Happiness is not something that can be gifted. It is something that we must find within ourselves. No one and nothing will make you happy, it’s down to you to find your inner happy. Once you find it, it will glow loud and proud and you must protect it as it will forever be your most valuable possession.
Suddenly, my chest was collapsing. My eyes, wide open in panic, looking for a way out. At this moment, I don't know which way was up or which way was down. My body was rapidly losing the battle not to inhale underwater. I'd been pulled under for too long, one too many times. I went limp; there was no fight left in me. Immersed in the beauty that I admired so much; it abruptly took an ugly turn.
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I began surfing in 2013; it was a frigid, dull, late December day - the furthest image away from the luxurious, sexy feed of photos we too often see on Instagram.
Neoprene covered almost every inch of me - other than my puffy cheeks squeezing out of the hood. A friend was kind enough to lend me her surf gear - from wetsuit to board - allowing me to try a new sport I was desperate to attempt. I was apprehensive, excited, and fucking cold.
There was no one in the water - a telling sign to an accomplished surfer that the waves were nothing to be excited over. Even still, we ran in with joy and the biggest smiles we could manage in our tight hoods.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn't care. The power of the white waves, hitting against my body, pushing and pulling me in all directions, relinquishing all of my control felt exhilarating. My skin was tingling - brought alive with the cold water seeping into my suit. The frigid water even causing my brain to freeze. These new sensations were more than invigorating; they were addictive.
I always felt like something was missing in life - if only I'd known sooner that it could be replenished with salt water. My life decisions now revolved around the ocean, the tides and the swell — the search for my next opportunity to be submerged in the sea was constant.
It became a place of solace, prayer and mindfulness; calming my nervous system, quieting my busy brain as it reminds me to be present. Each time I entered the water, it felt symbolic. I worship the beauty and purity of the ocean and the natural environment.
Having suffered depression for many years, the fact that something brought so much pleasure and desire into my life was liberating. On some of my darkest days, the only thing that would bring equilibrium into my life was surfing. As it washed away my sadness, it gifted me with a new lease of life.
There's no place for doubt, in the sea. You must always be alert, aware, focused. Sometimes I feel as though it awakens a new sense in me; I explore and observe the vibrations and energy of the water. Like braille, she speaks to me in a language I was never taught, and somehow, instinctually, I understand. Other times, she enjoys laughing at me, challenging me beyond my limits, pushing me into every uncomfortable corner of my body and pulling me under waves when I get too cocky — crudely reminding me of her power and depth.
A couple of years after my first immersion, I took a solo trip to Morocco - doing my best to escape reality. My skills had been (slowly) developing over the years, and this is where I experienced my first point break. The feeling of nervousness and apprehension, along with excitement filled me again, just like the first time I entered the sea with a board in Wales' bleakness.
I was in complete awe; the waves were beautiful, peeling, perfection - much closer to those tropical pictures on social media, that I'd long been pining to experience. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to experience this moment.
I paddled out to the break using the rip to assist my journey there. I attentively listened to the ripples and energies the ocean was whispering to me while admiring the striking cliffs and landscape that surrounded me on this desolate beach.
I needed to be more alert than ever on this point break. You can't fuck up on these kinds of breaks. The conditions are not forgiving. One wrong move and you can get caught in the impact (or danger) zone, where the waves break heavily on your head with the likelihood of rips. It's messy, and it's unpleasant, it's scary - especially if you are still learning to master the craft, like me.
On what felt like the wave of my life, someone unknowingly dropped in on me - causing me to dodge them and fall off the wave. I was in the danger zone.
Wave after wave, I was beaten down. Their force and impact were far too powerful for me to get back out to the back. I tried every method I could to get back to safety with the other surfers. But she, the mighty ocean, was too fierce.
There was no time for rational thought; adrenaline filled every cell in my body, fight or flight was activated. I ditched my longboard and dived beneath each wave - fighting my way through. I had mere moments to catch my breath before the next one would hit me. My energy levels were quickly depleting. The waves were so powerful and strong, sucking me under and tumbling me around before spitting me out again, and again. Each time I surfaced, I was only able to catch a small amount of air before I was pulled under again, and again.
