What Surfing Through My First Pregnancy Taught Me About Joy

What started as a personal challenge became a lesson in listening to my body, connecting to my inner strength and choosing joy while pregnant.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was hooked up to an IV in a hotel room on the remote island of Sumbawa, Indonesia. My husband and I were on a months-long surf trip. I had just quit my job at the end of 2024, and we’d been traveling around the country since the start of the new year. Three weeks into the trip—on day five of what I thought was food poisoning mixed with the worst hangover of my life—my husband asked the local family managing the property to call a doctor.

“Your blood pressure is low,” she typed into Google Translate and held the phone up to my face. Then she typed again.

“Could you be pregnant?”

I stared at the screen, feeling my stomach drop.

“I guess it’s possible,” I typed back.

She returned the next day with more IV fluids and a pregnancy test to confirm what we both knew. I was pregnant. I’d later learn I was only three weeks along, but in that moment, the early onset of nausea made me assume I was further.

Later that afternoon, feeling human again from the fluids, I dragged myself into the water. As soon as I duck-dived and my head dipped beneath the surface, something shifted. The constant odors leaving my face in a permanent grimace were suddenly gone. My energy returned, despite how little food I’d been able to keep down. I felt strong. I felt like myself.

I had some of the best waves of my life that day.

That was my first surf with my baby. The first surf where my inner monologue quietly shifted from I to we. It was there, on that island, that I decided I would keep surfing through my pregnancy.

And I did. Across 4 continents, for 35 weeks.

Pregnancy is an in-body experience.

In the first trimester, I felt myself slipping into a dark place. Not depression exactly—I knew it would pass—but the hormones were relentless, and some days felt like I was living inside a black hole.

If you’ve ever tried Dry January and cracked after a couple of weeks in on a Saturday night, imagine being told, without warning, that it starts now, it lasts nine months, and alcohol is just one of items on the very long restricted list.

The kicker? You still feel hungover.

Pregnancy stripped away many of the ways I had learned to escape. Food restrictions. Exercise limitations. The sudden removal of indulgences. In those early days, surfing became the one place where both my mind and body could have an escape.

We romanticize giving birth as an out-of-body experience—our wild instincts set in to achieve something remarkable under excruciating pain. But those nine months before? They are deeply embodied, and the moments when we get to escape the aches, pains, and mental load are fleeting. At first, continuing to surf through this experience was a coping mechanism.

Through the awkward paddle phase, the aching nipples, the poor circulation, and the progression to bigger and bigger boards to accommodate a bigger and bigger belly—I didn’t anticipate that it would also be a source of immense joy.

At 35 weeks, I finally arrived at my last session

I’d spent the night the way I spent most nights in my third trimester—waking up to pee, tossing and turning from restless legs and poor circulation. It was a long night. But the idea of glassy, waist-high waves and the rare chance to surf with my partner during a busy August day pulled me out of bed.

From the dunes, the conditions looked perfect. I just had to make it through the 500-meter walk across the sand to the break.

At 35 weeks pregnant, breathing is limited. The baby has taken up so much space that lung capacity is compromised. I walked slowly, holding my partner’s lighter board while he carried my longboard.

The Landes region in France, where we live, is beautiful. Our hometown, Moliets, has a natural river mouth that feeds into the break at high tide. It’s stunning—but the protected dunes and forest make for a long walk to the water. For months now, I thought about how much easier this would be if someone could teleport me to the ocean’s edge.

This is my workout for the week, I reminded myself. We’re staying active. We’re healthy. And…

This might be your last surf for a while.

I repeated this quietly to the baby in my belly, fast asleep with the rhythm of my steps.

My last session at 35 weeks pregnant, surfing with my husband in Moliets, France

The water looked like glass. If I threw a pebble onto the surface, I could count every ripple as it spread. The cool morning water felt good on my tired legs and swollen feet, carrying the extra weight concentrated in my middle. I felt lighter the moment I stepped in.

I paddled out on my knees towards the waist-high waves peeling left and right from the river mouth.

Quality over quantity, I reminded myself as I slowly made my way to the peak.

My last surf was as sweet as that first one, 8 months prior in Indonesia. I didn’t get as many waves. My breathing was labored, I was 25 lbs heavier, and I was exhausted. But my smile was ear-to-ear as my partner and I shared this moment, just the two of us, as our daughter moved in my belly.

In that moment, I realized that I’d made it so far. The months of choosing joy, even when that meant doing hard things, allowed me not only to survive pregnancy but thrive. I was entering motherhood happy and healthy. I could rest until her arrival.

Joy isn’t indulgence, it’s a necessity

Looking back, I realize now that surfing through pregnancy didn’t take me away from it. It brought me deeper into my body. Into my breath. Into my strength.

People will always have something to say about how you choose to live out your pregnancy. But joy is not indulgent; it’s necessary.

As I navigate my postpartum journey, it’s a lesson I’m grateful to have learned. Maybe, for someone else, it’s running and feeling the wind against your skin, throwing punches at a boxing bag, or lying on a mat to stretch your limbs into improbable positions. We all need our own outlet where we can disconnect from our active minds and enter a deeper place.

Surfing is my source of joy. I hope in challenging times, you too, can live out yours.