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.

Thanks Mom

By Jenise English, M.Ed., LPC

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran for her corner of safety. Fear and anguish covered her face, telling the story of where she had been. Unable to move, I stood watching, holding back my own tears as my heart raced. Physical pain pounded within me from the emotional experience. I wanted to reach out and hold her, keeping her from anymore hurt. I couldn't. Not only would I not allow myself to, but she must celebrate her own victory. She won! Yes, tears streamed, fear lingered but she had won.

It had happened three years prior. Friendship, laughter, infatuation. She was dark, cute, fun loving.

"Will you?"

"No." She said no. He didn't listen. Date rape.

She kept it hidden, pretending it didn't exist, wishing it would go away. She became hostile and belligerent while dying on the inside.

She requested counseling. Stories told, secrets shared. Weeks later in an angry outburst, she shared with her mother her story. Silence. Questions. Gripping pain. Tears. Tears of relief, of loss, of renewal.

Confidently she entered the "Untaming the Tamed Woman" workshop. She was ready for changes. With fists formed, she punched the bag with her partner. Her strength was incredible and reached beyond what she knew. With each learned kick, she blasted the bag. She worked herself, determined to overcome her own loss at age fourteen.

I had assisted several "Untamed" workshops with Dr. Chelona Edgerly but this was different. It was our first adolescent workshop. The energy level soared. We had to maintain high stamina to meet their vigor as we facilitated the group. And, I was highly intrigued with the little dark haired girl who appeared so determined. Wanting to give her the space she needed to perform her tasks, I moved to the other side of the room to assist the other female adolescents. As Chelona gently prodded and encouraged her, I observed the emotional changes already occurring.

As these young ladies learned the physical moves, their emotional beings were transformed. They punched, kicked, sparred, shared, cried. But would they use their learned skills?

Again, I focused on the little dark haired girl in the corner. She sat huddled with the others. Waiting. Wondering. Could they fight him off? She stood and slowly made her way to the middle of the room. The attack came quick and hard, bolting her. She quickly turned, kicking and yelling. Her body became a tool of strength and her voice one of demand. He was down. She beat him. Not just the man in the pads through an assimilated attack but the date rape. She can demand, she can fight, she can win.

Exhausted, hugging, laughing as they experienced their own victory, each girl found their own soul defense. As they left, thanking us for their experiences, I wondered what tomorrow or the next day would bring for them. Could they really defend themselves in any given situation?

A week later I stood facing the cute little dark haired girl from the workshop, bantering her with a few jabs and punches as I had done in the past. She had never fought back or attempted to defend herself. Today was different. Her brown eyes glared. Without any warning, her fist pulled back and struck. Doubling over, I grabbed my throbbing stomach, unable to speak. I had my answer. Once we as women internalize that we are strong, powerful beings, we can and will defend ourselves physically and emotionally.

I stood, tears swelling. She had won. She had become an untamed, empowered woman, defending herself. We hugged and cried.

"I am so proud of you," I told her.

"Thanks, mom."

Other References:

Beating My Story by Jen Hendrikson

Do the Hard Things by Connie Pruss

Embracing Weakness by Carol Hartung

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