Fighting Back

 

Like many people, I started in martial arts because I wanted to fight. Not fight per se, Fight Back. I had been bullied mercilessly for almost ten years in public school. Nearly every day I was assaulted, physically or emotionally. I had to have constant supervision by the school staff for my protection. I had to stay within sight of teachers during lunch and recess and was escorted to my classrooms by faculty to make sure I wouldn't get attacked in between lessons. I was sent home from school early so that the bullies could not catch me before I got home. Somehow, they still found a way. I wanted revenge more than anything. That's what I thought at the time, anyway.

Over several years, and with good instruction, I learned that I wasn't in martial arts to fight others so much as I was learning to fight myself - learning to combat my weakness, my laziness, my doubts and fears so that ultimately I would be immune to bullying. I would become strong enough to push past obstacles and confident enough to live my life my way regardless of anyone else. This took a long time, but it laid the foundation for everything I have become and achieved throughout my life. I truly believe that without martial arts training I would have failed as a person. The training has saved my life again and again, mostly from myself rather than from others. This is why I am dedicated to sharing this gift as an instructor, in the hopes that other lives can be saved, too.

Along the way I also learned that most fights are not in the streets or back alleys. Most fights are the fights we have every day to remain true to our beliefs and to resist the messages of media and propaganda that would pull us away from our center. The news is depressing and hopeless, hammering us with negativity and rage baiting us into hating one another. Social media pressures us to try to achieve unrealistic lifestyles at the cost of our physical and mental health. We are made to believe we are incomplete and lacking in everything we are told we should want; told repeatedly that "more is better" and that we are not enough. We are forced to have "hustle" in order to make other people wealthier while we suffer from burnout and depression. We define ourselves by our LinkedIn profile and our job title. Meanwhile we feel empty inside.

In the end, the simplicity of being happy feels unachievable. We start to accept that the world is in entropy and ending right before our eyes, and that we are powerless to save it. We are broken again and again. Mostly we are heartbroken over the never ending feelings of loss that engulf us. We are bewildered by the feeling that something fundamental is missing from our lives.

Martial arts training can help. Through our time in the dojo we can remove distractions. One step at a time, one class at a time, we can develop focus and discipline. We can challenge our minds and bodies. We can set and achieve goals and be recognized. We can be equal. We can find fellowship and develop lifelong friends who will support each other. We can develop the courage to fight back against all the negativity and strengthen our resolve to be the best version of ourselves, without tying that to guilt over who we are today. We can remember that we are enough. And that we can still be MORE. We realize we can make a difference. We matter. We are not alone.

These are trying times. Times that need warriors. Peaceful Warriors. Times that need people like us.

Let's make 2026 the year we FIGHT.

Together.

For all of us.  

Farewell Chuck

 

I met Chuck Mauldin in 1991, during the summer just before I turned fourteen years old. He was 18 and had just graduated high school, and was also the senior student of Randy Moore, aka Sabutai Musashi, Head of the Eternal Dragon School of Ninjutsu in suburban Chicago, a place that would mark my first seven years as the beginning of my 45-year (so far) journey in the martial arts. The Eternal Dragon School was a very traditional dojo that taught Ninjutsu and other budo, and until I was 21 it was basically my home away from home. Chuck became a mentor to me during my critical teenage years and I am very grateful for having had such good fortune.

Chuck was a state-class track and field competitor in high school and a perfect role model for the beginning of my martial arts life. He was a stern disciplinarian, but always took the time to teach and explain, and to carefully instruct me in every technique. More than that, Chuck taught me through his actions and words that martial arts were first and foremost a mental discipline, a physical chess of strategy and tactics that would be won by the smarter man; the man with the greatest willpower. Over the years we trained together, I'm sure I never beat him in sparring, I'm sure I never even came close. That said, he always made me feel like I had done OK, and that my skills were improving. The mark of a truly great senpai.

