'You’re Not Alone:' Tatiana Weston-Webb On Surfing and Mental Health

When did you first sense that this wasn’t just a rough patch, but something deeper?
I’d say it became clear over the course of the early events this season. My results weren’t where I expected, and I found myself doubting more than I usually would. Beyond performance, there were nights I couldn’t sleep, days I’d wake up drained before even stepping into the water. There was this constant internal tension—like I was fighting myself before even getting to the battle with the waves.

You’re known for your mental grit. What made this struggle different?
That’s true—I’ve always leaned on mental toughness. But there’s a difference between pushing through discomfort and pushing through a drain. This wasn’t just fatigue or disappointment. It was something more insidious, creeping into everything. I realized that mental health isn’t a switch you can ignore; it’s not weak to recognize when your mind and body are saying, “We need change.”

In your public statement, you called the break “not an end, but a new beginning.” What do you hope comes next—for yourself, and for how we talk about mental health in surfing?
For myself, I hope to return healthier, more grounded, more present. To reconnect with why I fell in love with surfing in the first place—without all the pressure and noise. And in terms of conversation, I want more space in our sport to talk about mental health honestly. These aren’t easy topics, but if more pros feel safe admitting vulnerability, then maybe we shift the perception that high performance means never faltering.

From Gabe Medina, to John John Florence, and Filipe Toledo, take a break from tour seems like it’s become a bit of a trend amongst the top-tier athletes. What’s your reaction to that?
I do see that pattern emerging. We’ve had John John, Carissa, Stephanie, and others take time off. I think as athletes—and surfers especially—we’ve historically glorified endurance. But in recent years, more people are recognizing that sustainability matters. Surfing is a long game. If you’re burning out now, what does that look like down the road?

And the Olympics, you took silver in 2024, did that experience intensify the pressure?
Without question. The Olympics bring an entirely different level of expectation—external and internal. You train for years, carry national representation, and face a spotlight that’s far greater than any WSL event. Coming off that high, there’s almost a crash afterward: the adrenaline fades, and the weight of “what’s next” looms large. I believe part of my burnout was tied to carrying that weight through another CT season.

Going forward, how will you know when you’re ready to return?
First, I need to rediscover consistency and balance: sleeping well, feeling excited again, being able to enjoy surfing outside of heat pressure. When I can paddle out without mental resistance, that’s a signal. When I can compete with joy—not just obligation—that’s when I’ll know. I don’t want to rush it. I know the water will always be there, but my mind needs to catch up.

What’s been the hardest part of this time for you?
Accepting uncertainty. As competitors, we’re used to structure—goals, rankings, calendars. Stepping into an undefined period is foreign territory. Also, dealing with guilt: guilt over leaving events, over letting sponsors down, over disappointing fans. But I’m learning the hardest part is also where growth lies. I’m confronting those emotions rather than suppressing them.

Folks will see your honesty here as courageous and inspiring. What’s your message to someone struggling in silence—athlete or not?
You’re not alone. Especially in sports or in spheres where there’s pressure to be unbreakable, it’s so easy to suffer in silence. But strength isn’t defined by how much you can absorb—it’s sometimes about having the courage to pause, regroup, and heal. Seeking help isn’t a failure. It’s a necessary step. Vulnerability can open doors to deeper connection and resilience.

During the break how are you staying connected to your surf life?
I’ll be around the water as much as I can—just in a different role. Surfing without the weight of competition, exploring side projects, coaching younger surfers, traveling with a freer schedule. I still want to feel saltwater on my face, waves under my board. That hasn’t changed.

Final question: when you come back, what do you want this chapter to represent?
A rebirth. A stronger version of myself who’s fought through something real. I want to return with more clarity, compassion, and joy. And I hope my journey helps open space for more athletes to prioritize wellness without shame. The waves will be waiting—and I’ll be ready to meet them, fully present.