Going into BJJ, I never had the assumption that I would advance. I knew nothing about the "system" of BJJ. I remember the first time I saw belt test letters handed out in class. I had figured out what was going on, and I was happy for my teammates that were invited to test, but they were in a world I supposed I would never be a part of. I never dreamed that those stripes and colors were meant for me, too. I was just happy going to class.
I remember the first time Miss Belinda mentioned something about my advancement. I had asked her if she ever though I might compete, and she said, "Sure, of course! Let's get you a couple of stripes and start training you in that direction."
I was so elated at the thought of being trained to compete! My dreams for BJJ and competing were just taking root, but with others who believed in me and encouraged me, the roots were strong ones, and they grew.
Then I got my first belt test letter. I may as well have been given the moon! That's how likely it was in my mind that I would ever be invited to a belt test.
No one knew that morning of the belt test what I was carrying with me. My marriage was all but over, but I wasn't yet strong enough to leave it. There had been extra tension in the house in the weeks and days leading up to my belt test. The hours before the test, I sat, being yelled at and watching my husband kick things over in the house. His voice screamed in my ear, "I am so sick of hearing about your goddamned belt test!" The echo of those words pounded in my ears the entire 45 minute drive to Elite MMA on Westheimer in Houston.
But I stepped into the gym and I knew that nothing bad could touch me. This moment was mine. No one had given this to me. I had worked for it. I had earned it. No one could take it from me. I earned my first stripe that day. I worked for it, body, flesh and bones, sweat and tears, soul and spirit. I may as well have been given a black belt that day, I felt I had accomplished such a great feat!
And then another belt test, and two stripes earned. Two stripes! Two stripes in one test! I kept staring at them and touching them to see if they were real. They were!
That was in April 2011 that I earned those two stripes. In June of 2011, I left my husband, and the weight of the world that had been bearing down on me vanished. I knew I was strong. I was strong enough to do this. For more than a year, I had weighed the odds, but what price could be put on freedom? Without saying too much, let me say this: one of my professors in college said that slavery breaks a person's spirit. To some extent, I had an understanding of what he meant.
I knew, of course, that there would be significant changes after the separation, with the children, money, schedules, emotions, and etc. I also knew that my training would suffer, but by the time I left, leaving was definitely the best choice.
I had just competed about six weeks before the separation and had gone into some kind of strange slump after. I could never put my finger on it. Was it that I had put hours into training, weeks of focused preparation, for something that lasted only a few minutes? Had I expected more and come out disappointed with the results? I lost the match, but I hadn't felt defeated at the time. I felt empowered. But in the days and weeks following the competition, I lost some of my confidence.
Then summer came, and moving to a new house and taking a few weeks of vacation took time away from training. Then, as school began and we all adjusted to a new schedule and a new way of living, time and money were harder and harder to come by. A very dark depression began eating me alive. I wanted to train, in my brain, but my body just wanted to stay in bed. My tiny house became a gigantic empty cave when my kids weren't there. I was in some kind of terrible hole that I couldn't crawl out of; and I couldn't sleep or eat. And then came the day that I knew I could no longer afford my gym membership. When it comes down to the gym or putting food on the table, there is no choice that needs to be made.
Shane McNary, my dear friend and mentor, tried to teach me years ago that less is more, especially in writing. Let me try to make a long story short: things are much better now, just a few months out of that bad spell. I feel healthier. I got help for my depression. I have the most wonderful and amazing support system of family and friends. Even when I felt the most alone, I knew that I never was, and I can only be thankful for that.
These past weeks away from the gym have solidified my desire to be there. Knowing that I might not be able to go to class one night might hurt me a little bit. Knowing that I don't even have the option has hurt me a lot. But I have had time to think and refocus, and I have a new philosophy in regard to my goals: one thing at a time.
If anyone reading this has ever done Weight Watchers, then you know the focus is never on your entire amount of weight loss. You start with ten percent of body weight, and within that goal, you focus on one and a half to two pounds of loss per week. Tell someone they must lose fifty pounds, and it is too overwhelming. Tell them to lose a pound and a half in a week and exactly how to do it, and it is attainable.