After college, he became a law enforcement professional, working as a dispatcher for the DuPage county sheriff's department and later in the private sector as a professional bodyguard. He guarded many notable celebrities and executives, eventually becoming a highly sought-after executive security consultant and instructor at the prestigious ESI Academy in Colorado. From time to time he would visit Japan for work and very kindly would always find time to catch up over a meal.

Chuck inspired me to walk the warrior path originally, even more so than my teachers at the time. He showed me what this life could be and who I could become if I ever learned to master myself the way he had (I'm still working on it). The times when he would pick me up at school and drop me off after training were filled with him sharing the wisdom and knowledge I desperately needed, like the big brother I always wished I had. I was immensely proud of the life he made for himself and maybe, in a certain way, he was proud of me too. I'd like to think he respected me for making my life in Japan and staying on the path all these years, even if it was never my full-time occupation like it was for him.

A month ago, our mutual friend Ray, now retired from the DuPage county sheriff's department, let me know that Chuck had suffered a severe stroke and was now in a wheelchair. That was very hard for me to imagine, since I can only picture him as being larger than life, dynamic and physical. It was even harder this morning to receive news of his untimely passing. Part of me feels he just couldn't accept being anything less than the superhero he had been all of his life, and chose to let go on his own terms. A true warrior to his last breath.

The world is a darker place today with him being gone. I'm so grateful for the knowledge and wisdom he invested in me. He will never be forgotten.

I will miss you, Chuck, my senpai, my friend. I'll see you again before too long.

Rest In Power 

The Value of Opinions - resistance and resilience

 

The world has become very polarized in recent years. It feels like somehow public opinions have shifted to extremes, as the media accentuates our differences rather than highlight what the majority of us have in common.

On one hand, many people excuse their lack of critical thinking or research skill by claiming that their opinions, however fantastical, should be not just protected but embraced. On the other hand, we see an unprecedented and draconian crackdown on the freedom of speech itself which, for Americans like me, is the bedrock of our democratic society. Many people now falsely believe that in addition to their right to have and voice their opinion, that they should be allowed to impose their beliefs on other people against their will, denying them the same equal freedom of expression. 

The Truth, as always, lies somewhere in the middle.

Perhaps in a well-meaning effort to avoid offending so-called "marginal" members of our society, we have failed to challenge even the most outrageous viewpoints. People are allowed to excuse intellectual laziness, a lack of curiosity and indulgence in fantasy by hiding behind a seemingly impenetrable wall of entitlement and malaise that somehow make living in modern society challenging at best, impossible at worst.

Everyone, in his/her/they/their own way now has an increasingly desperate need to be "seen". To be validated and endorsed by society and treated like the unique and special snowflakes they know they are. As brilliantly stated by arch-villain Syndrome in the 2004 movie "The Incredibles", "Everyone can be super...and when everyone is super, no one will be". 

Modern young people identify with a long list of tick-boxes covering every perceived limitation, using these excuses as a way of avoiding anything challenging or bothersome. In fact, not claiming all your potential disabilities (ADHD/spectrum, anxiety, stress, gender fluidity, etc) may be a disadvantage since these labels conveniently afford a variety of benefits (including actual monetary benefits). Many of them are highly subjective and extremely difficult to validate, so in effect, you are if you say you are. I can't think of anyone (including myself) who has not been plagued by anxiety, for example, but at what point would it be considered debilitating?

This results in a society where people continue to claim exemptions and benefits they may not truly need, thereby denying these scarce resources to others who might need them more. Everyone ends up calling in sick at the slightest hint of inconvenience or bother, and society becomes just a series of half-hearted excuses for why we just "didn't feel like it" on any given day. Of course, real mental health issues are very serious, and need effective coping strategies. It is here that the lines get blurry.

In the end, the crisis of society has been a loss of the essential quality of maturity - Resilience

As my dear friend "Physics Man" correctly pointed out over our recent pizza lunch (where we solve all the problems of the world over pizza slices and draft beer), resilience requires resistance.

