One Comment Made Me Question Everything...

Last night in class, the instructor said something that stopped me in my tracks: “So many people get their black belt and never come back.”

That comment stirred something in me. Why is that? Is it because people become so focused on the belt—the destination—that they miss the beauty of the process?

I wanted to tell him (though it’s his dojo, not my place) that so many people could benefit from martial arts if they didn’t walk in thinking, “I’ll never get to a black belt.” That fear keeps them from even starting.

I have immense respect for those who have earned their black belt. I know how much work, courage, and grit it takes. The belt is not just fabric—it’s a symbol of years of discipline, sacrifice, and growth.

But for me, the belt isn’t the point. What matters is how martial arts challenges me, how it makes me grow, and how much fun I have in the process. The instructor will sometimes say things like, “If you continue to train,” or ask, “Am I going to see you next week?” And the answer is always yes. I don’t come because I’m chasing the next belt—I come because it is fun, powerful, embodied, and it challenges me. So yes, I’ll be back next week.

As I listened, another thought came to me: so many of my clients could benefit from this practice.

• Survivors of sexual assault.

• Those carrying complex trauma.

• People whose confidence was shattered after betrayal pulled the rug out from under them.

These are the ones who need to be in this room. Not because they’re chasing a belt, but because martial arts could give them back something they’ve lost—confidence, strength, courage, and the reminder that they are capable of growth.

I’m old enough now that I don’t care much about titles or what people think. I care about the becoming—the growth, the resilience, the person I’m shaping myself into through the process.

 The History of the Belt System

That reflection made me realize something: the belt system itself is a tradition. And like all traditions, it deserves to be questioned. So I did some digging into its history, curious about how it began and why it became such a defining part of martial arts.

In 1907, Jigoro Kano—the founder of Judo—introduced the first belt system. At the time, there were only two colors: white for beginners and black for advanced practitioners.

Over time, more colors were added to mark progress and motivate students. Before belts, Japanese martial arts often used a simple three-level ranking system: beginner, middle, and upper.

This shows that even traditions we think of as “ancient” are often modern inventions. They were created to serve a purpose—but like all traditions, they need to be re-examined to see if they still serve people today.

 Questioning Titles and Power

From belts, my curiosity naturally shifted to another tradition: titles. Words like Sensei and Shihan carry respect and history, and I don’t want to diminish that. But I’ve noticed something in myself: sometimes it feels strange to say them.

And then I think of my mom. She was a survivor of domestic violence, and I don’t think she has ever fully recovered. Imagine her walking into a dojo—a room full of men. She has to ask permission just to get a drink of water. She gets disciplined by being threatened with push-ups. For someone with her history, would that feel like growth? Or would it feel like another system of control, another reminder that she has to answer to authority?

Here’s the thing: I really like the instructors in this dojo. They are good men, and I don’t believe for a second that this is their intention. I don’t take it that way myself. In fact, I don’t feel unsafe here at all. But I’ve also done a tremendous amount of work on myself, and I know I can handle myself—and say no if something makes me uncomfortable. I can tell it would be respected by the instructors.

The bigger picture, though, is worth asking about. Could this hierarchy be part of why fewer women come back, or why there are so few in the room to begin with? Women might be drawn to martial arts to learn how to protect themselves—but would they feel protected by that hierarchy? What about a woman who is just beginning her healing journey? Would she feel empowered, or would she feel like she had stepped into another system where she had to obey?

I don’t raise this to criticize or to upset anyone who holds these titles. I share this not as a critique of any instructor, but as a reflection on how traditions can feel to different people depending on their journey. And if we want martial arts to be a place of healing and empowerment, it’s worth asking how these traditions land for everyone—not just those who already feel comfortable in the room.

 Traditions Beyond the Dojo

Once I started questioning martial arts traditions, I couldn’t help but notice how many other traditions in life carry similar weight.

• Christmas: A beautiful celebration of generosity and family, but sometimes overshadowed by consumerism and financial stress.

• Halloween: A playful tradition of costumes and candy, but one that can exclude families who can’t afford to participate.

• Valentine’s Day: Now a celebration of love and romance, but its roots are surprisingly dark. The holiday traces back to ancient Roman festivals like Lupercalia, which involved animal sacrifice and rituals far from romantic. Later, stories of St. Valentine’s martyrdom added a bloody undertone to what eventually became a day of roses and chocolates.

• Marriage: A sacred union for many, but also a tradition with complicated roots. Marriage certificates in the U.S. were historically tied to government control—often used to enforce bans on interracial marriage. What began as a way to regulate who could marry became a tradition that still shapes lives today.

• Divorce: Once taboo, now more accepted, but still stigmatized in some cultures. That stigma has real consequences—it sometimes keeps people trapped in abusive relationships, afraid of the judgment that comes with leaving. Yet divorce can be a path to healing, freedom, and new beginnings.

• Church: A place of worship and community, but for some, a place of exclusion rather than belonging.

• Retirement parties: A tradition that marks an ending, but often overlooks the new beginnings and identities people are stepping into.

• Birthday celebrations: Joyful traditions, but sometimes more about social expectations than genuine connection.

ARE WE SERVING THE TRADITION, OR IS THE TRADITION SERVING US?

The Bigger Picture

Traditions are not cages. They are meant to be doorways. The belt system, martial arts titles, Christmas rituals, Valentine’s roses, marriage vows, church pews—all of these are beautiful when they inspire growth, connection, and joy. But when they intimidate, exclude, or pressure, they risk losing their purpose.

The real beauty of traditions lies in how they help us become stronger, more resilient, and more joyful humans.

 My Personal Growth

For me, the moment I realized I didn’t care about belts came when I started learning the sword. I was enjoying the practice of perfecting the movements—being embodied, grounded, and present.

During Karate, when we punch the bags, I have so much fun. It reminds me how strong I am. I don’t care if I ever get a belt—I am enjoying the love of challenging myself and being strong. And I know so many people could benefit from that same joy.

I also think of my mom, a survivor of domestic violence. She would have never stepped foot in a dojo—but maybe she would have if she felt welcome, if she understood how it could help her feel confident again, how it could remind her she could protect herself. That would have been worth everything.

Closing Thought

Martial arts taught me that the belt isn’t the destination—it’s the process that matters. And maybe that’s true of all traditions. They are beautiful, yes. But they are most powerful when they serve people where they are today, not when people feel they must serve the tradition.

 Journaling Prompt

Take a moment to reflect:

• What traditions do you follow without ever questioning them?

• Is that tradition keeping you connected, or is it keeping you stuck?

• Does that tradition facilitate growth, connection, and joy—or does it weigh you down?