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!
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