Essay #13
A common misconception about karate is that people use it primarily to attack, but for me, it’s been a lifeline that’s given me the discipline and fortitude to cope with two of the most traumatic experiences of my life–my dad’s health scare and my run-in with a bully.
During first grade, I joined a Kicks Karate class with 14 rambunctious Tiny Tigers who acted like they’d had three cups of cappuccino before we began our warm-ups. Mastering skills such as “first-time listening,” which emphasizes focusing on the words of the instructor, allowed our unwieldy group to settle down and eventually learn the fundamentals. Our teachers also stressed the importance of good manners by requiring us to respond with “Yes, sir,” or “Yes, ma’am,” just like first-year cadets. This structure gave me a new lens through which I, the frequent class clown, learned to tamper my impulsive enthusiasm and home in on the hard-work mindset. By sparring with kids who were way bigger than I was; sweating through a brutal regimen of push-ups, sit-ups, and squats; and enduring candid critique sessions of my performance, I got the strength–from karate–to persevere.
Two years later, I needed to draw on that perseverance when my dad suffered a brain hemorrhage. I was a happy-go-lucky third grader, and I had no idea how to process this terrifying news. My initial discomfort turned into a recurring fear that my dad might not be in my life anymore. I was so young, but I wanted to seem brave, so I buried most of my fear under my skin. Even after my dad recovered, my overwhelming anxiety became this Godzilla that affected my sleep, playdates, parties, sleepovers, and other social gatherings. I needed almost constant reassurance that my parents were there, and I was safe.
My mom suggested therapy. I got the impression that it would shock my angst to death like Emperor Palpatine, so I was game. I had excellent rapport with my therapist, who pushed me to assess my problems independently and rationally. He gave me materials that provided strategies, and although these tools improved my understanding of anxiety, I struggled to put them to use. I still craved parental reassurance and couldn’t implement the therapist’s recommendations. My panic worsened primarily in the evenings. Every night felt like a game of Tetris, leaving my parents and me frustrated and puzzled.
My therapist thought melatonin might help, and I began to sleep much better. However, I hated being dependent on medication, and I still yearned to manage my anxiety on my own. That’s when the discipline and diligence I’d been practicing in karate kicked in and allowed me to focus on calming down and pushing through challenges–physical and emotional. I now had the patience I lacked as a Tiny Tiger. The wisdom I gained from therapy and karate about how to handle my anxiety helped me cope with a bullying incident my younger, more vulnerable self couldn’t have surmounted.
Sam was a first-degree black belt and junior instructor who was far more experienced than I. We were sparring, and he picked me apart like a spider dissecting its prey. He cornered me and screamed, “You’re no good at anything, and you need to start doing things right.” Every hit felt heavier because of his insults. His hazing got so bad that an instructor intervened, but Sam told him to leave because I “needed to understand.” After his humiliating barrage of gibes, I burst into tears the moment I got in the car. I didn’t return for another week, and I considered quitting, but somehow, I summoned the backbone to face Sam and continue competing for another two years. Without the perseverance karate taught me–the same skill I drew upon during my anxiety attacks after my father’s brain hemorrhage–I don’t think I’d have had the resilience to return to the mat.