Clay Marzo: Surfing, Autism, and the Power of Speaking Without Words
Introduction
This blog began as a video conversation with pro surfer Clay Marzo and his mother Jill—a rare and generous window into their world. Clay, who is Autistic and world-renowned for his surfing, doesn’t often give interviews, so it was a privilege to speak with him and even more meaningful to connect through shared experience. As someone who is also Autistic, I (Caragh) recognised so much of myself in the things Clay and Jill shared: the importance of environment, the power of non-verbal communication, and the need to protect what brings us calm. This blog captures key moments from that conversation, honouring both the poetry of Clay’s surfing and Jill’s insight as a mother who learned how to listen beyond words.
Speaking Without Words
Jill sums it up simply:
“He speaks through the water.”
For Clay, verbal communication can feel overwhelming, especially with people he doesn’t know well. But watch him surf, and everything clicks. His expression is fluid, artistic, instinctual.
"Even when I would ground the kids,” Jill recalls, “I’d still let Clay surf… because that was how he processed. You don’t take away the thing that helps them breathe."
This speaks to something deeply important for many neurodivergent people: communication comes in more than just words. When speech feels too rigid or exposing, movement, art, action—or in Clay’s case, waves—can say more than language ever could.
“He used to get under branches, under water fountains... even as a kid, it was all about being under or inside something. Now, it’s barrels.”
When the System Doesn’t Fit
Clay didn’t thrive in traditional schooling.
“He’d be staring out the window at the waves,” Jill says. “Just not interested.”
From a young age, Clay was labelled “difficult” because he didn’t conform to classroom expectations. But Jill quickly realised that trying to push Clay into those structures was not only ineffective, it was unfair.
“Why are you trying to put a square peg in a round hole?” someone once told her. That stuck.
Instead of trying to force the system to work for Clay, Jill chose to help him follow his natural rhythm.
“Clay is a gift. He’s an artist. He moves in the water. That’s where he’s comfortable. He’s not meant for rows of desks.”
Competition vs Creativity
For many athletes, competition is the goal. For Clay, it’s more complicated.
“He doesn’t surf to win,” Jill explains. “He surfs to express himself. He surfs to be understood.”
The conventional structure of surf competitions—timed heats, unfamiliar waters, sensory overload from crowds—often clashed with Clay’s needs. But when the setting aligned, everything changed. Jill recalls one perfect contest: a boat trip with friends, small heats, shared meals, predictable routines.
“He knew his vibe. He got safe. He knew where we were eating. That routine—it helps him thrive.”
Despite the challenges, Clay does enjoy competing under the right conditions.
“When you win, it’s good,” he admits quietly. But as Jill puts it, “It’s not just about the win. It’s about the environment being right.”
Hyper-Empathetic, Not Emotionless
A common myth about Autism is that it involves a lack of feeling. But Clay’s experience is the opposite.
“Clay reads moods. He walks into a room and senses the energy. He’ll say, ‘I don’t want to be around that person right now.’”
For Clay, this hyper-awareness can be exhausting. Social situations aren’t difficult because of disinterest—they’re difficult because there’s too much information. Too many signals. Too much noise.
This sensory overload makes activities like surfing—where the noise disappears, and intuition takes over—vital.
“He can ride through it all in the water,” Jill says. “That’s his place to let it all go.”
When Inclusion Isn’t Just a Buzzword
One of the most powerful parts of the interview is Jill’s description of an Autism conference they attended together. Clay, often reserved, spoke confidently in front of a large crowd.
“We found our people. Nobody screamed. They tapped tables instead of clapping. Clay just lit up.”
That moment highlights something many neurodivergent people experience—when the environment changes, so does the person. In a space designed for neurodivergence, communication flowed. Confidence emerged. Clay felt seen.
A Poet in the Barrel
Perhaps the most touching story comes from a past interview with ESPN, where a frustrated reporter couldn’t get much from Clay—until she pointed to a photo of him surfing inside a barrel.
“It’s like being in someone’s throat,” Clay said. “And they have to cough.”
Jill beams as she retells this moment:
“It was poetry. That’s who he is. He doesn’t always speak. But when he does? It’s a gift.”
Even Clay’s brother, also a pro surfer, calls him an artist—not an athlete.
“He doesn’t stretch. He eats mayonnaise and ice cream. He just paddles out and creates.”
What Jill Wants Coaches and Parents to Know
Jill doesn’t pretend it’s all easy.
“It’s not simple anymore,” she says. “But my advice? Breathe. Listen. Really listen—beyond the words.”
Jill believes the job of a parent—or coach—isn’t to mould the child into something more acceptable. It’s to offer a safe place to land.
“Don’t be pushy. Be soft. Let them know they’re okay. Then gently guide.”
And when it comes to sport?
“We need more types of competitions,” she says. “Ones that let people like Clay shine. That value artistry, not just speed. Like figure skating, or X Games teams. Let them surf. Let them express.”
Final Thoughts
As we end the conversation, Clay stays mostly quiet. But Jill speaks for them both:
“He’s kind. He’s sweet. And when he’s out there on the waves, he’s whole.”
Clay doesn’t need a podium to prove his worth. He doesn’t need to conform. He just needs water—and the space to be himself.
And maybe that’s the lesson we all need to learn.
For more of Clay’s work and water-bound artistry, follow him at @claymarz0 on Instagram or @claymarzoFILMS on YouTube.
Key Takeaways for Neurodivergent Individuals
Find your medium
→ Communication doesn’t have to be verbal. Movement, art, action—it all counts.
Your needs are valid
→ Sensory overwhelm, routine, space to recharge—these aren’t weaknesses. They’re part of you.
You are not difficult. You’re different
→ In the right environment, your difference is your gift.
Key Takeaways for Peers, Supporters, and Parents
Listen beyond the words
→ Pay attention to body language, energy, mood. That’s communication, too.
Support self-expression
→ Don’t take away the very thing that helps them cope—whether it’s sport, music, art, or nature.
Be the soft place to land
→ Offer safety first. Advice can come later.
Key Takeaways for Coaches, Leaders, and Organisations
Rethink competition formats
→ Could your sport allow for more artistry, creativity, or team-based participation?
Structure environments for comfort
→ Clear routines, sensory-friendly spaces, familiar faces—these changes matter.
Celebrate different types of excellence
→ Winning doesn’t always mean crossing the line first. Sometimes, it means showing up.
Originally recorded as a video interview, this blog post was written by Caragh McMurtry. Subheadings were added by the Neurodiverse Sport team to support readability.
