Cold Water for Mental Health: What Ocean Plunging Teaches Me About Showing Up

Every morning at 8am, a group of resilient and joyful people meet by the breakwater for a consistent, uncomfortable, and regulating ritual: walking into the cold pacific ocean and bobbing around together for 10-15 mins (longer in the warmer months).

It started out as something I did the morning before presentations, or something else that required courage. A way to start the day doing a brave thing and reminding myself that I can. And slowly, cold water plunging has gradually become one of the most impactful practices for my mental health.

A Nervous System Reset

The initial shock of the water never gets easier. That’s part of the point. It interrupts racing thoughts, anchors me in my body, and demands full presence. Over time, this almost daily plunge has taught my nervous system how to ride out the intensity without panic. The cold is like a forced reset.

I can’t help but see parallels to death and grief here. Both ask for presence, surrender, and the courage to remain embodied when instinct says to pull away. Cold plunging offers a simple, physical way to practice that kind of intentional presence.

Ritual as Mental Health Practice

What makes this practice powerful isn’t just the cold, it’s the repetition. The act of showing up, especially on the days I’d rather not. The ritual is simple, which makes it doable. No matter what mood I wake up in, I go. And the water always meets me exactly where I am.

Like supporting others around death, you don’t need to have the right words, you just need to keep showing up. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

The Power of Witnessing

It’s profound to do this in community. There is no expectation to talk much, but we usually do (and shriek, and sing, and laugh). The act of witnessing each other showing up, day after day, vulnerable, alive, committed, is powerful and encouraging. 

This is the same energy I see at a death bed vigil, in grieving, and in end-of-life care: people choosing to be there, even when it’s uncomfortable. Witnessing matters.

Cold plunging hasn’t changed my life in big, dramatic ways but it’s one of the ways I care for my mental health, by moving toward discomfort with care and structure.

This practice has taught me how to stay when I want to run.

How to meet discomfort with courage.

And how it’s not about the words, showing up is enough. 

Photos captured by Carla Dumaresq