We talked about our fathers' (and their fathers') generation. They grew up in hardship and war and faced tremendous challenges to survive. Many endured unbelievable tragedy and loss and yet still found a way to raise us with abundance. They faced life head-on and stalwartly kept moving forward like the heroes they were. They hardly complained, but rather just got on with things. They did not document their victories with selfies. The extreme resistance they faced resulted in their unbreakable resilience. You simply cannot have one without the other.   

In the past, we were free to challenge each other's opinions. In academics, debate and discussion were key aspects of learning and we were expected to develop strong critical thinking and logical skills to be able to make and defend our perspectives. We learned to argue our merits on the basis of logic but also on the basis of emotion (morality) and to bring the data to back up what we believed. Outrageous claims and hypotheses were quickly debunked and, hopefully, we all learned how to engage in the spirited dialog that leads to understanding.

Somewhere along the way, however, in our desire to create "safe spaces" and avoid "triggering" people, we stopped challenging each other. Not only were we expected to respect others rights to have opinions, and to voice opinions, but we were expected to tolerate them and embrace them, however fantastical. In line with the law of unintended consequences, by failing to provide any resistance to ideas which were clearly devoid of merit we created a society where we no longer become mentally resilient.

Yes, in a spirit of compassion we should allow space for the vulnerable to be themselves. We must grant them a voice and empower them to stand up and be proud of their authenticity. We should defend and protect those in need. This includes not only the right to an opinion but also the right to voice it. Without this, our society can never prosper.

At the same time, we must offer resistance as needed. This must not be permitted to be done with malice or cruelty. It can and should be done with directness and kindness. We must continue to challenge fantasy (and misinformation) with truthfulness, data and logic. We must continue to challenge each other to be able to contribute to society as much as possible; to be net givers rather than net takers wherever possible. To find a way to move forward despite limitations. To challenge ourselves and each other to do and be more - to strive for our true personal excellence. This means working toward a positive and inclusive society that does not excuse mediocrity or laziness but requires that each of us continue to do the very best we can, together. This is also compassion. There is virtue in achievement and resilience. 

Herein lies the martial arts.

My training has enabled me to face all of life's challenges and my own limitations and rise to meet them. Rather than making excuses, I developed the discipline to find my way and navigate the various challenges I faced, both internal and external. I failed a lot, and still do. Nevertheless, I became strong enough to stand back up and keep going. I am a believer that martial arts is a great way to build the resistance that helps us become truly resilient to the hardships of life.

Likewise, the study of zen constantly reminds us of our own infinite smallness. This is so important, lest we succumb to the ego and start to believe in our own importance. Yes, we have the right to opinions and yes, we have the right for those opinions to be voiced. However, for the most part, our opinions, however valid, are of no importance to anyone but ourselves. The quest for truth and wisdom is indeed a solitary one.

As I approach my 59th birthday, I will continue to build my resilience to the challenges of my life. I will abhor excuses and try to face my failings with grace. I will continue to develop my opinions and remind myself to keep them to myself unless asked. I will do my best to avoid trying to persuade others to follow my beliefs and allow them to have their own. I will continue to respectfully challenge others and require them to develop their keen logical minds as I develop mine. I will remind myself often of my insignificance and the wonder I feel at the privilege of being alive. I will continue to love and allow myself to be loved.

See you at class.

 

 

Sais Matters

 

It was yet another fantastic weekend seminar with Cikgu Maul Mornie, foremost expert in Silat Suffian Bela Diri (SSBD), a well-known Bruneian fighting art. The Sultanate of Brunei is located on the Malay peninsula and is home to a very effective style of Silat.

This weekend, the focus was the tekpi, seen in Okinawan Kobudo as the sai. That, however, is where the resemblance ends. Similar weapons, perhaps, but very different in their training and application. As Cikgu Maul explains, the tekpi are principally used for striking, raking and stabbing, but also as training tools. Weighing a hefty 1kg each, the tekpi serve to condition the forearms, shoulders and back for effective striking and blocking in kuntao. In a sense, they are Silat "kettlebells". Repetition is key here, with the opening and closing used to develop coordination, forearm and grip strength and good hand position for trapping, grabbing and striking.

