When the Waves Are Inside You: How I discovered the courage to stand on a paddle board and in my body

On my recent summer vacation, I was at a cottage with our stand-up paddle board. I’ve done it before, but for the past two summers, I couldn’t stand up on it. Not once.

It wasn’t that I’d lost strength or balance—I know my body is strong. The real problem was fear.

At first, I didn’t even realize what the fear was about. I’ve done a lot of work to free myself from internalized fat phobia and the idea that my body has to look a certain way to belong. I move for joy, not to meet anyone’s standard. But after reflecting on it later, I could see it clearly:
I’d been afraid of being *watched*.

If you’ve ever lived in a larger body, you probably know this feeling. You’re doing something physical – something that should be fun – and you can feel the eyes on you. It this case, it was the people sitting on their docks, watching. The worry that they were judging my body and my movements. You know, my self-judgement is sneaky – it can appear without notice, even after years of working to put a lid on it.

 

 

So there I was, in the middle of the lake, on my hands and knees, butt in the air, trying to will myself to stand. My legs shook, my muscles clenched, my breathing turned shallow. My fear-of-failure talk was LOUD: “You can’t do this. You’ll look ridiculous.”

I was determined to do it alone. And that determination kept me stuck.

Finally, I accepted help from my husband, who stood on the dock and simply held my hand. That one steady touch gave me just enough courage to try. He offered a few tips—soft knees, spread your toes, look out not down—and suddenly I was standing. Paddling. Moving through the water. On my own. Even with (small) waves!

It reminded me that it’s human nature to hesitate getting back to something either we once were able to physically do or to avoid trying new physical challenges.  And it’s often not because we aren’t capable, but because of fear. And for those of us in larger bodies, that fear is often tangled up with old memories of being judged. In other cases it’s straight up gym-trauma that makes that fear get in the way of experiencing fun physical activities.

Sometimes all we need is the right person to believe in us before we believe in ourselves. A teacher, a coach, a friend. Someone who offers their steady hand, shares the right cues, and reminds us that our bodies belong here, in this space, doing this thing.

Because when you let someone guide you, you don’t just find your balance. You find your courage.

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Check out a joyful and judgement free movement class sometime and let me your supportive guide. The weekly schedule is here.