Suddenly, my chest was collapsing. My eyes, wide open in panic, looking for a way out. At this moment, I don't know which way was up or which way was down. My body was rapidly losing the battle not to inhale underwater. I'd been pulled under for too long, one too many times. I went limp; there was no fight left in me. Immersed in the beauty that I admired so much; it abruptly took an ugly turn.
Then, a moment of calm. As if weightless, I surfaced - just in time. I notice a break in the set; this was my chance to seek refuge. I wanted to cry from relief, but there was no time. I grabbed my board, hopped on, and with every ounce of energy I had left, I paddled away from the rocks, towards the beach.
I got myself into a safer position and caught a wave into the beach, riding it on my belly. I flailed my way out of the sea, reaching the sand - the sanctuary I was begging for moments before. I wanted to collapse and howl on all fours - I needed to release some of the adrenaline still coursing through my body.
I looked around, dazed and confused by the ordeal. I was seeking support, a hug, something! But everyone around me was oblivious.
I almost fucking died, and no one even saw it.
I sat on the shore, facing the water that had just digested me and spat me back out. A few tears rolled down my cheeks while my mind processed the experience I'd just endured. I took some deep breaths, more consciously than ever, appreciating every molecule of air that entered my body - grateful for each breath. While unconsciously, my body worked on regulating my heart rate and neutralising the hormone imbalance.
I never leave the ocean the same person I was when I walked in. Perhaps it's a rebirth of sorts. However, this felt far more significant and poignant than ever. I allowed myself a few more moments on that beach to reflect. Everyone and everything around me was the same; nothing had changed externally, yet here I was - a fresh, new me.
As my mind and body returned to the present moment, I noticed people having fun, playing around in the white water ahead of me. I smiled gently to myself - finally accepting the unexpected gift mother nature had just given me. There was little hesitation before I decided to pick up my board and join the others.
The experience made me realise that this is why I surfed; to feel alive, to experience all of life, not just the divine, but the terrifying and challenging, too.
Now, ready and willing for every opportunity the ocean has to offer me - I continue my quest for the perfect wave. Only now, it's not merely a way to seek refuge from my own, inner turbulence, but to embrace all the lessons the ocean has yet to teach me.
In the year of 2016, I entered what would ultimately be an unsuccessful year of education but from which I learned some valuable lessons about myself and my approach towards other people. It was to be a victory lap on what had been a vastly enjoyable experience at university where I studied the field of Physics. I had glided through my penultimate year with relative ease and I was comfortably swimming in safe familiar waters with a final year ahead that was a stage set up for its final act, a predictable but happy conclusion. I entered my Honors year brimming with confidence and a keen interest to explore new territory. All through life I’ve maintained an awareness of the issues that our planet's environment is facing and like many others I’ve experienced frustration for my incapability as an individual to influence change on a large scale. In the brainstorming for my thesis proposal, I was presented with a rare opportunity to do just that and it was an easy choice. I was offered the opportunity to study the intake of microplastics in marine life; an issue that was rapidly becoming more prevalent and headline-worthy as people become aware of the damage that their favourite facial scrub was doing (another topic for writing in itself, but in short… the oceans are a mess). I recklessly bowled into it like an electrician attempting heart surgery, so eager to help without fully assessing my suitability. As you may have realised (unlike me) there is little overlap between a physics degree and the study of plastics in fish and it was already a stretch but my mind had been lit up with possibility at the prospect and after meetings where the possibility of having results published there was no question of me not choosing it.
Ironically with the field of marine biology, I found my self stranded in deep water. I was placed in a new building away from all the students and colleagues I’d been working with from the beginning with a laboratory I had no familiarity with.The apparatus was all new and I would have to repeatedly ask strangers for the simplest of advice. I’m sure in retrospect they were all welcoming of a newcomer in their departmentbut from my perspective I could feel eyes rolling back behind closed eyelids and imaginary disdain in their every tone. I hit my first stride a week or so in, finally being able to produce some results I could show to my supervisor. When presented, however, I was told of the irrelevancy of the results and lambasted for wasting valuable time with inconsequential research. I felt a significant knock to my confidence that day, but I still felt driven to correct my mistake. I would wake up with determination, pack my bag for the day, lunches prepped and all, and walk to university with the intent of spending the whole day making drastic breakthroughs and uncovering newground-breaking results. But I’d reach the front door and I’d pause, hesitant to step in from the cold. I’d do a small lap of the block maybe picking up a coffee as if that was the answer to everything and head back only to slow down again outside and be hit with a sudden overwhelming urge to just go home. Try again tomorrow! Something’s just not right today. I conceded and fell into this awful pattern, only rarely making it across threshold only to be met with further frustration and perplexity and every day I’d return to bed another rung down the ladder. Numerous times this frustration reduced me to the verge of tears and I’d make a hushed exit stage left so I could be alone before I had a breakdown in public. After a while, this solidified connection was formed between the work I was expected to complete and being unhappy. I knew every morning looking up at the modern architecture of the department building that if I was to put myself in that small dark optics room on the third floor I’d just feel like a failure. I’d have more ease scaling the side of the building than overcoming this unsurmountable wall I’d constructed in my mind.
