A way forward…

As human beings, we’re naturally inclined to find those things that make us come alive, and then to do them, wholeheartedly. As someone born and raised in the Midwest, I never imagined that surfing would become that thing for me, but awakening to one’s soul purpose is a lifelong odyssey, often unfolding in unexpected ways. As a waterwoman, my passion for creating opportunities for others to experience healing in the ocean, began with the most profound loss of my life.

In 2017, I lost both of my parents, just three months apart. Each had faced a long battle with illness—two chapters closing all too close together. As an only child, their absence made me feel like I was living in a world I no longer knew how to relate to. What we rarely say about grief is how abruptly it dismantles and reshapes us. With the unsettling, the questions come flooding in: Who am I in this? How do I want to be living? How will I find meaning again?

Grief and loss are among the most universal experiences. We’ve all lost something, whether it’s a job, a pet we loved, a place we’ve had to leave behind, a relationship that didn’t work out, the loss of a friend, sibling or parent. What do we do with the woundedness? 

I knew I needed a fresh start. So, I left my job teaching English at the University of St. Thomas, along with my extended family, friends, and everything I had ever known, packed up my things, and with my dog Bowie in the backseat, we set out for the unknown, moving across the country from Minnesota to Newport Beach, California. It was a much-needed new beginning. No more polar vortexes for me! And though uncertain as I was, about what my future would hold, I felt an undeniable pull to the ocean, as if it was calling me home.

Daily walks on the beach with Bowie began the mending, as I’d be lulled by the rhythmic waves of the ocean crashing to shore. A slow sense of peace crept in, though I knew there was so much buried deep that I hadn’t begun to touch. My mother, who had been in a wheelchair since my birth, would often say to me when we were cleaning, “Oh, just go put that in the basement.” And so over time, our basement became a museum of the past–everything she saved and collected (empty perfume bottles, Clinique makeup bags, menus from restaurants she’d been to, coffee tins, and decades of Vanity Fair magazines), things she couldn’t let go of. As I walked along the shore, I realized that I, too, had a basement within me–a collection of cluttered emotions stored away and collecting dust.

My favorite spot on Bowie and I’s walk, was Blackies beach where I loved to watch the surfers. I was completely in awe of the wipeouts they survived and smooth slides alike. Growing up, the ocean had always terrified me, a fear fueled by watching Jaws far too early. (Thanks, Steven!) But as I stood watching the expression and surf styles of those waveriders, their joy, their freedom, I recognized the absence of those emotions within me. I had felt numb and disconnected for so long. 

Watching those surfers got me curious about how fear was holding me back in life. What could possibly happen if instead of running from it, I chose to embrace it? How different would my life look? We create these narratives in life that we think will keep us safe. The ocean was asking me to write a new one, and as the poet Mary Oliver would say, notice how when we enter the sea, “the water divides with perfect courtesy to let you in!” And so when one of my dearest friends, Ginny, came to visit, I asked her if she wanted to try a surf lesson as a way of celebrating our 40th birthdays. Of course she took the opportunity to remind me that she was still younger than me, but one of the things I love about Ginny, is that she’s the kind of friend who’s down for anything, especially if she can tell it’s important to you. Little did I know, that decision would begin to shift everything in ways I could never have imagined. 

When we arrived at the beach the morning of our first surf lesson and met our instructor, Bryan Branch (now a member of the Flow State family), I was both terrified and exhilarated. I’d shown up dressed in a neon orange wetsuit I’d found on eBay—figuring that if anything went terribly wrong, at least it’d be easy to spot my body flailing in the water. When I looked out onto the waves, their steady pounding echoed the pounding of my own heartbeat—and that’s when I began to understand how being in the ocean, and surrendering to its unpredictable nature, has a way of drawing emotions to the surface, as if the tide calls them out of us and gives us the opportunity to set them free.

When I paddled out with Bryan through the impact zone, I remember him pointing past where the waves were breaking as in, “That’s where we’re going.” I thought he was nuts. Too far, Bryan. Good Lord. I’m just a beginner! But somehow, he convinced me that it was the safest spot. Ohhh, I see. So this is not only going to call on my courage, it’s going to take a lot of trust. Fantastic. Luckily, Bryan is one of the most trustworthy human beings I’ve ever met. Once we got past the waves and to the lineup, he had me sit on my board, gently pointing out I could soften the death grip I had on the rails. I took a few deep breaths, and noticed how something else in me softened, too. With the spray of waves crashing behind us, I could taste the saltwater on my lips. Above me, the sun was warm and steady against my face—you’re still here. You’re still capable of feeling. As we sat out there, Bryan pointed out ways to read waves, his voice was calm and reassuring, and with him next to me, I felt safe to fully drop in to the experience.

