The impostor complex is strong with this one.
Black belt. First of all, I have endless gratitude and appreciation for Professor Draculino Vinicius Magalhaes and the other instructors at both Gracie Barra Webster and Pearland, most especially to Professor Brandon Mullins, Professor Marcelo Uirapuru , Professor Lucas Valente, Professor Andressa Mezari Cintra, Professor Berto, Professor Ricky Rivas, and every other instructor and training partner. Special thanks to Professor Vinh Diesel for gifting me a limited edition Shoyoroll black belt. Thank you to newly-minted Professor Allen Cook and his better half, Putu Sutjita Cook for flying me out to attend and get promoted together. Congratulations to everyone who was promoted, including and especially the other black belts.
The impostor complex is strong with this one. I didn’t feel like my story was worth sharing during the graduation ceremonies, especially considering those of the others who got theirs. It was not as if mine was less valid or less worthy of other people’s time. But I sure felt like it. When my voice started to crack and my eyes started to mist, I stopped myself and resorted to my defense mechanism: dad/bad jokes. I have been insecure with my skills since I started — this is a vicious cycle because I am almost always in my head whenever I roll, which, of course, adversely affects my performance — as with anything I ever participate in. My own father inculcated in me that I “may be booksmart but I know nothing of practical value” and that I “lack any talent in anything,” which may have turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Hell, I only started going to open mats after getting my third stripe on my purple belt because I did not want to waste anyone’s time rolling with me.
For the longest time I was content in not getting “tapped.” I didn’t care if I got swept, mounted… name it — as long as I could defend my neck and limbs I was fine. Then the pandemic hit and just like countless people around the world, I had plenty of time and opportunities to do some introspection. I was one of those who parroted the cliche, “Jiu-Jitsu saved my life.” I even wrote about it (and my experience with Anthony Bourdain) during my brief stint at a little-known site called “Grappling Insider.” I had realized that Jiu-Jitsu was not therapy per se. It did not save my life (the exercise aspect literally did, certainly); it was the feeling of self-worth that every class (as a student or as an instructor) did. I was miserable for years because of marital and family issues. It was so bad that I had insomnia for seven whole months in 2016. I developed anxiety. To this day I have panic attacks, suicidal ideation, and very little sleep.
In Jiu-Jitsu I also realized that that other cliche held true: growth happens outside of your comfort zone. Sure, I was not getting submitted by just defending my neck and limbs until either my training partner gets tired or the time runs out. But was I improving at Jiu-Jitsu? Only when I decided to open up and take more risks did I start to develop and improve, albeit gradually. This past summer I moved out of my own house to live by myself in an apartment. I had ample time to be alone and reflect. It did not help, especially with the suicidal ideation. In July I went on a solo soul-searching road trip westward. It was in California where I felt loved and cared for by loved ones, where I felt it was safe to start over. I stepped out of the familiar — I can never call it my “comfort zone” because I was miserable — and found a chance to grow and live again.
I told only a few because I did not feel it — and by extension, I — was worth anyone’s time. Regardless of what people around you say, your life and story are not any less valid or less worthy as others’. Comparison is the thief of joy — and just like Professor Draculino said, my black belt should not be compared to those of the others. Some were active competitors and champions but to be sure, each one of us has our own development arc. My arc is discrete and distinct from theirs and thus can never be compared. To illustrate, Professor Lucas’s skills are insane and I am mediocre at best. But he is an elite competitor who started training in adult competition class at 12 years old and went toe-to-toe with the legendary Lucas Lepri, with whom he went 0–0 at Worlds 2019.I am a hobbyist who quit competing after participating in two opens in 2013 (by the way, not one of the GB instructors know about either time. Don’t do that.). We both do Jiu-Jitsu and we both have black belts. Are we comparable? If you play basketball on the weekends, should you be compared to an NBA All Star player? Should you stop playing basketball altogether?
I am an embodiment of Gracie Barra’s mission and vision which is succinctly phrased in the motto, “Jiu-Jitsu for everyone.” Not just for elite athletes and bemedaled competitors. Everyone. If I, with asthma and COPD, no talent whatsoever, anxiety and sleep deprivation, can do it, surely you can too.
The fact that other black belts accepted my promotion begrudgingly, took pictures with every other person who got their black belt and posted about it on their social media account is not lost on me. Some of my dearest friends did the same for me and/or messaged me directly. I am no less happy or appreciative. I have enough self-awareness. But I will not allow my dad or those who look down on my Jiu-Jitsu to minimize or take this accomplishment from me. After all, surely, Professor Draculino knows better than they do.
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