What Learning Martial Arts Finally Taught Me About How I React (2026)
Even though I’ve been learning martial arts for quite a while now, one thing never changes.
Most days days are good, but some are bad.
Last week, in our striking class, we worked on switch kicks and counters to switch kicks.
It was not a good day.
My balance sucked, timing was way off, and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. Felt a bit of the old man creeping in. Not good.
At the same time, I felt as if my partner—younger and way more experienced—was waiting for me to catch up. As I continued to fuck up, I felt my brain go into overdrive. I could see myself messing up. I could feel what I assumed was his frustration with me.
And I felt like I didn’t belong there.
Afterwards, I found myself dwelling on it — and that’s when it hit me.
I’d gone through two distinct phases during that drill. I reacted in two different ways.
And then…I realized there was a more preferable way—which would have likely left me more satisfied and helped me get more out of the training.
And because I don’t want to spend my time bouncing between the first two, I decided to write about it.
The First Way: Push Harder (And Why It Fails in Martial Arts)
This is when my ego notices I’m not the best at something. So it defends. It tells me to push harder, to force the technique, to make up for the skill gap with sheer intensity and willpower.
I tighten up. I muscle through. I tell myself that if I just try harder, if I’m more aggressive, I can overcome what I don’t know yet. I felt this happening in the striking drill—this desperate push to make it work through force.
Sometimes it works for a second. Usually, it makes everything worse. I’m fighting against reality instead of working with it.
This is the armor. It’s what I built when I learned early that being good is safer than being exposed. It’s functional in some contexts—it’s how I got good at some things in the first place. But for learning things I’m actually bad at? It’s terrible.
The Second Way: Collapse
Or my nervous system goes the other direction. I notice I’m bad. My partner is better. And suddenly I’m convinced that this means something about me. That I’m inadequate. That I shouldn’t be here.
In that striking class, this is where I went. I replayed the mistakes. I felt small. I absorbed what I thought was his frustration as proof that I didn’t belong. I even apologized for messing up the drill.
This is the collapse. It’s just as ego-driven as the push, just pointed inward. I’m still measuring myself against an external standard. I’m just coming up short and deciding that means I’m a failure.
Both ways have the same root: they’re about protecting my sense of self. About not being exposed as someone who doesn’t know.
The Third Way: Just Do the Work
But there’s a third way. I haven’t fully gotten there in that striking class yet, but I’m learning what it looks like.
In this way, my nervous system notices I’m bad at something the way it notices that water is wet. There’s information in it, but there’s no judgment attached. No story about what it means about me.
I’m slow? Okay. I’ll work on that. My balance is off? Cool. That’s what I’m here to figure out.
My partner seems frustrated? Maybe he is. Maybe he’s frustrated with his own performance.
Either way, it’s not about me.
In this way, I’m just a person doing reps. I’m not trying to be the guy. I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m not trying to be better than I am right now. I’m just showing up and learning what comes next.
It sounds simple. It’s actually the hardest thing to stay in.
Why I Get Stuck in the First Two
I notice I stay in the first two ways because I’ve never really given myself permission to just be a beginner. Our whole culture is built on the idea that you should be good, that you should win, that you should figure things out quickly.
We learn early that being bad is dangerous. It means you’re not smart. It means you’re not capable.
It means people will judge you.
So we develop armor. We get defensive about what we don’t know. We muscle our way through things.
And when that doesn’t work, we collapse into shame.
But in being present, none of that matters. I’m not trying to maintain a story about who I am. I’m just learning.
The Presence Requirement: The Key to Learning Martial Arts
I notice the first two ways both pull me out of the present. I’m either fighting what just happened or anxious about what’s coming.
Neither is here, now.
Being present is the only way that works.
What Changes When I’m Present
When I’m being present, something different happens.
First, I actually relax. My body gets out of fight-or-flight. My nervous system settles.
Which means I can actually learn.
I can feel what’s happening. I can make adjustments. I can improve.
Second, I stop being a difficult training partner. I’m not defensive. I’m not apologizing for existing.
I’m just there, fully present, learning from my starting point.
That’s the only thing I can do, and that’s what I want to do.
People notice. Good training partners want to work with me more. Good coaches invest in me differently.
Not because I’m suddenly better, but because I’m actually learnable.
I’m not defending a story about who I’m supposed to be.
As We Age, This Matters More
Here’s what I’m learning as I age: my body doesn’t let me stay in the first way for long. I’m slower than younger people. I have less explosive power. I get tired faster.
Those are just facts.
I can spend energy fighting those facts (first way).
I can spend energy being ashamed of them (second way).
Or I can just do martial arts and accept that my body is getting older. That means thinking differently. Not chasing faster and better. Just showing up and learning what’s available to me now.
Being present is the only way that makes sense. It’s the only one that lets me actually show up.
Why Learning Martial Arts Is Different
I’ve had decades of practice at learning—reading, thinking, analyzing, strategizing. I’m generally good at that kind of learning.
But martial arts is different. It’s teaching me through immediate physical feedback in a way intellectual learning never has. I can’t think my way through a technique. I can’t rationalize my way out of it. My body either knows it or it doesn’t. There’s no hiding.
And that’s the point. Physical feedback is honest in a way thinking never is. It forces presence because you can’t fake it. Your body knows. The mat knows. Your partner knows.
That directness is what I love. It’s what makes martial arts such a powerful place to practice how to actually deal with the challenges life throws at us.
How I’m Practicing This on the Mat
If you want to stay present longer, here’s what I’m practicing:
Notice when you’re in the first way. Feel the tightening. Feel the pushing. Feel the need to be good. Just notice it. Don’t judge it. You’re human. But see it clearly.
Notice when you’re in the second way. Feel the shame. Feel the inadequacy. See that too.
Then ask yourself: what would it feel like to just do reps? Not to be good. Not to avoid being bad. Just to do the work?
Stay in that for as long as you can. It won’t be long. Your nervous system will pull you back to the first or second way. That’s okay. You just bring it back again.
Over time, you get better at staying present. Not all the time. But more of the time.
And that’s when actual learning starts.
If this resonated with you, you might also enjoy:
- Learning to Surrender in BJJ — why letting go is one of the hardest and most important things you can learn on the mat
- The Paradox of BJJ Humility: Learning to Fail Without Being a Failure — what it really means to show up as a beginner
- The Observer Advantage: Martial Arts Psychology for Strategic Thinking — how watching your own reactions changes everything
- BJJ Over 40: Complete Guide for Beginners — if the “old man creeping in” part hit home, this one’s for you