In Okinawan kobudo, the sai is regularly moved back and forth from closed to open positions. However, when used in silat, this is only done for conditioning purposes. In fighting, the tekpi is deployed in the open position from start to finish, thus offering extended reach and powerful impact when swung.

While the tekpi has some unique applications owing to its forked design, it is basically a short metal bar, so in striking it is almost guaranteed to disable or break anything it hits including head, arms/hands or knees. As a stabbing or raking tool, it concentrates tremendous impact force at the tip and can be used to skewer an unfortunate opponent.

Cikgu Maul spent a lot of time on the first day explaining and showing the proper grip and manipulation of this interesting weapon. In my experience of kobudo weapons nearly 45 years ago, there was not enough focus on this. As such, the sai were cumbersome and hard to manipulate effectively, so I focused on other weapons (kama) instead. Had I gotten the same instruction back then, the tekpi would have certainly been fascinating and intriguing to explore over the years.

Proper training with the tekpi encourages good distance management and footwork, and can help understand the mechanics of striking, pinning and disarms as well. In SSBD fights are ended very directly but for training purposes movements are combined to allow richer exploration and develop fluency.

This was my sixth seminar with Cikgu Maul. Every time he is able to provide simple, elegant answers to various martial arts questions I have had. Studying tekpi with him changed my understanding of this important tool. If you ever have the opportunity to train with him, don't miss it. SSBD is legitimately one of the most interesting and thorough martial arts systems I have seen, and Cikgu Maul is a fantastic example of the three key elements of elite Silat practitioners: Hormat (respect), Hina diri (humility) and Halus (refinement).

See you at class. 

Scars

 

Here is my latest scar. Well on its way to becoming a scar, anyway. Somehow, I ended up with a large cyst (tennis ball-sized) on my back between my shoulder blades, which subsequently became inflamed and ultimately had to be cut open, drained and later completely removed. The above is the result of almost 3 weeks of back-and-forth to the hospital. Stitches came out last Friday and my final visit (hopefully) will be this Friday. Thankfully, I haven't had a surgery in a very long time and had forgotten the process. Lots of consent forms and explanations, lots of downtime, lots of medications.

If you are going to get surgery, I recommend getting it done in Japan. Language issues notwithstanding, this country has very affordable, extremely high quality healthcare (are you listening USA?). My outpatient surgery out-of-pocket was about $120. I think the same procedure in the US would have been several thousand dollars at least. The fact that Japan invented sashimi might have something to do with the quality of the incision, too. In the picture you can see a drain on the right to help speed healing. They really do think of everything, don't they?

In the many hours to and from the hospital, waiting in the waiting room, waiting at the pharmacy, and so on I had plenty of time to think about things.

We often think of scars as ugly or embarrassing, symbols of some accident, bad luck, misfortune or just bad judgement. Stitches are a sign we did something wrong or that God doesn't like us and visited calamity upon us. We hide our scars and try not to talk about them. Scars make other people uncomfortable. Sometimes scars make for good party conversation, involving real (or contrived) stories about how we might have gotten them. Scars make a person look like a "tough guy" (or girl). Beautiful people don't have them. In some cases, surgical scars mean a part of us was removed, making us somehow no longer "whole" or "complete". It is said the best surgeries leave no scars at all. Taking care of surgical scars requires patience. Good hygiene is required to keep the wounds from becoming infected. Rest and recovery are needed so the wounds close properly. Skin care is used to minimize discoloration. A scar is almost like an "involuntary tattoo". Lots to think about and pay attention to.

Scars tell a story, too. Our story. They show we are survivors. After all, you only get scars if you survive. They show we can heal, we can recover. We can endure and persevere. We can move on, even if it hurts sometimes. Our scars do not define us, but they help explain our journey, and what happened along the way. They are the chronicle that we wear all day, every day.

Scars are not just on the outside, either. Sometimes the ones on the inside reflect greater injury than the ones we can see. Sometimes those take even longer to heal. Some never fully heal.