Eventually, after weeks of repeating this awful pattern and dodging emails, I met with my head of year (after the previous experience of meeting my supervisor I’d rather avoid a repeat of that). I explained my situation and was greeted with welcome sympathy but rather than accepting the unfeasibility I was told to endure it and keep going. I am very fortunate in life to of had my mental wellbeing in good health for most of my life, never having to experience to horrible realities of clinical depression or anxiety but I feel like I understand a little more the extent of this inability from this experience. Stories of people who suffer depression and struggle to get out of bed in the morning are not to be dismissed. Whenever somewhere, someone is suffering from a resistance that their own brain can pose when faced with the simplest of tasks you should treat it like you would a physical illness. I’d like to emphasise that my experience doesn’t fall in this category but to the senior staff in my department, it was probably like asking a primary kid to learn his times tables. They may have understood the difficulties but its far from an insurmountable problem, just a learning curve to be overcome. What’s far harder to fathom is the pure impossibility of a task. For me this was impossible. Nothing was going to change that. I didn’t care about trying again. I didn’t care about graduating. I just didn’t want to step in that laboratory every again and I feared that forcing it would only jeopardize my wellbeing. Forcing out of idle is almost never the answer. It only exacerbates the feeling of failure.
I firmly believe that a far more consoling and productive reaction is to try a new avenue. One from which you can gain just the same sense of achievement. Criticising a person’sinabilities can often feel for them like they’re just digging a bigger hole for themselves. For me, I took the following summer for myself and returned with a project that played to my strengths. I don’t mean to dissuade from exploring outside your comfort zone but going in with the understanding that sometimes it just might not work out and that’s okay is very important. Realise that you can still learn and grow from such experiences. I returned to blue shores where I completed my degree with a superb final result that I will always be extremely proud of and attended my graduation ceremony that had felt light-years away only a year prior.
When you think about it, like really think about it, our bodies are pretty incredible. Home to everything that we need to survive; full of lots intricate workings ticking along, that we are usually blissfully unaware of (you can tell I didn’t study biology). It’s amazing and I definitely don’t appreciate it enough. To say that everyday I recognise that my body is “alive” would be a lie. Yet each and every time I step and submerge myself in the sea, I become acutely aware of all of those intricate workings; my heart beating (sometimes racing), my breath sharp and icy; my legs and muscles and every joint and connection within them awaken and I definitely feel alive.
Over the last few years I have really come to appreciate the incredible effects of sea swimming on both my body and head. There really is no feeling quite like it. You could have had the worst day in the world and a splash in the sea will clear everything away, even if only for a short while. Swimming in the sea doesn’t allow for me to focus on anything that has been all consuming in myhead. As the cold water moves up my body with every step, or sometimes leap that I take, I become focused only on the shock of the cold water on my skin (and sometimes the screeches of pals also taking a dip). There is no space to think about anything else and it is great. Once my head is under (which can sometimes be a challenge), my hair wet, my eyes softly stinging from the salty water and I come back up for air, I absolutely feel alive.
Whatever day I’ve had, if a swim in the sea can be fitted in, it’s always going to be a better day. It doesn’t need to be a long dip, sometimes it’s only three minutes before my body says, “okay I feel alive but I’d like to get out now” or on other days it could be over twenty, swirling and swimming away. Whatever the length of time the effects are just the same, you feel invigorated, refreshed, awake, alert and bloody brilliant.
Living where I currently live has made the sea unavoidable, with beaches and swim spots in abundance and for that I am very fortunate. Wherever I head next, I will need to make sure that there is some form of open water not too far away as I know my body and head will need regular check-ins. It’s addictive and in my eyes one of the best ways to feel alive.
