I went to my first Krav Maga class today. I’d heard of it over and over again and hadn’t felt any interest. Recently, though, a new friend of mine expressed desire to go and I looked into it. I got a free class and went by myself (she couldn’t make it).
I think if I’d known what was coming, I would not have been able to make myself go. So I’m glad I didn’t know.
You see, ever since leaving D, any type of fighting (whether participating or not, whether play or not) has been super triggering for me. Even just watching people wrestling while they laugh makes me feel like my body is being ripped apart, my heart mushed into a puddle. I want to protect them. I want to scream. I want to curl up in a ball in a corner and cry and not come out until I know it’s “safe.”
D never actually hit me. He did a lot of things not the least which was threaten me multiple times with his raised hand or pin me against things when I did things he didn’t like. So I never really understood why fighting specifically was so negative for me. I think, now, that it was just the idea of violence itself (or potential violence). It got worse after I found out five months after leaving him that he he had taken up shooting at the shooting range and was going to get a gun and conceal carry. I didn’t think he’d specifically come after me, but thought he would threaten people I loved. Mostly, I just saw him as entirely unpredictable and his anger would come out at totally random times and I never knew if it would lead to sulking or a sinister darkness that looked very much homicidal from my perspective.
Throughout this post, I’m going to be flipping between past and present frequently. I will denote the change with the dashes below so it is not as confusing. This is what PTSD looks like. This is what abuse feels like after it’s happened. It doesn’t go away. It lingers, it mutates, it affects everything…
Coming back to the present. When I walked into Krav Maga, the first warm-up exercise we did was trying to hit each other’s shoulder and also trying to block being hit. I’d been part of this kind of exercise before and knew that it triggered me in big ways. Even in it’s semi-playfulness and people bantering, I wanted to run out the door and never come back. I even asked one of the students (who I also found out was a teacher), S, if this was mainly all we did. She laughed and said “No, we’re just warming up.” I sighed with relief.
Oh, but it got worse. We then began actually punching each other (with pads). S mentioned this is not the “feminine flower” class after I apologized for nearly hitting her face. It was surprisingly comforting to not have to live by societal norms of a female. As we continued with the attacking/punching exercise with pads, S told me “Imagine someone just grabbed your butt. It’s not their butt. It’s yours. Tell them it’s fucking yours.”
Immediately, I sank into the anger I felt unleashed after I left D. I remembered searching up and down for a gym with a punching bag. All I wanted to do was punch the living shit out of a D replica.
I was reminded of the times I told him I didn’t want him smacking my ass in public and his response was always “But it’s my ass. I can do with it what I want.”
“That’s fucking right, that is my butt. It is NOT YOURS, you fucker!” I wanted to scream. The pad was suddenly D’s throat as I punched my elbow into it. S seemed to notice the change with a slight smile and was more off balance each time I pounded on the pad in front of her chest.
And then we got to the fake guns. Seriously. S pushed a fake gun into my spine and we were taught how to redirect it’s fire, break some fingers, and remove it from the person (and ya know, hit them with it a few times) until we had control of the gun and the situation.
As I pressed the fake gun into S’s back, I asked her what got her started in this. She got quiet and said she had an abusive ex husband among other things in her life that made her want to do something to defend herself. She said all this while in the middle of an elbow to my throat and removing a gun from my hand. She became a teacher of krav maga. I admitted I also had an abusive ex husband – though not physically abusive as much as physically threatening and emotionally abusive. She nodded. “You can bring someone to court with evidence of physical abuse, but it’s hard to prove PTSD. Emotional scars are just as damaging with less understanding or support.”
I wanted to hug her. But unlike the professional cuddler in front of her, she pointed out during our “attacks” that I shouldn’t “hug” her; I need to want to kill her (or the imaginary attacker).
By the end, my legs and arms were jell-o and my heart was entirely unsettled…and yet…I saw a light at the end of a very long tunnel. Every time something is especially hard for me, I know it’s something to look into and examine. And this gets right at the part of me that believes I am not capable – specifically not capable of defending myself against someone stronger or bigger or angrier than me (aka pretty much everyone).
I’m going to keep trying and facing my demons head on just like I did with climbing. Plus…I made a friend who “gets it.” Even if nothing else, totally worth it.
What are you doing to face your demons? What is your limitation from facing them? What motivates you to keep at it?