I would not say I'm proud of my scars. I would rather say that I have learned to accept them as part of who I am. I've made peace with them. My scars are part of my record which documents my limited time here on Earth. My scars are proof that I did not sit idly by, I got involved and took some risks. My story has been many things but it has never been boring. My scars prove that. I won't win any beauty contests, but that was never my goal, anyway.

I've got plenty of scars - inside and out. Now I've got another one. But I'm still standing.

See you at class 

The Lonely Path of The Warrior

 

When I started my journey I was 14 years old. I had been bullied for years and was angry and hurt. I wanted revenge on my tormentors. I was also a teenager, and struggling with the mental, emotional and physical challenges that come with starting the transition toward adulthood. I was in crisis. I needed something to keep me from losing my way.

My first dojo was very traditional. We sat in seiza when shihan bowed on or off the mats and whenever he demonstrated techniques. We never spoke to him unless spoken to first and never called him anything but "shihan" or "sir". There were punishments (dozens of pushups or long kibadachi sessions) if any dojo rules were violated, but of course they never were (at least not be me). Still, for some reason, I loved the dojo. I became a deshi to my teacher and trained every day for the next seven years. In the summers I usually lived at his house. I did chores and we trained intensively. In retrospect, I needed the harsh discipline and guidance to learn to focus myself. I believe that without it, I wouldn't have made it.

For every hour of training on the mats, I always had at least another hour of academic study in addition to my usual schoolwork. My teacher had me read all the martial arts classics (translated into English, of course) and we discussed them at length. I was especially fascinated by The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi. It is a classic text of swordsmanship/strategy by someone considered to be the greatest of all. Undefeated in literally hundreds of duels, he famously killed the most prominent fighter of the time, Sasaki Kojiro, with a single blow to the head using a boat oar he carved into a wooden sword on the way to the duel. Musashi is said to have developed the famed Nitoryu or "two sword style" which is often referenced by modern swordsmen but far less often understood. Miyamoto Musashi was irreverent, a commoner rather than a samurai, unrefined - unbeatable. To teenage Me, he was the most perfect antihero. I studied him enthusiastically.

In those days, I read that the warrior path was a lonely one. Constant training under all conditions, meditation, stoicism. These appealed to the loner in me, too. Like Musashi, I felt alone and unwanted, misunderstood, an outcast, but that somehow there might also be greatness in me.

The truth, after 45 years of this life, is very, very different.

The reality is that the warrior path has been many things to me, but never, ever lonely. At every stage and in every dojo, I have always been surrounded by fellow truth-seekers. People like me trying to use the martial arts as an anchor to stabilize, rebuild and improve their lives. People who are seeking to discover purpose and meaning in a life that can feel overwhelmed by materialism and mainstream media. People seeking stillness and wanting to deepen their spirituality. Through this life I have met men and women of all ages and backgrounds, rich and poor. They have become my lifelong companions - my extended family. In every case, they have welcomed and embraced me, flaws and all. Never judging me or my past, and willing to take me at face value for how I am both on and off the mats. I have learned from and been inspired by fellow students, instructors, parents, partners and everyone in between. All of them have given me valuable insight into the importance of The Path.

Over the years, we have opened up our homes to each other. More than that, we have opened our hearts. We have shared our joys, our pain, our fears and our hopes together in deep conversations dripping in sweat after hard workouts. We've shared countless meals, sometimes after literally trying to kill each other. We've pushed each other to the breaking point again and again, but always with love and encouragement. We've showed up for each other with unwavering loyalty. At camps we are all like family, instantly bonded even if we are meeting for the first time. When we meet the first hour or so is usually just hugging each other and catching up, instantly reconnected and back in tune even if it's been months or even years since we last met.

I tell people that martial arts is very different from other hobbies or sports. I can't imagine forging the kind of lifetime friendships I have had in a fitness gym or playing community softball or at the dog park. Not even church created the kind of fellowship I found in the dojos where I trained. There's something special about what we do and the people who dedicate themselves to it.

