Two Truths & a Lie:
1. I have a black belt in mixed martial arts and instruct classes.
2. I danced for fourteen years.
3. My friend Anna broke my middle and ring fingers in martial arts. I was in fifth grade.
Ninety-nine percent of my tight-knit honors English class was fooled by this last year. The lie is number three: I broke my middle and ring fingers at recess; someone tripped me and I fell directly onto those fingers. A staggering amount of people, even those I considered close friends, thought number one was the lie. I later did a presentation about martial arts stereotypes.Â
Most of the presentation centered around the stigma surrounding martial arts, the idea that we train to “beat people up,” and the recurring responses, such as, “oh, so you could beat me up? Right now?” or “I’ll be careful around you!” I thought it was a bit too personal to discuss the exclusion of women in the sport at the time, though.Â
Until I hit my teens, my male peers and I were equivalent. Once I hit eleven or so, especially when I moved up to the adult class, I was treated as delicate, unskilled, and ignorant. Boys and men held back when working with me, and I noticed it was the same with other women, too.Â
Once I started instructing and earned my black belt, it got both better and worse. On one hand, the kids I worked with thought it was super cool, and their parents respected me, for the most part. Every now and then, though, I’d end up in psychological warfare with a forty-year-old man. I knew it had to do with my gender and overall appearance; I am five-foot-two and like to put my hair in braids, which tends to come across as juvenile.Â
I see myself in a lot of the younger girls I have taught. We all share this society-induced, unconscious need to prove that we’re “just as good as the boys.” As women, we don’t get the privilege of simply being talented, we get to be talented “for a girl.” We find ourselves punching harder, running faster, jumping higher, only to be undermined by the male majority. I can see it in their eyes, their battle against internalized, sports-branded misogyny, both in themselves and others.Â
Luckily, this feminine understanding creates a safe community for us amongst each other. Teaching girls and other women just feels different. They respect me, I respect them. They treat me like my knowledge and skill mean something. With them, I am powerful, and I hope they feel the same about me.Â
I hope, someday, my skill goes unquestioned, my warmth and feminine energy aren’t immediately considered a place of weakness; my rank and status don’t require proof. One day, I hope, my fellow girls and I don’t have to worry about proving ourselves to a man simply because of our anatomy.Â