Next time you’re near the sea, just jump in.
I’ve found that living with a big vision of the future you wish to create brings some doubt and anxiety about the details of the how, when and where of it all — And the way we’re brought up in society hasn’t allowed us to live with these creative tensions — suggesting that we always need to have control over these things — so when we don’t, we stress!
It’s nice to have things under control... it’s nice to see the full view... and I think that’s why most people stay at their ‘control towers‘ in life. Unless you sense or know there is a much deeper river of life out there waiting for you to experience, I’ll be the first to admit that it’s pretty hard to let go of the control!
But learning to live with the mystery, the unknown, the doubt — is one of the most rich and purposeful experiences Elise and I have had.
I remember this time last year just before Elise left her job to pursue our dreams, I asked her if she was sure she wanted to leave the comfort of the job (that she loved!). She just simply looked at me and said, “we weren’t created to be comfy.” Probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard someone say ha! But I think that’s so real — because we don’t ever arrive at a place where this all comes easy — it’s a real journey — but I believe if you listen to the voice of encouragement deep within, and simply trust and believe that this inner voice is not your own but the voice of your designer/creator/divine encourager/God — you’ll find overwhelming peace amongst the unknowns of life — and you’ll be able to step into the fullness of the journey you were born to explore and enjoy.
You’ll be able to let go of the exhausting fight for control and find rest and joy in not knowing the full picture.
So, if you’ve read this far, know that it’s okay to figure things out step by step. It’s a journey — and there’s no beauty without mystery.
Pressure is usually synonymous with external factors; friends, finances, relationships etc. However, the times when I have felt under the most pressure, have been where these factors aren’t really apparent. It has been in everyday life, putting pressure on myself to act in a certain way, be a certain person.
These internal forces , were especially felt as I started at university in first year. I felt very lucky and excited to start. I had in mind exactly what I thought the university experience, my course and generally how I wanted my three years to go. Without realising it, I was putting pressure on myself to live up to these expectations. Coupled with the inevitable pressures of weekly essay deadlines, tutorials and regular tests meant that first year was a bit of a rocky one.
Being surrounded by brilliant people was amazing but equally led me to feeling incredibly out of place, although this was well known as imposter syndrome - I didn’t know it at the time, and just thought they had made a big mistake in my admission process! This gradually led to physical manifestations of pressure. I initially overworked, just in order to not appear as out of place as I felt, before applying to a different university at the end of term 1 in the hope of moving.
I was incredibly lucky to meet someone on my course who felt very similarly to I did. Perhaps the most surprising and perhaps comforting, thing was that I wouldn’t have expected her to feel this intense pressure to fit in and do well, as she seemed to be calm and bubbly on the outside. This really emphasised to me that many people are experiencing similar challenges, and many are hiding behind trying to appear on top of things, or laughing off doing badly – I know I was. Talking to her was helpful beyond words, it allowed me to talk to my tutors and open up about the pressure I felt. Long chats, rants and sharing tips were all conducive to a much improved second year. Pressure will always be an inevitable accompaniment to experiences you care about, however, I have gradually learnt (through talking and learning) to not let this pressure distort the way I looked at things.
The word fear is often associated and thought of with negative connotations. I guess in the last year the feeling of fear has hit me in many ways, admittedly negative, but also in a more positive way, a way that has made me feel scared, but determined at the same time.
Throughout my life I have been faced with fear: fear of losing, fear of trying too hard and failing, fear of my own thoughts and ambitions and even a fear of something that may not ever happen to me. But the fear of the unknown in your own life has to be one of the most significant and for me the largest and newest emotion I have felt in the last year. Whilst entering the last year of my university experience at this stage of my life, I came across large challenges, some that I knew eventually I would get through, but many I had no idea what the impact or the outcome of such actions would be. I was aware that I had so many decisions to make in the near future, the fear of the unknown and not knowing what will happen if I choose a certain pathway of life hits you hard, not only is it constantly on your mind: as you are weighing up such choices and consequences of choosing a certain route to take, but also you know that ultimately the ownership is on you and only you for making such decisions. Throughout the year I have tried to weigh up and think and really try and engage with how and what I want my life to be like, and as a 22-year-old female that is hard. Once you reach adulthood the expectation of you being brave and fearless really is a myth, if anything, when you become an adult that is when you really start to experience consequential fear. When making the decisions I have made (and I am still yet to make more) I have decided that going with the moment and what you feel at that precise moment deters the fear that you may be feeling and simply makes you feel like it is a small decision you are making that day. The fear of the unknown will never leave, it will also never get easier as I get older and ultimately have to make even more decisions and regulate consequences. At the beginning I stated that not all moments where I have felt fear this year have been negative, in fact many things I have feared have turned out to be some of the most amazing things I have experienced this year. Fear is not to be feared; fear is to be negotiated with: for example, whatever you are scared of now, will you still be scared of that in a month, year or even two years’ time? The fear of the unknown has definitely developed me into a stronger minded individual, not only that but I have learnt that the fear of the unknown is normal, positive, natural and healthy.