The martial arts teaches us about life and death. Sometimes in training we become focused on the lethality of what we learn. However, it's also important to remember how much martial arts teaches us about LIFE and living - how much it enriches us through the depth of the friendships we make.

I want to take this moment to recognize and be grateful for the importance of the relationships I have had during the past 45 years in the martial arts community. I have been truly blessed to know you all, my brothers and sisters, and have continued to try and be worthy of your love and respect. You bring out the very best in me. Thank you for the challenges and for your enduring support. I love you.

See you at class.

(GUEST POST) Fight Like a Girl: In the Dojo, in Life, and Without Apology

 

I am proud to present a guest article by my dear friend and training partner: Guro Vicky. Enjoy!

I’ve been a female martial artist for over a decade. My journey has been carved through pain, injuries, and a relentless battle against stereotypes and the unforeseen challenges in life. The price wasn’t just physical; it was often emotional and deeply personal. Even today, the fierce battle to hold onto the privilege of being a martial artist continues for me.

It takes immense courage and perseverance to be a woman in martial arts. I'm not just talking about the sweat and bruises; I'm talking about the way you're sometimes made to feel.

I started Muay Thai 13 years ago. It was my first stepping stone into martial arts, a path that would shape my discipline, my fire, and my voice. Within the first few weeks of training, came the first remark: “Women should not be in martial arts.”

It came from a male chauvinist, my neighbor and, at the time, a family friend. But instead of discouraging me, it lit something fierce inside. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Ever heard the saying, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend?” As if a woman can only be appeased with riches and luxuries. I’ve never been able to relate. I’m the woman who sold my jewelry to afford gloves and gear when I had no other means. My best friends have always been the gloves and the grit.

Since then, I’ve trained in countless dojos and classes, meeting all kinds of people, men and women.

• Some who uplift.
• Some who undermine.
• Some who teach with humility.
• Others with ego.

On Sharing Knowledge

There are partners who, when you try to teach or share a drill, can't resist trying to "prove" why it won't work. Instead of trying the technique, they use brute force to show physical dominance. This is not a productive exchange; it’s a subtle power play that invalidates your knowledge. It's an ego-driven test, and I refuse to participate. If you can’t handle your own ego-powered move, don't blame me for my reaction.

This same mindset leads others to imply, subtly or directly, that you are inadequate. You might be singled out for using "too much" strength, even when your partner was the one who couldn't control their own intensity. Then there’s the assumption that you’ll only be comfortable training with women. Ahem, I signed up for a mixed martial arts dojo for a reason.

And to the guys who rely on brute force instead of refining their technique, I hope you know how to survive a brutal attack someday when all that strength and muscle fail you.

Sometimes you’re dealing with instructors whose egos are larger than a hot air balloon. They are never wrong, and you always are. It seems you’re just a woman, so you're not supposed to be right, are you? Even if you have trained in martial arts longer than they have. You’re just supposed to stand there and listen in awe. Point noted but not accepted.

I've stood there, a black belt, watching a male trainee be instinctively chosen to demonstrate a technique that requires pain tolerance, speed, or resilience. To the instructor’s credit, he cared to explain why he chose a man: “So I can go harder on him to demonstrate what the technique can do.” Or, “It’s more appropriate to demonstrate a technique to the solar plexus on a man for example.”

I don't get it. Why not demonstrate how to train with a woman in a respectful manner without ending up inappropriately touching her? Are you implying female black belts have never withstood tough hits and got an easy way out to attain our rank? The explanation didn't convince me. It only made me wonder, Why am I even here?

Body as Vessel, wait- but for what purpose?

Speaking of pain, one evening, after clearing four towering stacks of paperwork at my day job, I still showed up for training. Exhausted, but unwilling to quit. During kickboxing, I was adjusting the straps on my pads when my partner launched a full roundhouse kick, straight into my right wrist.

No warning. No check-in. Just impact. BAM.

