And this was in 1987, Leela. Not 1947, not 1957. Yeah. That's not long ago. No. And this stereotype that our bodies are different has been something that's been studied. And the findings are... There is no genetic reason that black people cannot swim or don't swim.

But there are cosmetic reasons that people think affect our decision to swim. Yeah, I've heard about Black people and our bodies being different, specifically regarding our hair, Black women in particular, and all that we're expected to do or that we actually do to take care of our hair. The hair, yes. Ugh, that is a reason that I didn't swim a lot. The struggle is real. Yeah, but, I mean, is that really a good reason not to swim at all?

All right, Leela, we're weighing out a lot of things here. Let's go back. So if we follow what Kevin was saying, we're really talking about lack of access to water or safe places to swim. And I still think that's not the case where I come from because my people swim. We have plenty of access to swimming. Well, there's something we have to talk about. What? Hannah, the World Health Organization lists Africa as the region with the highest rate of drowning in the world.

there are eight drownings for every 100,000 people there. In comparison, there are 1.5 drownings for every 100,000 Americans. So, yeah, it's a drastic difference. I would have never guessed. Well, that was just a part of this whole episode, which dives even deeper into the subject. For more on that and so many other great themes, you can find The Stoop wherever you get your podcasts or go to thestoop.org to learn more.

Leila, I'd really like to talk more about the importance of sharing our stories. Totally.

So in the episode, in the stoop episode that we just heard, it was a hard story to hear Leon's story. Oh my God. He's out in the middle. He's drowning. He's drowning in the ocean. He's thinking like he's got it. He's not telling anyone that he doesn't know how to swim. Yeah. And he's rescued, right? Of course he survives. Right. We hear him tell his story. Right.

But what I thought was interesting and what I learned about that was we were talking in that segment about all these different reasons why there's these stereotypes about us not swimming. Mm-hmm.

Whether it be that we didn't have access to pools. Right. You know, during the Jim Crow era. Whether it be that our bodies weren't built for that. Right. I mean, come on. Yeah, that's insane. Right. Even Leon says in the piece, he says, I have more lean muscle mass. That's probably why. Yeah. It's just something. Everyone's bought into it. He's bought into it. Yeah. Exactly. Yeah. Yeah.

And, you know, Hanaa, my co-host, who's African, she says, you know, I grew up swimming. Yeah, she said that. So that's very different than the American experience. Exactly. Because it comes with a different weight. You know, again, you have the colonialism that just kind of gets into everything. You know, and she didn't have to experience it the same way that we did. Right. So she doesn't carry that burden with her, you know. So I loved that we were able to tie in the African connection as well. Yeah. Because those Africans that grew up near the Nile and near these mountains

big bodies of water like we heard in the episode Lake Victoria there's plenty of black people swimming in Africa right I loved hearing that right and so it gives you some sense of like wait this is part of my culture this is part of my history the water is ours too at some point we condition ourselves to believe that we

That it's not. Yeah. Yeah. I like to reclaim it. I would like to reclaim that water. Yes. And the swimming and the floating and all that goes with it. The air, the big air, you know, all of it. It's just a beautiful thing. It is absolutely beautiful. So Lila, I love this topic. We could go on and on about it, but I want to talk a little bit more about the stoop and how you and Hannah created this community and how you bring people together in a different way. How did this come about and

Yeah. So both Hana and I started in journalism, both as journalists at our local radio station in San Francisco. We have these conversations about blackness. Hana is African. She's from Sudan. I'm African-American from Las Vegas, Las Vegas, as we say. And we would be like, why can't we, we need to tell these stories. We have to have an outlet to tell these stories. And I think what made it so important for us was this idea like that we can tell stories, but we can look at

the vulnerability within ourselves and point out that we don't always have the answers and we are all often messing up and we often don't know, you know, what the solutions are. And so we tell stories in a way that we feel can show a side of us that is our imperfect side as well. And it brings me back to Leon in that episode. What Leon says was, you know,

He was with his girlfriend at the beach. He wanted to show that he can go in the water. And we asked him about like this bravado and what was it about you that would put your life at risk, you know, and him thinking like he didn't want to be seen as the black guy that couldn't swim, you know. And so, you know, there's stories like that that were like, oh, he said it, you know, he said it. And so...

There are stories that we feel connect us in a way because we're not all knowing all the time. Right. And there are stories that make us question ourselves.

Things a little bit deeper. Yes. I mean, I mentioned earlier getting in the pool and my oils and moisturizers dripping and it was like little oil slick around me. I was like, that's embarrassing, but let's talk about it. Yeah. It's like bringing up things like that that go, oh, and that was the reason why...

you know, maybe I didn't get in the pool that time or that was the reason why I started becoming an introvert in these situations. And so that's what I think makes it really special is like people can relate to it and be like, oh, I was that person too at one point or maybe I still am. Exactly. And we feel that way at The Moth too. I think it's those moments of vulnerability

get really kind of your walls fall down and let people in. And they're like kind of allowed to experience any similar moments, you know, and like it just kind of fortifies the two, you know, you're sharing and the person receiving this. And they really form a connection. So I understand that like those vulnerable moments just make us stronger. And I think they kind of allow an audience to also have those moments too. We don't, you know, we're not always going to be the hero of our story. Yeah.

Well, that's it for this episode. Lela, it was amazing having you on. I've had such a good time talking with you, Suzanne. Thanks so much for coming in. And everybody, remember, you can find The Stoop wherever you get your podcasts. From all of us here at The Moth and The Stoop, have a story-worthy week.

♪♪

In the past, she's worked as a senior reporter and editor at KALW Public Radio. She's edited podcasts for Marvel, CBS Universal, NPR, and also teaches audio storytelling. This episode of the Mouth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Zollinger.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Leanne Gulley, and Aldi Caza. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.

The Moth Podcast is presented by PeerX, the public radio exchange. Helping make public radio more public at peerx.org.