Life Written

By Jenise English, M.Ed., LPC

Copyright, 2000. This article may not be reproduced in part or whole without express written permission from Celeritous Dancer, Chtd. and Best Selling Authors, LLC.

Decked in red pads that covered our faces, feet, and fists, we began to spar. We were both American females learning the culture of another country. It wasn't easy living in Ukraine and any camaraderie was welcomed. Kristen and I taught together in an international school and enjoyed a friendship. We decided to take kickboxing together and now faced each other in "battle".

Unsure of my own power, I played with my first jabs and punches, lightly striking my partner. I was embarrassed with my lack of assertiveness. Knowing we weren't allowed to walk from the ring until our skills had been demonstrated, I delivered my next punch, hard and decisive. She stumbled. My fists came down. Grabbing her, I apologized for the blow. I apologized! For what? Defending myself? Allowing myself strength and power? Thus, started my journey.

In the classes following, I was exhilarated with each kick and punch. I loved it! I could not verbalize the transformation that took place at the time. I only knew that as time passed, I became strong and confident. I was in the process of finding me, the "me" I had left behind at five years old.

I began to notice the way I walked down the streets of Kiev, Ukraine. I became aware of my surroundings and started listening to my intuitions. My posture straightened, my head held high. I felt protective, not only of my daughters but also of myself. An inner peace developed and I became content with my surroundings and the self I was discovering. The more I focused in kickboxing class, the more I focused within. Life took new meaning. I had started a journey, leaving behind a life that I would never return to.

At five years old, my twin brother and I experienced life to the fullest. We laughed, wrestled, explored. New games were created and a world imagined, beyond our own existence. We wondered and because we wondered, we experienced.

Gleefully, on a hot summer afternoon, my twin brother and I threw our shirts off and played in the pasture. My mother hollered at me to put my shirt back on. After all, I was a girl and girls don't do that. I was to be a "nice" little girl. My shirt went on. So did the insecurity, the stifling, and the slow loss of spirit. The skinny lodge pole pine trees that I had hugged at the very tallest tip while the wind swayed me now seemed uninviting. The cave we explored became dark and frightening. The anger I felt over injustice was hidden in a safe shelter within. After all, I was a nice girl.

As years passed, I became doubtful, anxious, and defenseless. Change frightened me. Choices were made not because of what I wanted or needed but of what I thought was accepted in the world around me. I was a girl. I was nice.

Divorce, assault, poverty enveloped me.

….and now…Ukraine, kickboxing. I was finding the strong self-determined five year old girl who voiced her demands, listened to her heart, wondered and experienced her world.

Returning to the states a year later, I was asked to join Dr. Chelona Edgerly in assisting the "Untaming the Tamed Woman" workshops. Never experiencing the process, I attended a twelve-week workshop before committing. Punches and kicks were learned. Ah, the love I had found in the Ukraine. Stories were told with the combination of physical workout and emotional sharing. I observed the women's lives changing. It was as if I was observing my own process when I had started kickboxing. The outer and inner self became one, both becoming strong, confident, intuitive, and empowered.

It was not until the final session of the workshop that I knew what was within. We were told we were to be attacked. Our attacker was padded. He would attack and continue to attack until we had successfully used our new learned skills to get him down and run to safety. There was the question of my own ability, hence fear. But the worst feeling was knowing that the "attacker" was my therapist. I had known him for fourteen years. I trusted him and had shared every secret. He wouldn't hurt me, would he?

As I stood in the middle of the room, the "attacker" approached, talking quietly to me. I reverted. He was my friend after all. I could trust him. I responded; he attacked.

His body was heavy, solid. I paused, knowing he would retrieve. He did not. Fear struck. The adrenaline flowed. I could quit or I could fight. I heard my voice cursing. I chose to fight. A punch in the face, a kick to the thigh and an elbow on his back as he crumbled to the floor. Victory. A rush of adrenaline and emotion overwhelmed me. I began to sob. Visions of being assaulted, of divorce, of my daughters being harmed at the hand of another man came…. and went. I was released. I re-wrote my own story. I can overcome my assailant. I can make wise choices. I can believe in me. I am a woman; I am empowered.

Other women's stores must be re-written. We must support and share with one another our strength, compassion, tenderness, creativity, intuitions, wisdom, and victories. We must give to each other what we know so we can understand and love who we are, for we are women, being all we have, all we know, and all we are.

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