The pain was immediate and severe; it almost knocked my lights out. My instructor brushed it off as a sprain and left, but it turned out to be a hairline fracture. I couldn't lift my forearm for six weeks. An older colleague noticed the guard I was wearing and asked how I got injured. When I explained what had happened, he said, “If you keep getting injured like this, how will you carry your kids someday?”

I didn’t answer, but inside, I asked myself: Had I been a man, would he have said the same thing? Why is my body always seen as a vessel for motherhood before it’s seen as a vessel for mastery? Why am I expected to prioritize hypothetical children over my very real passion?

The sudden enthusiasm

A few years later, I stepped into a Ninjutsu academy. New space. New style. Same fire.

One day, I was the only female trainee in the room. The guys were feeding pads for one another with full energy and engagement. When it was my turn, I partnered with one of them. Moments before, he had been hyped up, but when I stood in front of him, his energy vanished. He looked disinterested, didn't brace the pads properly, and didn't even bother to hold them with care.

I felt it. That quiet dismissal. That subtle assumption: She won’t hit hard. She won’t last.

But within a minute, everything changed. After a few strikes, he asked, "Have you done boxing before?"

I told him I had trained in Muay Thai and kickboxing for some years. His eyes lit up. Suddenly, he was feeding with passion and giving me tips.

I thought to myself: Why wasn’t this enthusiasm there at the start? Why did I have to prove myself first? Why is a woman’s intensity underestimated until it’s undeniable?

This is the quiet test we are always made to take. Not of skill, but of worth. Not of technique, but of legitimacy.

Choosing My Passion

I don’t train to be accepted or to be a badass. I train because martial arts is for everyone- It is the best way to lead life, the best therapy. It belongs to me too, and I will not seek permission or validation to be powerful. That’s also why I show up on days my body is screaming. Days when I have cramps so sharp they make me double over. But I still spar. I still take hits and punches to the abdomen and everywhere else, while I have cramps. Wait- But I am still incapable of taking hits like the guys right? Sure.

No one adjusts the drills. No one softens the pace. I do the same kind of training as the guys. Same intensity, same expectations. I do it with a silent, invisible pain. So are all other female trainees all around the world.

Enjoying life means romancing a man?

In the days leading up to my graduation and progression to an advanced belt in KM, an elderly trainee once asked me, "Do you not have a life? You should be enjoying your youth with your boyfriend." He laughed as he said it, turning to others to seek validation for his “point” but his joke felt deeply demeaning. It was a rude reminder that my dedication was not seen as a valid pursuit, but something silly.

I paused. Not because I didn’t have a fitting reply, but because his question revealed more about his pathetic assumptions about a woman’s happiness than about me.

Who says I'm not enjoying myself? I am enjoying training, just not a boyfriend. Why should a woman’s joy always be expected to orbit around romance, marriage, or children? Why is discipline mistaken for deprivation? Why is a woman’s time questioned when it’s spent on and for herself?

My journey isn't just my own. It's a tiny part of a legacy of women warriors who, throughout history, have refused to shrink to fit stereotypes. We are the ones who break the molds. We are fierce, and that's not just a compliment; it's our superpower. We've seen women training on par with their male counterparts while bleeding, after giving birth, after a distressing life event, or after a heartbreak. We refuse to be damsels in distress. We refuse to take the backseat. The real competition has never been with a fellow trainee, male or female, it has always been with ourselves, to become a better version at every stage. I may have never stepped into a ring to fight, but I fight in life every single day. Martial arts keeps me resilient.

To the men who stand as our pillars and push us to discover our potential, Thank You! You are amazing. But to those who aren't, are you competing with us or with your own insecurities?

To every woman who has ever felt out of place in a dojo, or in any space where her passion is belittled, ridiculed or questioned, this is my message to you: Your worth, knowledge and efforts are not up for debate. Your passion is not up for permission. Don’t let anyone else’s insecurities or ego define your journey. Show up, train hard and fight like a girl- not as a cliche, but as a statement of unwavering power, resilience and unapologetic grit. The mat belongs to you just as much as it belongs to anyone else. Rock On!