It’s Really Big, Isn’t It?

“It’s really big, isn’t it?”

Those were the first words out of my mouth as stood on Cooden beach on Friday afternoon.

Now, before anyone points out the obvious… I know the sea is big.

I’ve spent hours sitting beside it. It’s one of my favourite places in the world.

Yet standing there, knowing I was about to paddle out on it for the very first time…

It felt different. I felt so fearful and small.

The sea suddenly seemed enormous.

Not because it had changed.

Because I had.

And if I’m really honest, the sea wasn’t what frightened me most.

It was me.

The things we don’t always talk about

Over the last few years I’ve put on weight.

Ageing has changed my body.

ADHD means my relationship with food, routine and self-care isn’t always straightforward.

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria has a habit of whispering stories that sound incredibly convincing.

“Everyone will notice.”

“You’ll look ridiculous.”

“You’ll be the worst one there.”

“you’re so fat”

“you’re too ugly”

“nobody will like you”

“you’ll get laughed at”

“you wont fit in”

“you are too old & stupid, not fit enough”

“You’ll be the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

Then there was the swimsuit.

The group.

Walking towards people I’d never met.

A group of women.

I don’t know about you, but for me, that can feel far more daunting than paddling out into the sea.

We don’t just carry paddleboards onto the beach.

We carry every experience we’ve ever had.

The comments about our bodies.

The times we didn’t fit in.

The fear of getting it wrong.

The stories we’ve been telling ourselves for years.

Then something unexpected happened.

I reached out after seeing a post from Goose Kite Surfing & Paddleboarding Hut.

Something about it felt different.

I can’t really explain why.

It simply spoke to me.

Sometimes your gut knows before your head catches up.

From the moment I arrived, something shifted.

My isnt it big line to Paul the paddle board instructor as we stood side by side looking out at the vast ocean wasnt ridiculed. I’d never met Paul before. He didnt laugh. He didnt make me feel stupid. He validated me & held space. Somehow totally getting where I was at.

Paul didn’t just teach me to paddleboard.

He asked me something nobody had asked before.

“How do you learn best?”

That one question told me everything.

He wasn’t trying to fit me into his way of teaching.

He wanted to understand mine.

As someone with ADHD, that mattered more than he’ll probably ever know.

We chatted.

We laughed.

Without even realising it, my shoulders dropped.

My breathing slowed.

My nervous system stopped scanning for danger.

I began to feel safe.

And when we feel safe…

We learn.

Not just on paddleboards.

In life.

In therapy.

In relationships.

Safety changes everything.

Sunrise

Saturday morning arrived painfully early.

5am.

The butterflies were still there.

However, i noticed, this time they were quieter.

There was a whole group of women I’d never met.

A new instructor. The big old sea!!

Again, the stories in my head started…

“Everyone already knows each other.”

“You’ll be the awkward one.”

“you are not good enough”

“look at the state of you in a swimsuit”

“They’ll all be brilliant.”

How wrong I was….

None of it was true.

I was welcomed with open arms.

People chatted.

Laughed.

Encouraged one another.

Nobody cared what size anyone was.

Nobody cared whether I’d only been on a board once before.

They cared that we were all there.

Together.

Watching one of the most breathtaking sunrises I’ve ever seen.

Standing on the water as the world slowly woke up.

For three hours, nothing else mattered.

Not social media.

Not work.

Not body image.

Not whether I was good enough.

Just the sea & being in the moment. The hear and now. Somewhere I’m rarely able to be.

Most of all, I felt safe, understood, welcomed & included.

Falling off

I spent the rest of the weekend practising.

Falling off.

Climbing back on.

Falling off again.

Learning.

Watching.

Trying.

Dave came down.

The instructors kept encouraging.

The atmosphere never changed.

No judgement.

No pressure.

Just kindness.

Then Sunday afternoon arrived.

The wind picked up.

Around 10mph, with stronger gusts of 14mph, blowing across the shore. 😳

I had a choice.

Go home.

Or give it a go.

Everything I’d learnt over the weekend came back.

Not just the paddleboarding.

The encouragement.

The calm voices.

The belief that I could do it.

So I paddled out.

I wobbled.

I was not going anywhere fast. Fighting wabes, wind, trying to stay balanced.

My technique was… let’s politely call it “developing.”

And then…

I stood up.

Not for long.

Not perfectly.

Yet I stood.

I fell in.

I got back on.

I spoke out loud to myself.

I swore. A lot.

And I bloody did it again. I stood up. For much longer this time.

And I paddled. I was wobbling.

The paddle wasn’t even going in the water properly!!

I actually did it.

I cannot tell you how proud I felt.

Not because I looked good.

Not because I’d mastered it.

Because I’d faced something that genuinely frightened me.

The feeling inside me was quite something. I felt it throughout my whole body. And I paddled and I felt it and I loved it!

This weekend wasn’t about paddleboarding.

It was about belonging.

About finding a community where difference wasn’t something to hide.

Where nobody expected perfection.

Where questions were welcomed.

Where encouragement came naturally.

Where laughter was plentiful.

As a therapist, I spend a lot of time talking about the importance of finding people who make your nervous system feel safe. A tribe.

This weekend reminded me that those people exist outside the therapy room too.

Sometimes they’re found standing beside a paddleboard at 5am.

Sometimes they’re complete strangers.

Sometimes they become the people who quietly change the story you’ve been telling yourself.

What I learnt

My body isn’t perfect.

It never will be.

It’s forty-something.

It’s lived.

It’s survived.

It’s carried me through some of the hardest chapters of my life.

Its grown beautiful babies.

Its been hurt & battered.

And this weekend…

It carried me across the sea.

Maybe the bravest thing I did wasn’t standing up on a paddleboard.

Maybe it was turning up in the first place.

Walking towards people I didn’t know.

Wearing the swimsuit.

Believing there might be room for me.

There was.

There is.

And I’ll be going back.

Sometimes courage isn’t about standing up on a paddleboard.

Sometimes courage is simply believing you deserve to take up space.

Maybe your paddleboard isn’t a paddleboard.

Maybe it’s a choir.

A photography club.

A walking group.

A pottery class.

Somewhere you’ve been thinking about joining but the stories in your head keep telling you not to.

I nearly listened to those stories.

I’m so grateful I didn’t.

Take gentle care

Louise x

p.s there is video evidence on my socials! feel free to go see!

If this resonates, you’re not on your own.

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