Yes, Judo is a competitive martial art and also a competitive sport, with tournaments held round the world and officially recognized as an Olympic sport since 1964. But Judo is so much more than that, at least for me and many others in the world in love with it.
Any one who’s played on a sports team can understand that the sport is not just about moving your ass around and working up a little sweat to get fit and score goals. It’s about teamwork and camaraderie, discipline and respect, perseverance and goal-acquiring. But even after considering all of these marvelous benefits to playing a sport, Judo is still more than all of these combined for me. Here’s the perfect illustration of what I mean:
When I first stepped onto those mats at the wrestling room of Rutgers University for my first Judo class, I was a hot damned mess. My parents were in the middle of the worst-case scenario divorce. You know, the kind of divorce where one parent calls you to vent about the other parent and then tries to pit you against him or her? And then when you finally end that phone call, the other parent—as if right on cue—calls you to do the same damn thing? On top of that, I ended a relationship with my first love ever from college and was still recovering from a traumatic experience committed by a betraying “friend.” And that betrayal of morals “friend” of mine led to even more losses within my shared college circle of friends. Yup, I was a hot mess at that time alright. I had hit “Rock Bottom” (not quite unlike Spongebob’s Rock Bottom actually):
For the first time I really felt all alone, constantly questioning the meaningfulness of living. I felt like I was coasting by day by day during those times, no direction and no guidance from anyone, not even within myself. Sad, but true… Despite the rock bottom feels I felt during that time in my life, I had this energy—this adrenaline rush—surge through me to do something about it. I was feeling pretty lousy about myself at the time, so I desperately wanted to change my attitude about myself first and foremost. I didn’t want to feel so powerless in difficult situations anymore. And I wanted to find something I could love again, especially after losing so many loved ones in different ways all during the same time period of my life.
Determined to fight on from my hard times, I decided to try the common approach to healing from heart wounds: I tried therapy and counseling services. And the best damned answer I got from that experience was a therapist suggesting I carry around a “care package” to make myself feel better! I shit you not on this. The “care package” was to include items I enjoyed that “incorporated the 5 senses”: a favorite candy for taste; a perfume or lotion for smell; a “smooth stone” for touching; a favorite picture to look at; and god only knows what you could fit into a tiny wallet or purse that you could hear…!
Sadly, this is exactly what the therapist recommended for a sexual assault victim who had lost nearly all connections with her loved ones at once. Pretty damn sad for me and for my therapist. (I shudder to think of all the other similar “therapeutic” practices psychologists currently utilize to “help” and guide a troubled individual in the right direction after going through a very challenging time. One such practice I can immediately think of that is an equally ineffective “solution” that I’ve observed plenty of psychiatrists adopting more and more these days is the prescription of “happy pills” and “tranquilizers” aka drugs galore! Boy oh BOY do psychiatrists LOVE the idea of feeding happiness to their patients—basically shoving it down their throats!—in the form of a small, bitter pill! I suppose I can rant more about this later under the Psychology tab, though). But I digress!
So there I found myself again—a depressed fish in an empty pond. Therapy proved ineffective and probably even hurt me in the long run because for one, it was a complete waste of my time, and secondly, it left me feeling even more hopeless about ever truly recovering. Any hope I had left remaining was slowly dwindling away. I was getting pretty desperate at this point…
And this is the point where I pretty much gave up caring about much else and said “Fuck it, I got nothing else to lose. Nobody cares, and neither do I. I want to learn how to beat up some guys. At least the next one who gives me trouble will feel my wrath to the fullest extent.” And that’s where I searched for and found my beloved Judo, as described in my first blog post. And Judo—not a magic pill or textbook answer (or cringey “care package”)— was my final answer to my problems with trauma, depression and anhedonia.
As I work up a sweat and my heartbeat from an intense Judo training session, repeatedly drilling to throw a person over my hips or shoulders or mounting in a pin or contorting my body in all different angles to execute an armbar, I slowly release all of my pent up emotions built up and bottled over the years. The anger stemming from the twice-betraying college friend, dissipated. The hurt and heartbreak over the breakup with my heated on-again, off-again first love in college, slowly mended day by day. The built up resentment towards certain family members rooted from my childhood, slowly alleviated each and every day I give my all for Judo.
Little by little, the pent up anger and hatred carried over from many years of troubled relationships transformed into passion and love for Judo. Bit by bit, my hardened, cold heart softened and warmed and I learned to smile again. Slowly, very slowly, the only hurt suffered was caused solely for the sport.
I’m not saying Judo is the answer for everyone during tough times. But I’m certainly saying it was for me.
