Girl You Got This!

Growing up in Australia, the ocean wasn’t just a backdrop; it was my playground. By age ten, I was hooked on surfing. There is an incomparable magic in the moment a board catches the crest of a wave—the sting of salt spray and the raw, electric energy of the breeze. My passion soon turned into performance, propelling me from local coastal breaks to regional heats and, eventually, the national championships.

Then, the world tilted. A severe injury didn't just sideline me; it ripped me out of the water entirely. The impact was more than physical; it was a total eclipse of the soul. For months, the light went out. I felt adrift in a dark chapter where my identity—once tied entirely to the surf—had vanished into the foam.

I retreated into a shell of silence. I stopped taking calls and avoided the beach, unable to face my friends or teammates. I didn't want to see the pity in their eyes, yet in my pride, I convinced myself they couldn't possibly understand my pain. I built a wall around my grief, pushing away the very people who wanted to hold me up. I learned the hard way that when you isolate yourself to "protect" your ego, you only end up drowning in the shallow end of your own fear. Pushing my loved ones away didn't make me stronger; it just made the room smaller and the air thinner.

The breaking point came when my mother walked into my room and began clearing away my trophies and boards. "If you’re finished with this life," she said firmly, "then you don't need the reminders."

That cold splash of reality was the jolt I needed. I realized in a flash of clarity that while I couldn't change the injury, I could change my response to it. I made the choice to stop mourning the girl I used to be. I began the slow, grueling climb back—rebuilding muscles I had once taken for granted and, more importantly, rebuilding my spirit. I apologized to those I had shut out, realizing that their support was the leash that kept me attached to the shore.

I emerged from that year different. I found new sports, made new friends, and discovered that my worth wasn't tied to a trophy or a swell. I learned that true grit isn’t about never falling; it’s about the courage to paddle back out when the sea gets rough, even if you’re paddling a different boat.

Now, thirty years later, life has sent a different kind of wave: a diagnosis of early-stage breast cancer. The shock was there, but this time, I didn't retreat. I didn't push my family away. Instead, I leaned into the treatment plan and the hands held out to help me.

I look in the mirror and whisper, "Girl, you’ve got this." I’ve been through the white water before. I know that life has sets—some are beautiful, and some are brutal—but as long as I keep paddling and keep my loved ones close, I will find a new, even stronger version of myself on the other side of the break.

-Claire Z.