the white belt diaries

I booked the class.
I braided my hair.
I even emailed the gym to say, “See you tonight!”

But I didn’t go.

It was a free taster session for a woman-only class at the local Gracie Barra gym. I’d found it online a few weeks earlier, then stared at the booking page for longer than I care to admit before finally pressing submit. I was nervous, obviously, but also proud of myself. I’d finally taken a step. A real one. This wasn’t a daydream or a Pinterest board. It was a real class, with a time, and a place, and people.

The afternoon it was due to happen, I spiralled headfirst into BJJ YouTube. First-timer advice, what to wear, what to expect. Women talking about how they felt after their first class; sore, sweaty, overwhelmed, but also empowered. I wanted to feel like that.

I spent nearly an hour trying to get my hair into the perfect Dutch braids. Not because anyone cares, but because it made me feel like someone who was going to show up. I wasn’t just preparing; I was convincing myself.

But I think a part of me already knew I wasn’t going.

Still, I left on time. I got in the car, played an old favourite album by Jhené Aiko (because your girl Jhené knows how to wrap your nerves in silk), and tried to stay in the zone. I took deep breaths. I imagined myself walking into the gym smiling, being greeted, getting changed. The version of me I saw in my head was so calm and brave. I wanted to be her.

Then I took a wrong turn. Just a small one. But I got stuck behind a temporary traffic light. Then another.

The minutes ticked by. And something shifted.

I could technically still make it, just about. But not early. Not with time to be shown around or ease into the space. I’d be flustered, late, uncertain – and I panicked. The kind of quiet panic that doesn’t scream, just calmly suggests: you don’t have to do this, you know.

So I didn’t.

I drove around for nearly an hour, listening to the rest of the album. Letting it wrap around me like a blanket. Then I went home.

I lit some candles, rolled out my yoga mat and did a few half-hearted stretches in an attempt to salvage the hour, to convince myself I’d moved. But my body felt stiff. My breath shallow. I felt so annoyed at myself! Not just for bailing, but for not enjoying the stretches like I used to. It used to feel incredible, other-worldly almost, the way my body opened and responded to a deep ujjayi breath. But now it feels like I’m moving through sludge. My limbs resist. My mind races. The connection I used to have is gone.

And I keep wondering… Did I take the wrong turn on purpose? Was I subconsciously hoping to have an excuse? Was this about traffic, or fear?

Maybe it’s just good old fashioned social anxiety. The idea of walking into a tight-knit martial arts community as a complete beginner is a lot. That’s why I booked a female class, to take some of the nervous edge off. At least I wouldn’t have to look vulnerable in front of men. Maybe instead I’ll book private session first, just to get the lay of the land. Maybe that will help.

Is this about the class, or is it about what the class represents? Showing up. Committing. Letting myself be new at something. Letting myself try again.

I don’t have the answer yet.

But I’m still here. I haven’t given up. I flaked, yes. But I’m writing this. That counts for something (I hope!)

All my love,
Mae