Mind Body Mama: More Teaching and Practice

This is an essay I wrote over the summer and never posted. I think it illustrates one of the ways that the teaching of self defense requires the practice of self defense. We start every class with a meditation, a chance to practice Self Defense Finger Number One: Use your mind and breathe. We talk about how breathing and thinking helps us exercise choices and de-escalate conflicts.

This is probably the hardest work of self defense; it’s so much harder than hurting another person in body or spirit. Over and over I tell my girls: “It’s not ANGER=DAMAGE, it’s DANGER=DAMAGE.” That means: the more danger you’re in—if you’re facing an imminent threat of being killed or sexually assaulted; if you have few options in terms of getting away or attracting assistance—the more damage you may need to inflict to get out of the situation.

But being really, really pissed off? That doesn’t justify any damage, in and of itself. Anger is just a feeling—not right, not wrong, and not requiring any specific action.

As a mama, I get to practice calming down and getting centered any time my sweet girl throws a nutty and rides my last nerve. Fortunately those times are fairly few and far between. But as a self defense teacher for pregnant and parenting teens who would rather be anywhere than in my class?

I get to practice in every single session.

Here’s one such tale:

Kiki’s been riding my last nerve since the very first time she slunk into our self defense class, all 5’ 10” of her, bulky with 8 ½ months of pregnancy, cutting her eyes and not acknowledging me. I’d call “Circle Up!” at the start of class and she’d glance out from under her eyelids and announce flatly, “I’m not sittin’ on the floor.” She refused to say her name in opening circle. “It’s nice to see you,” I’d say, smiling past clenched teeth before shifting my attention to the girl beside her. “Next.”

Kiki made an issue of everything. When she did speak she was confrontational and negative. She wouldn’t listen to the instructions, then she’d demand to be advanced out of the beginner group. She’d do something once and whine, “We did that already” when I suggested more practice. She’d refuse to work with a specific group of students and then smile falsely and say, “I’m fine right here,” when I asked if she had a conflict with someone that I needed to know about. In one class something I said irritated her and she tried to stare me down.

The part of me that is a double black belt with twenty-one years of self defense experience thought, “Wow, this girl is so scared and overwhelmed.” It made me feel sad and tender for her.

The part of me that is still an angry, scared, overwhelmed seventeen year old myself sucked her teeth and thought, “Bitch, I could crush you with my little finger. Don’t even start with me.”

Needless to say, managing my own responses, Kiki’s behavior, and a class full of other students is exhausting. When she came into class this week with her attitude unchanged I felt my heart hardening to her—I actually felt something go hard in my chest. I felt my umbridge grow larger than my intention to be her teacher. I knew something had to change but I didn’t have the first clue of what it would be.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love as a choice. So during opening meditation I wondered, “How could this be different if I just love her?” The hard spot in my chest didn’t move. It was a big class, with two new beginners, three girls who have been around for a while and are excited about learning new material, and a whole bunch in the middle. There were two separate solely Spanish speaking groups, which probably meant there was bad blood between some girls that I couldn’t suss out since I don’t speak Spanish. Both of the brand new girls were white and solely English speaking, which is pretty unusual for this class and can lead to complex group dynamics.

In other words: the class was a five ring circus and it was my job to get all the plates into the air and keep them spinning, in multiple languages, cultures, learning styles, and experience levels while steering clear of inter-pupil conflicts.

Oh, yeah: and keeping myself from getting triggered by Kiki’s open hostility.

Things went well for a while. We’ve been working sinawalis, stick fighting combinations from the Filipino martial art Modern Arnis. The “advanced” group started piecing together the exercise they had learned the previous week while the others practiced a simpler combination. The two newcomers worked with my co-teacher on the most basic strikes.

Then I noticed Kiki working with Natasha, one of the most advanced students, on the hardest combination. Kiki had no business jumping in on the advanced work but I decided not to make an issue of it. But I did notice that Natasha was not able to hold onto the pattern with a less experienced partner. A quick fix for this is often to pull out the stronger student and work with her myself, to solidify her knowledge, and then put her back with her partner. This gives the stronger student an opportunity for leadership and allows me to spread myself out throughout the class. It might be more egalitarian to teach both in the pair but the chaos doesn’t allow me this luxury.

It is true that I affect a pretty brusque tone in this class. That’s partially my style as a teacher, something I’m known for in the karate school. Brusque is how I can be heard over a room full of clanging sticks and chattering teenagers. It’s also how I stay tough in a room full of tough girls. I flood them with warmth as they come in the door, whether or not they look at me. “Hola, Tina, your hair looks beautiful today.” “Hey, Wanda, where have you been? I missed you last week.” “Ashley, is your baby feeling better?” But when we get onto the floor I’m all business.

So brusque is how I ordered, “Natasha—with me,” when I approached them working together. And at that, something in Kiki exploded. If there was a video definition of “storming off in a huff,” it would show Kiki stomping away. I got Natasha up to speed, and then went to check on the damage.

I found Kiki working with Tiffani, one of the new girls. “It seems like I really hurt your feelings when I started working with Natasha,” I said. (I didn’t know I was going to say that. As I walked over, it seemed equally likely that I would say, “What the hell is wrong with you now?”)

“Yeah, that was just rude!” she spat.

I don’t have words to express my amazement at this young woman’s chutzpah. And yet: I did not say “Payback is a bitch,” or “I give as good as I get, babycakes.” I did not even roll my eyes.

I said: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. That’s just my style of teaching. I did not mean to offend you.”

Kiki still wouldn’t look at me, but she visibly relaxed. I saw her face soften and the tension slide out of her strong arms. I left them to work, and when I came back a few minutes later she said in a perfectly normal tone of voice, “She doesn’t want to work with me because of my belly.” So I gave Tiffani a little speech about how we let our partners determine when something feels uncomfortable or unsafe.

“I know Kiki is a strong woman who can stand up for herself,” I said, touching Kiki’s arm lightly. “You show respect for her by trusting her to take care of herself.”

There was no more drama before the end of class. Then, just as the girls were about to leave, Kiki made a joke about her belly and broke into a big grin. She got the whole room laughing.

Who knew this girl needed me to apologize for the very behavior she’s been displaying? Who knew that she needed me to show my respect for her not just in warmth and welcome, but in willingness to put myself in the one-down position? Who knows if her attitude will change? Does she think she got over on me somehow? Did the other girls witness me practicing self defense, staying calm and centered? Or do they think I got punked?

Kiki’s got a great aptitude for the work, as it happens, and I told her so on her way out. It would be wonderful if she’d keep playing with us. But I’m not counting on anything. I’m just going to keep meditating on love.