Me? An Instructor?! Darling, I can hardly believe it myself!
The Lead Up
After a month bouncing around Phuket, Thailand, doing an absurd number of fitness classes in the hot, humid sun (because why not sweat even more in a place that already feels like a sauna?), I made my way via bus and ferry to the little island of Koh Tao. Koh Tao is famous for its big dive scene—like, if you throw a rock, you’ll probably hit a dive instructor (please don’t). The island churns out a ridiculous number of diving certifications every week, and I figured, why not me too?
I first heard about Sairee Cottage Diving from a buddy I met during my divemaster internship with Indo Ocean Project in Nusa Penida. He had finished his PADI Instructor Development Course (IDC) on Koh Tao, and I thought, “HMMMMMMMMM I want to be an instructor.” And even though some people side-eye Koh Tao diving quality, I figured it was the perfect place for me to learn, get experience, and toughen up under new conditions.
Fast forward to me, on a ferry, desperately willing myself not to hurl my brains out—eyes squeezed shut, picturing myself being absolutely wrecked by some 6 foot 5 inch fae fellow. As I searched for my inner calm, I also wondered how the next month would pan out as I attempted to master the fine art of teaching SCUBA diving to both nervous newbies and overly confident oldies.
Diving Into Instructor Training
The IDC was a mix of theory, skill demonstrations, and a whole lot of learning how to wrangle students underwater. We had classroom presentations, written exam practice, open water dives, and even a rescue scenario. Our class was a tight group of five, and we worked together to prepare for the looming instructor exam.
For context, there was me—a 29-year-old American female; a 21-year-old Aussie woman with extensive experience working on boats and as a divemaster; a thirty-something Swiss ICU nurse; a thirty-something South African who left his job two years ago and has been working as a dive guide on Phi Phi Island in Thailand; and a maybe-forty-something German guy from the Black Forest with a strong entrepreneurial spirit.
And then, plot twist: The day before our exam, we found out it had been moved to the following week. Turns out, our course director made the schedule months in advance and, uh, didn’t get the memo. SOOOOOO we had an extra week of prep—which was a blessing and by no means a curse.
Exam Week: Chaos and Confidence
When exam day finally rolled around, I was SOOOO intimidated. But then, surprise! I aced all my written exams with high marks (hell yeah). That same afternoon, we had to do our confined water skills test. Feeling cocky, I decided to scroll Instagram before my exam, only to be sucker-punched by a photo of my ex in a hot tub with his new boo—who I had literally met in Thailand under weird circumstances. The captions were all about “recovering from working out with your love” or some nauseating nonsense, and all I could think was, “Who the hell is taking these photos for them?” Also, I’ve never had the ick until that moment.
So, naturally, I walked into my pool exam in a state of existential horror. Our confined water test involved playing both the instructor and the student, meaning my classmates had to act out common mistakes. My assigned skill was the Controlled Emergency Swimming Ascent (CESA), which is basically the underwater equivalent of an emergency fire drill. If the student messes up, you have to start over from the beginning. Lucky me, I nailed it. But when it was my turn to be a student, let’s just say my acting chops need work.
Day one of exams ended with me basically bouncing off the walls, yelling, “I LOVE MY LIFE,” because I was actually passing all these things that had me shaking in my boots. It was surreal to think that diving, which started as me conquering a fear, had somehow turned into me training to be an instructor. What a bad-ass little bitch.
Sales Pitches and Stress Spirals
Day two kicked off with our classroom presentations. Now, PADI does this weird thing where you’re not just explaining a question—you also have to morph into a salesman, pushing a continuing education course and a piece of equipment. It feels unnatural. During my presentation, I mostly nailed it but didn’t hard-sell the gear, so I got docked a bit. Also, I had expected the question to be displayed on a big monitor, but instead, I was squinting at someone’s tiny laptop screen. Professionalism on point.
The Grand Finale: Open Water Chaos & Rescue Check
Next up: Open water skills and Rescue Scenario 7—finding an unconscious diver, towing them to the boat while calling for help, and removing their gear. But first, we had to float on the surface for 10 minutes, waiting for the group ahead of us to finish. Visibility was low, and I’ve realized something about myself: I love clear waters and at least 20 meters of visibility. The only way we could track the divers below was by following a little float bobbing on the surface. I was mentally reviewing the rescue steps until our examiner called us down.
The Aussie girl in our group felt like she had messed up her skill demo, and her energy just shifted. I was on edge. When it was my turn, I completed my skills without issues but, once again, was a terrible student for my classmates.
Then came a curveball: My SCUBA setup is different from most because my alternate air source is connected to my low-pressure hose. I warned my classmate—the entrepreneurial German guy—not to pick me for his alternate air share skill, but guess what? He did. It turned into a total clown show, with us repeating the skill over and over. I couldn’t stop laughing, my eyes bugging out in sheer disbelief.
At one point, someone dropped a mask, and it sank into the abyss of low-vis waters. I volunteered to go get it (because why not test my questionable navigation skills?), only to realize I had no idea where it had gone. The well-equipped 21-year-old Aussie girl found it, and I inflated my Surface Marker Buoy like a champ. She worried it would be embarrassing if I didn’t fully inflate it, but I nailed it (did I hold my breath with anticipation? 100%). Then, she told me I needed to calm down. Weirdly, I wasn’t even freaking out, but the comment rattled me and sent me into an emotional spiral.
The grand finale: Rescue Scenario 7! As I was heroically towed as the “unconscious” diver back to the boat, my necklace got caught on my gear, nearly choking me out. (Jesus was meant to give me luck, not attempt murder.) Despite that hiccup, roles were reversed and I powered through and basically sprint-swam us back to the boat because, fun fact, I’m an elite swimmer when I have fins.
After finally wrapping up all our exams, we got our scores and—drumroll—I PASSED. But instead of throwing a wild celebration like a normal person, I was hit with an emotional tsunami. All I wanted to do was be alone and cry. Like, I was thrilled, but also completely drained.
Post-Pass Emotional Spiral
That night, I tried to rally. I ate pizza. Took a long, contemplative shower in the communal dorm bathroom (sexy sexy sexy). Wandered down to the dive shop for a small gathering. Took a broody walk along the main road. Journaled. Drew. Attempted to go out and dance but lasted three minutes in the club before ditching for ice cream and going home.
Final Thoughts: I’m an Instructor?!
So yeah, I’m now a certified SCUBA instructor. A beautiful, ethereal disaster of a human, but an instructor nonetheless.