Reaching small milestones makes a person more confident in reaching bigger ones. It makes sense. Ever since I decided that I really did want to fight in the cage, I think I have been trying to drink from a water hose. I was looking at the goals I have posted in my kitchen. At first glance, it just looks like a bunch of words. Looking more closely, the words turn into something huge that I feel can never be attained. I have to do ALL that stuff? And then I switched my thought process, finally putting into action the advice given to me by Mr. Robert. I switched from seeing it as a thousand unattainable things into several attainable things I could do one thing at a time.
What if I pick one thing per week? More water this week. More protein next week. Less sugar the next. Running twice a week. Working up. Little by little, one more thing until the good habits replace the bad ones. Making sure that I do not condemn myself for not being able to make several huge changes all at once. Allowing myself the grace to undo thirty-five years of bad habits one at a time. This I can do. This will promote freedom, rather than the fear that kept me from doing any of it.
Same thing with my BJJ. One thing at a time. I want to focus on my BJJ today. My brain has been taking me to 2015, to a cage fight. Again, the waterhose. How do I get to the cage? One. Thing. At. A. Time. BJJ first. Trusting my coaches is imperative. Did they not ALL say they would train me? They did. Are they not ALL telling me to focus on my jiu jitsu? They are. So what I can do today is put myself on the mat mentally and be ready for when I am back on the mat physically. BJJ is something that I can do. I can make it mine, make it better and better and better. I can compete more. And from there, I can be coachable until it's time to take the next step toward the cage.
I will be back on the mats June 1, and I can't wait. I went to see my Elite family a couple of days ago, and the good news that they had to share is that the number of women who are now training has grown since I have been gone. That is great news! My coaches and I were remembering when I was often the only lady in class, almost two years ago. If Miss Belinda wasn't training, then usually, I was the only woman. Now we are several strong, and women in the sport is very important. We ladies owe a lot to those who have struggled before us in this sport that had been dominated by men, and we at Elite are blessed with coaches and teammates who encourage, accept, and promote women in the sport.
This woman, for one, will not back down. I love the sport. I love martial arts. I love to grapple, and to kick and punch. One day, one day, I will stand in front of my coaches and they will tie a new blue belt around my waist. I am sure, and so are they, that I will cry. I can see my blue belt now, it's out there somewhere for me, but it's going to mean so much more than a progression in skill, more than a recognition. I will see in that blue belt all the months of struggle. I will see what I have overcome, what I was strong enough to overcome. I will remember stepping onto the mat for the first time, with no inkling of such a moment, no idea of getting a blue belt. My blue belt will represent an overcoming - of overcoming self-doubt, fear, weakness, and will represent a becoming - becoming strong, confident, becoming free and empowered to be the person I was meant to be. I like this person!
Well, long story short is kind of too late now. But there is one more thing that I want to say: It is important to share our stories. Why do we read blogs? Why do we follow others on twitter or like people's facebook statuses? Why do we make time to catch up with friends? It's because everyone has a story, and the stories need to be shared. Jordan Rivas became part of my story when I met him in August 2010. As Elite MMA became incorporated into my story, so did Robert Yamashita, Belinda Serrano, Julian Rivas, and Frost Murphy. Then Vincent Serrano started teaching me kickboxing and I became friends with Debra Ibarra and Ben, Emily, and Robert Ibarra. Time passed, and team members in my BJJ class had names, like Robert, Richard, Franky, Kevin, Marisol, Bambi, Rene, Ivan, Brooksie, Christian, Baby J, Damien, Austin, Vicki, Brian, Tip, Albert, Chris, Kim, Val, Anthony, so many, many names that I could never put them all here. And our stories start to overlap until we see one another at tournaments and Legacy fights and birthday parties and Wings-and-More, until now I have a family instead of just a place that I train. Our stories and our sharing of lives is important. It's necessary. Our journeys cannot happen apart from one another. And as I have heard at the gym and at belt tests many, many times, nothing matters more than the journey.
