When I first found out I had skin cancer I immediately thought my life was over. My grandfather suffered from the disease, and I watched it beat him; he caught it too late to do anything about it. I suppose this should have been a warning to me. But, like most things, you naively think it won't happen to you.

I love the sun, and the outdoors. As a family we spent our holidays in Europe, camping on the coast, and as children we spent much of our time in the surf. I grew up in Cornwall, where the beach is a big part of life. My dad taught me how to catch my first wave at the age of seven.

When I was about 10 I remember looking at pictures of pop stars and models with tans and thinking, "I want to be like that". I've got blonde hair, but my skin is quite fair, and I also have a lot of moles. Again, even more of a reason not to sunbathe, but I really wanted to look good, and the culture at the time was to be as brown as possible.

There was hardly any awareness of skin cancer in the UK when I was growing up. I'd barely even heard of it. All people cared about was trying to get a tan. In the summer, me and my friends would get up early, hit the surf and spend the rest of the day sunbathing. The sun in Cornwall is particularly strong, and it's easy to burn, but this wouldn't stop us. We could lie there for hours.

I remember sun factor 15 was considered ridiculously high at the time. Some people just wore oil. I cringe when I think of that now. But that mentality still continues. I am constantly amazed how ignorant people are of the dangers of the sun.

When I was 23, two years ago, one of the moles on my lower leg began to itch. I've always been aware of my moles, and try to keep an eye on them as much as possible, but this one began to bug me. I told my mum and she said to get it checked out by my GP as soon as possible.

I must admit, I left it a week or two as I was scared of what he might say. He referred me to a dermatologist at my local NHS hospital for a check-up. After I was given the once over, the dermatologist told me the mole on my leg needed urgent excision. They made an appointment for me to come back that same week. I was really scared it might be something terrible, but tried not to think about it.

This was the first time I'd had a mole removed so didn't know what to expect, but the procedure was painless – I just felt a small tugging sensation. The worst part was waiting for the results. They took three weeks, and they were some of the longest weeks of my life.

I went to get them with my mum as I couldn't face going alone. When the consultant told me the mole was a malignant melanoma – the most dangerous form of skin cancer – and I'd have to go back for another operation in two weeks' time, I was devastated. I panicked that I was going to die. I had the word cancer ringing in my head. I cried a lot that day, so did mum. All these questions kept popping up: Why had I been so stupid? What will happen to me now? What if I die?

The operation – known as a wider excision – was conducted under local anaesthetic. The surgeon removed a portion of healthy tissue from around my mole, then stitched up the wound. It left a big scar on my leg, which was painful and split a little because of the muscle movement. But at least the melanoma was gone.

The second set of results came back OK – they had removed all the cancerous tissue, so no further treatment was necessary. But it was a close call. If I'd left it much longer, I might not have been so lucky. That's the blessing and the curse with skin cancer. It's visible, and it's easily treatable if you catch it early enough. Not so if you leave it too long.

I now have to go back to the hospital every three months for check-ups, and I regularly scrutinise my moles to make sure nothing has changed shape or got bigger. Statistically, once you've had one melanoma, you are more prone to getting another. I've become a bit paranoid, but better that than I pretend it's all OK.

I also go to a place called the Mole Clinic, which is a high street centre with private nurses. My NHS check-ups aren't nearly so thorough, so this way I feel doubly secure. The nurses at the clinic use a sort of magnifying glass to look at my moles one by one, checking for any changes, seeing which ones are regular or irregular. Then they take images of any that need sending off for further investigation. They've also taught me what to look out for in my moles.

We don't yet have the technology or awareness of, say, Australia, but I think the Mole Clinic is as near as you can get in the UK. I go every few months, alongside my visits to the hospital. I've told all my friends to go and get checked out. You never know. It only takes one mole to go bad.

It's been hard coming to terms with what happened to me. I always thought skin cancer was an older person's disease. Now I know it can hit at any age – in fact younger women are particularly prone. For ages I felt really angry, then I got depressed. But the experience hasn't been all bad. I've learned to make the most of my life, and I feel more motivated to do something amazing with it.

I've also realised how dangerous the sun can be and how we should all treat it with respect. That's not to say you can't enjoy it, you just need to be prepared and act responsibly. I still surf but I wear very high-factor sun cream and never sunbathe. When I'm not in the water I wear a big hat and sit in the shade. I never tan. It may not be a good look, but I don't care. I wouldn't risk my health for anything now, not least trying to look good. In fact, I've come to like my fair skin.

I think tanning is passé and I wish everyone thought the same. Maybe then there wouldn't be so many deaths from this horrible disease.