the white belt diaries

I didn’t mean to disappear for three months.

I think I assumed that once I’d written about my first class, the rest would unfold neatly. That I’d keep showing up, keep improving, keep documenting the journey in tidy little entries. Instead, I realised that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing every time I go to class, and how can I write about what I don’t understand? I’d leave feeling exhausted and confused, thrilled from dopamine but disheartened from feeling like an dumb idiot. But growth started to happen quietly, and I feel I finally have something to say about my journey so far.

Most weeks, I made it to two classes. Some weeks I didn’t. Sometimes I sacked it off because I was tired or anxious or just couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes I stood in my kitchen already dressed for training and decided I would rather stay home. And sometimes I pushed past that feeling and went anyway. I’m learning that consistency does not have to be perfect to count.

One of the biggest anxieties I carried in the beginning was the fear of being the only woman there. Not because I don’t believe women can roll with men, but because I didn’t feel ready to navigate that socially. I imagined the awkwardness of having to refuse a roll, the attention it might draw, the explanation I didn’t want to give. That fear followed me into the gym for weeks. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened yet. There has always been another woman. And slowly, quietly, that anxiety has started to loosen its grip. Each time I walk in and recognise a face, each time I tie my belt without thinking too hard, I feel a little less like I’m trespassing in someone else’s space.

Confidence, I’m learning, does not arrive all at once. It accumulates.

Part of that shift came when I got my first stripe on my white belt, about two months in. It was such a small thing, a thin piece of tape that would be meaningless to anyone outside the room, but it landed in a surprisingly deep way. Not because it meant I was good, but because it meant someone had been paying attention. Someone had seen that I was turning up, trying, listening, learning. I didn’t suddenly feel capable. But I did feel acknowledged.

Another part of the confidence has come from no longer feeling completely clueless. I still forget techniques. I still blank under pressure. But I’m not lost in the same way. I understand the structure of the class now and what is expected of me. I know where to stand, when to bow, when to rest, when to try again. That alone has been grounding.

I’ve also started making friends. Slowly. Mostly with the women. There’s a particular kind of ease that comes from rolling with someone who understands your hesitation without you having to explain it. We don’t talk much outside of class yet, but there’s something about sharing that kind of physical vulnerability that accelerates familiarity. I feel less alone there now.

Something else shifted for me recently too. I started noticing that even the people I once saw as impossibly competent still hesitate sometimes. Purple belts pause. They reset. They ask questions. They make mistakes. Watching that has been strangely reassuring. The goal is not to reach a point where you know everything. The goal is to keep learning without freezing up when you don’t.

I’m still anxious sometimes. I still have days where walking through the door feels heavier than it should. But I’m no longer bracing myself for disaster. I’m starting to trust that I belong there enough to take up space without apology.

Three months in, I’m still a white belt… Now with one stripe.

I’m still learning, still inconsistent, but still showing up. And right now, that feels like progress.

Ciao for now,

Love, Mae xoxo