KICKING FEAR
Published in Fighting Woman News
© 1992 By Lisa Dietz
It was my first karate fight. We were doing point-fighting, so we just tapped our opponent, pulling back at the last minute. Kick, move, watch, kick; I imitated the pattern I'd seen others use. As I positioned myself for my next move, my opponent's hand came fast at my head. I could not react in time to block. Suddenly, all the previous month's training at learning basic kicks and punches in front of a mirror, all the hours of positive encouragement and reinforcement, all the things I had learned about personal empowerment were gone. My opponent punched me. I backed into a corner, shut my eyes and put up my hands, fighting back tears.
At that moment, I was no longer in karate class. I was in Spain, four years earlier with the man whom I later came to refer to as "my abuser." We were staying in a room on the tenth floor of a hotel that had no elevators. I had gone out to get some food. When I returned, I fumbled with the door, exhausted from the upward climb. A fist immediately sent me to the floor. I lay there in disbelief. But he wasn't finished yet; not for that moment and not for the next two years. At first, I was indignant. But eventually, I came to believe I was a worthless human being who deserved to be beat up.
After I escaped from him, I started karate because I said to myself that I didn't want to let anyone physically abuse me again. I had imagined that my recovery would be simple. I must learn to defend myself. But physical self-defense training alone, is only a small part of recovery. What karate offers goes far beyond the bounds of a physical encounter. Abuse starts as a psychological phenomenon. I believed I was helpless and I believed I was bad. The physical abuse was only an extension of the emotional and verbal abuse. It was proof of how bad I really was. Because of this, it is not surprising that on my first encounter with fighting in karate, I would not see it as a sport, but as a personal attack. After all, in the past, physical violence reflected who I was.
After that first fighting class, my instructor talked to me about trust. "No one is here to hurt you," he said. "We are here to learn." This was something I had a lot of trouble believing. It took time for me to realize that if I got hit in class, I was not hurt, and I was not bad.
I would sit after my own class and watch the advanced students in awe. Initially, I had trouble imagining myself being able to jump, spin and kick the way I saw these students doing. When they executed a punch or side kick, I could actually hear their uniforms snap with the power. Sometimes they would hold padded targets for each other to kick. I was amazed to see them move in and literally send the person staggering across the room.
"How do you get better?" my instructor would ask me. I would stare at him blankly and he'd say "practice" and smile. It sounded so easy But he was right.
With practice, my body began to obey my mind, even when my limbs weren't willing. I did not learn to do this by "brute force"--pushing myself to limits through sheer will. Rather, I was taught by constant positive reinforcement. In my school, "can't" is a forbidden word. My instructor told me only what I did right and showed me how to improve on the rest. Through this gentle prodding, I became filled with a desire to make myself the best I could be.
As a woman who's suffered severe physical violence, the knowledge and skill to defend myself has been important. Yet it is only a small part of dealing with daily life, which rarely requires that I ever use that skill. In the past, I would avoid all conflict because I believed it could escalate into violence, over which, I was helpless. Somehow, that was ingrained in me. Even after I left my abuser, I continued to fear conflict.
Karate training allowed me to change that fearful attitude by acquiring the knowledge that I am capable of handling a physical encounter. This makes it less difficult to be assertive or stand up for myself because I have removed the thing that prevented me from facing conflict--the fear of being attacked. Furthermore, receiving recognition and encouragement in karate, as well as the discipline to stay with it, I gain the self-esteem necessary to believe that conflicts will not get control of me.
Karate, for me, has been all about taking control. The attitude I had as a victim was one of helplessness and powerlessness. I believe that karate training, along with support from friends, family and professionals, can help any woman whose suffered from abuse and violence. Now, when I kick a target across the room in my karate class, it is not just foam rubber that I'm kicking. Rather, it is fear.