A love letter to the sport that changed my life.

Dear Surfing,

Some people might think it's dramatic to say you changed my life. But I think you have this effect on more people than you know. So you deserve it.

You 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. I think I spent years chasing that feeling before I understood you were the one giving it to me.

You were 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. You never once cared what I looked like, or what I'd done the day before. You didn't reward people-pleasing, or being agreeable, or making everyone else comfortable. You only asked me to show up, again and again, and to be willing to be bad at something in front of people before I got good at it.

That was new for me. You taught me my worth wasn't about being liked. It was about what I could actually do, if I gave it enough time.

— ✧ —

I'll admit, loving you came with shame in it too, for a while. I wanted you more than I wanted the long lunch, the party, the thing everyone else was doing. That felt selfish. Like I was choosing something frivolous over the people who mattered. It took me years to understand that choosing you wasn't a rejection of anyone. It was just the first time I was choosing myself.

For a while I loved you on other people's terms. Paddling out for waves that didn't feel right, on timing that wasn't mine. Not your fault, just the by-product of loving something before I knew how to love it properly.

Then I paddled out to you 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 you, not people, not where anyone else was sitting. Just you. Learn your patterns instead of borrowing someone else's reading of them. That was the first time I felt like I belonged to myself in your water, not just alongside someone else who did.

— ✧ —

That's when you 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 out there and realised something obvious: everyone falls. Everyone messes up. That was the day I gave myself permission to be bad at something in front of you 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 and try again. Because loving you was never about being perfect. It's about going for it, again and again. That's a lesson I'll be thankful for forever. Not just in the water,  in life.

— ✧ —

Falling in love with you meant finding the right board, and how that helped our love grow stronger. Honestly, it's a bit like dating, figuring out which one was made for me. Knowing it's not always love at first sight, but a slow burn. Sometimes it can take ten sessions, maybe more, before it clicks. But when I found the one, the one that let me move with my own rhythm, following your flow, that's when I understood what loving you properly actually felt like.

You became the place I went when everything else felt too loud. Not an escape. More like a return. Being in you, hearing you, waiting in you, even just watching you, had a way of putting me back where I needed to be. I didn't always notice you were doing that. I just noticed I felt better after. Every time.

— ✧ —

You gave me a specific kind of belonging too. Women who loved you 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,  because of you.

And somewhere in all of it, you showed me 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.

You've already given me so much. I have no idea how much more you've got left to give.

Love, Mel x