Okay, well I was scared and anxious all throughout my pregnancy. I had all sorts of problems and scares, one after the other and spent nine months feeling a constant dread that something was wrong. I didn't know what, but I just convinced myself that something was wrong. The emergency C-section didn't help when the baby was born and afterwards, it was almost like it had happened to someone else. I had to stay in the hospital for a few days and I would look over in the crib and I would think, yeah that's a nice baby, but he could have been anybody's. I didn't feel like he was mine and there was certainly none of that mother/child connection which I thought would be there automatically. I certainly didn't do any doting, I remember even sitting reading a book, which I thought was a bit odd at the time. Anyway, day four was discharge day and I remember a nurse.....I think it was a nurse, or it could have been a health visitor came to collect the baby. Because all babies have to have this heel prick test before they leave the hospital. So I just handed him over and I waited and I was sitting there waiting....I remember it being really sunny. I remember the sun coming into the room, the sun landing on me and I suddenly realised that the lady who had taken the baby didn't have a nurses uniform on. I remember thinking it was okay because maybe she was a health visitor and then the more I thought about it the more I thought maybe she wasn't either. Maybe she was a stranger and had stolen my baby. So I got myself in a complete tizz and I was running up and down the corridor looking for this women and looking for the baby. I got myself more and more panicked, then I think I saw her walking down the corridor towards me and I ran up to her and I grabbed my baby back. My baby who was completely red in the face, screaming like a banshee and so cross because he had had his heel pricked. It's hard to explain, but something inside me shifted. I literally hated the doctor who had hurt my baby with this tiny needle in his tiny little heel and I could have actually stabbed the doctor with something a lot bigger than a needle. I just felt so protective, this wave of protective emotion and love I suppose, just swept over me. It's hard to explain, its almost visceral it comes from somewhere inside you, near your stomach. It's hard to describe. I don't think a mother's love is any different from a father's love. Although, I think the love that you feel for your child is very different from that which you feel for a partner, friend or parent. It's different, and all I can say is that it's been there since day four, it's never left and it never will.
What I was thinking about doesn't really relate to happiness, but that's partly because I have struggled with the word happiness. I don't know what the word happiness really means. But I can tell you about a time where I was very contented, calm and it must be important to me because it's a recurring memory. I keep coming back to it at times when I think of things to relax and calm me. When I was in my late twenties, I was in my first job which had a high level of responsibility and stress with it. Every year we used to take a two week holiday and I used to take the first week just trying to relax. Often times the second week was the week I got real benefit from the holiday. I remember we were having a holiday in the Greek islands, I don't remember which Greek island it was but I do remember getting up early in the morning and walking from the hotel we were staying in up a track overlooking the harbor and the town. It was a beautiful hot summers day and as I sat next to a water trough, looking down at the scene in front of me. I hadn't seen anybody else and in the distance I heard a bell and as I sat there an old man and a donkey came towards me. All I could hear was the sound of this bell gently clanging on the donkeys neck. The old man and the donkey just came up the hill and passed me. The old man didn't say a word but he acknowledged my existence and then he walked off quietly without a word. The only thing I remember is just feeling very calm, relaxed, enjoying the view and having that person entering and leaving my life. I must have been very stressed in the lead up to that holiday and I think that switch from being very stressed out to being relaxed, calm and appreciating everything I had in life, turned on that walk I had on that morning. The imagery is something that I have returned to over the years. A moment which would be insignificant to most people is important to me as it is a recurring dream. And if I want to relax I can always close my eyes and think about that small fragment of my life.
