Surfing doesn't care if you are liked.
Some people might think it's dramatic to say surfing changed my life. But let me explain.
Surfing gave me a version of myself I actually liked. Not the one who was constantly reading the room, trying to keep everyone else happy. Someone quieter. More confident. More certain. Someone who wanted something purely because it was hers. That feeling is rare. I think I chased it before I understood what it was.
Surfing was the first thing in a long time that showed me effort actually pays off. That if I put in the time, I'd get better, and it would be because of me, not despite me. That sounds obvious written down. It wasn't obvious to live. Surfing didn't care what anyone thought of me, what I looked like, or what I'd done the day before. It didn't reward people-pleasing, or being agreeable, or making everyone else comfortable. It only rewarded showing up, again and again, and being willing to be bad at something in front of people before I got good at it.
That was new for me. Realising my worth wasn't about being liked. It was about what I could actually do, if I gave it enough time.
— ✧ —
There was a version of surfing that came with shame in it too. I wanted to surf more than I wanted to go out, more than I wanted to be at the long lunch, the party, the thing everyone else was doing. For a long time that felt selfish. Like I was choosing something frivolous over the people who mattered. It took me years to understand that choosing surfing wasn't a rejection of anyone. It was just the first time I was choosing myself.
For a while, surfing meant being on other people's rhythm instead of my own. Paddling out for waves that didn't feel right, on timing that wasn't mine. There's another level of people-pleasing that comes from that. Not the ocean's fault. Just the by-product of loving something before I knew how to love it on my own terms.
— ✧ —
Then came paddling out completely alone for the first time. I don't think I can fully explain what that did to me. Something between fear and relief, with a small side of please do not let today be the day I embarrass myself in front of these strangers. I had to actually watch the water. Not people, not where anyone else was sitting. Just the waves themselves. Learn their patterns instead of borrowing someone else's reading. That was the first time I felt like I belonged to myself in the water, not just alongside someone else who did.
That's when surfing taught me to stop caring what other people thought. If I'd let that thought get to me every time I paddled out, I never would have progressed. I used to be terrified of falling, of not doing something right. Then one day I watched everyone else surfing and realised something obvious: everyone falls. Everyone messes up. That was the day I gave myself permission to be bad at something and just not care anymore. These days, the amount of times I fall off at Bingin, with the entire beach holding front row seats, is honestly hilarious. But I just jump back on my board and try again. Because it was never about being perfect. It's about going for it, again and again.
— ✧ —
Surfing became the place I went when everything else felt too loud. Not an escape. More like a return. Being in the water, hearing it, waiting in it, had a way of putting me back where I needed to be. I didn't always notice it was doing that. I just noticed I felt better after. Every time.
There's a specific kind of belonging I found through surfing too. Women who loved it the way I did. People who cheered for total strangers catching their first wave like it was their own. A whole community that didn't need anything from me except to show up and try.
— ✧ —
And somewhere in all of it, I found out that loving something fully, not halfway, not just when it was convenient, was allowed. That it didn't make me selfish. It made me someone who finally knew what she wanted.
Surfing has already given me so much. I had no idea how much more it had left to give.
This is your reminder to go for it,
Love, Mel x
