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.