Before I knew it, he was telling me to get ready. Oh sh*%!. He spun my board around and yelled, “Paddle, Mary! Paddle!” As the wave approached, he gave me a good push, but I caught it too late, and ate it. It would be the first of many, but during that session, I would also catch my first wave. It was like being carried by something ancient and knowing. The wave rose beneath me, the board lifted, and suddenly I was gliding, unburdened and in sync with a living current of liquid energy. Completely absorbed in the present moment, for the duration of that wave, I was free of the sorrow that had been shackling me. It felt pure, unfiltered joy. It left me breathless. 

My love for surfing was instant. It lit everything within me.

I couldn’t get enough. Every time I went surfing after that, I felt something shift and transform within me. I grew more aware of my capability to handle whatever arose because I was learning to handle the most unpredictable environment, and make the absolute most of it. 

When one of my best friends, Megan, told me about an eight-week surf therapy group through Groundswell Community Project—”a global nonprofit dedicated to creating safer, braver spaces for healing, connection, and empowerment through the ocean”—I felt a calling. Over those eight weeks, I was welcomed into a new family, a surf sisterhood, that satisfied my longing to feel connected to community. Through somatic, trauma-informed, ecological, and community-based practices, I began to unearth the grief I had buried so deeply. And for the first time, I felt like I had a way to move through it—not alone, but held by the sea and the women who stood with me. 

The spiritual writer Henri Nouwen believed that if we could learn to befriend our wounds instead of hiding them, they would reveal to us their own truth. He encouraged people to discover a way that their woundedness could be in service to others. Inspired by Nouwen’s encouragement, I questioned how my own woundedness could be in service. Mother Ocean knew. She had been teaching me all along, that I did have something to give back to the people in my life and my community.

Inspired to help others navigate the waves of their own grief, I enrolled in Groundswell’s renowned Grief and Trauma Recovery training in 2023, and two years later, I completed their surf therapy facilitator program. Suddenly, I had a whole tool box of body and ocean-based resources to keep me in the present moment, even when trauma triggers were trying to pull me back into the past. I learned how to regulate my nervous system when waves would arise (or similar anxiety-provoking moments in life - like first dates, or driving on winding mountain roads to Big Bear). I learned embodiment practices to reconnect and reclaim confidence. There were gratitude practices, and breathwork to release all those stored-up stress hormones I’d been holding in my body from experiences of Fight or Flight. There were heart check-ins, body awareness practices and exercises to keep honoring my connection to Mother Ocean. Receiving my certification was a proud, full-circle moment that would allow me to find meaningful ways to offer the same opportunities for healing that had once held me.

Kelsey Ellis, Founder of the Waves of Grief Collective, and a member of the Groundswell Community, once said that “If we want to endure and feel and prepare ourselves for grief, we must relentlessly seek to cultivate and maintain for ourselves, a deep reservoir of joy, love, connection and relationship.” 

I created Flow State Holistic Surf out of a desire to help others navigate their own journeys and cultivate those very reservoirs of joy, love, and connection that reside within us all.

As a healing modality, I’ve experienced firsthand how Mother Ocean has a way of gently and sometimes not so gently, bringing what needs to be healed to the surface. Her container is vast enough to hold everything we need to release. I’ll never forget how, in a conversation with Natalie Small, founder of Groundswell Community Project, she mentioned how the ocean is really just holding up a mirror, reflecting back to us, who we are, and what’s alive within.” With every battle through the impact zone, every rip I fought through, every surrender to a hold down, resilience was building within me. 

And there have been remarkable moments of exceptional beauty – not just in the wave riding, but in paddling out to sit among a pod of dolphins, watching the sunrise, or the lifelong friendships that have formed because of that initial shared love of the sea. The ocean invites us all to experience these things, and to find our strength, to welcome more ease into the body, and to remember that inviting play back into our lives is a necessary part of living life fully—to let loose, to hoot, to shout a few "yeews", to tap into our flow and chose to be stoked.

We each carry our own stories into the ocean, and in its vast, ever-changing ecology, we have the opportunity to discover who we are and how we want to live. Flow State Holistic Surf was designed to meet you wherever you are, whether you’re a beginner eager to catch your first wave, looking to deepen your connection with the ocean, or seeking a more holistic path to healing. I’m here for you, ready to paddle alongside you. 

It’s time to make some waves, forging your own path forward and into the flow state.

—Mary Frandson