Surf Sister Story: Meg Aquinde
Interview by Helen Jody Lin
There are people who find the ocean, and then there are people the ocean finds. Meg Aquinde is the latter. A San Diego native, certified surf therapy facilitator and nurse, Meg has built a practice rooted in healing, representation, and radical self-trust. She is a surf coach currently in the process of obtaining her ISA Level 1 surf instructor certification.
This Women's History Month, we're honoring her story — not just as a surfer, but as a woman who turned personal struggle into a lighthouse for others. Her work is proof that when you reclaim your own belonging, you create space for everyone around you to do the same.
You grew up in San Diego, surrounded by beach culture. What drew you to surfing?
Growing up, I spent so much time at the beach — but surfing never felt like it was for me. Our high school surf team was predominantly white, and without realizing it, I internalized the message that I didn't belong in that world. Even though I deeply loved the ocean, it felt intimidating, like a door I wasn't supposed to open.
Water itself, though, has always been home. I was a competitive swimmer from about seven years old. Being in the water was where I felt the most free, the most myself — where my body softened and my mind quieted.
I didn't start surfing until I was 19, and when I finally did, it wasn't just about learning a sport. It was about reclaiming space. It was about rewriting a story I had been told — that I didn't belong. The ocean became both mirror and teacher, showing me where I held fear, where I held power, and where I was ready to trust myself.
What was that first wave like?
There's something magical about catching a wave for the first time. You can't really explain it unless you've felt it. It's like the ocean lets you in on a secret.
I was lucky enough to tag along on a trip to Waikīkī with my best friend and her family. Before we left, we had watched Blue Crush together and were completely amped. That film was so inspiring to me because it was the first time I saw surfing portrayed in a way that sparked curiosity instead of exclusion. It planted a seed — the idea that maybe I could belong in the surf world too.
Looking back, that trip wasn't just about catching waves. It was about catching a new story about what was possible for me.
Photo by @elizabethh.n
What has surfing taught you on a deeper level?
The ocean keeps drawing me back because it feels like home. When I'm surfing, whatever I was carrying before tends to fall away. The ocean demands presence — breath, awareness, trust.
One of the greatest lessons it has taught me is self-love. In the water, critical thoughts surface quickly — I should have made that turn, I should have caught that wave. But surfing gives me the chance to notice that voice and soften instead of spiral. The ocean mirrors you, but it doesn't judge you. It simply reflects where you are.
Growing up Filipino American, I developed perfectionist tendencies early on tied to achievement and expectations. Surfing gently unraveled that in me. Learning to approach myself the way I approach the ocean — with patience, curiosity, and acceptance — has been deeply healing.
You've been open about some very difficult moments. Can you speak to that?
The biggest challenges I've faced in surfing have been with myself. There were multiple times in my 20s when I struggled with feeling like I wasn't enough. I went through periods of depression, and the ocean became one of the few places where I could reconnect with myself.
I remember one specific moment when a roommate told me that when she got back from a trip, we were going to surf together. Even that small promise gave me something to hold onto. That surf session gave me the courage to say: you are worth it, you are enough, and you can do it.
Externally, I've also experienced moments in the lineup where men would tell me to go somewhere else, or cut me off even when it was my priority. Those moments made me question — do I actually belong here? The challenge became creating a space within myself where I knew I belonged, regardless of how others made me feel.
What barriers have you faced as a woman and a woman of color in the surf?
Being cut off in the lineup, even when it's my priority, is one of the most consistent experiences. There's often an unspoken pecking order, and if you're not performing at a certain level, people may not take you seriously. Sometimes that comes with disrespectful or inappropriate comments.
These experiences have reinforced why representation and safe, supportive spaces for women in surf are so important. Surfing isn't just about skill — it's about creating culture, respect, and belonging in the water.
When I've searched for a female surf coach in San Diego — and even more rare, a female surf coach of color — the results are nearly empty. Representation matters because seeing someone who looks like you in a space instantly shifts what feels possible. It tells you: you belong here too.
Surf photos in this post by @Epiram_photos
How did surf therapy come into your life?
Before the pandemic, I was feeling extremely burnt out in nursing. Around that time, I began volunteering with local nonprofits offering surf therapy for at-risk youth, and it changed everything for me.
I'll never forget one little girl — about six years old, medically fragile, experiencing bullying at school. During camp, she mostly belly rode, but then she caught a wave. The joy on her face was unforgettable. She kept coming back, even when scared. Seeing the ocean support her confidence, emotional regulation, and joy in real time was transformative.
After the pandemic, I made the shift from traditional nursing into surf therapy. I became a certified surf therapy facilitator through Groundswell, and since then I've been supporting women to cultivate joy, presence, self-trust, and confidence through the water. I am currently pursuing my ISA Level 1 certification for its global credibility and its strong emphasis on safety — something I prioritize deeply, especially in surf therapy spaces.
What does your community work look like today?
I've partnered with local organizations like Cheekies Surf Club, Over the Influence, and Beyond Blending In's Slay and Play Sisterhood to lead free group surf therapy sessions. These spaces center support, joy, and inclusivity.
At the end of each session, we honor what I call the "shimmer moment" — that moment when the sun hits the water and it shimmers. Each woman gets the opportunity to share something she's proud of or give a shoutout to someone else. It's a small ritual, but it's powerful. It reminds everyone of the light, resilience, and connection that the ocean and community can create together.
What is your message to women — especially women of color — who feel like surfing isn't for them?
My mission is to create spaces where love is the driving force for life, and surf therapy becomes the vehicle to open that love to the world. Women are the caregivers of the world, and when we empower a woman with unstoppable self-love, we empower everyone around her.
The ocean doesn't care who you are when you paddle out. It meets you exactly where you are. And so do I.
Meg Aquinde is a certified surf therapy facilitator, a registered nurse, and surf coach currently obtaining her ISA Level 1 surf instructor, based in San Diego, CA. She offers surf therapy sessions for women and partners with local organizations to create inclusive, healing experiences in and out of the water.