by
Jen Hendrickson
Athlete and Educator
(Copyright 1998. No part of this article, in part or whole, may be reproduced without written permission of Untaming Programs)
If someone had handed me the "Untaming" brochure, I would have never gone. I really didn't see myself as being someone who was tame. Luckily, I had a very good friend who pushed and prodded until I agreed to attend the untaming weekend. After all, it was just a weekend and I thought it might be a good idea to learn some self-defense techniques. So it was with a flippant attitude that I attended this workshop. Little did I know that it would be an incredibly integral piece to my personality, well being and womanhood.
I knew before I arrived that I was going to be asked why I had come. I had a wonderful non-descript answer all planned out that went something like I wanted to learn some self defense and that the class came highly recommended. This way I would remain safe. What I did not expect were the other members of my group. They were incredibly honest, telling their stories of abuse and neglect. Instead of my planned answer, I gave them the truth.
The truth is that I come from a family that does not discuss or demonstrate emotion. If there is a problem, well buck up and solve it. This attitude contributed to a young girl's inability to disclose sexual abuse by an uncle because it would have meant hurting a member of the family and admitting personal weakness. In my family, we solve other's problems, but we do not call on any help to solve our own. While spilling this to a group of strangers, I realized my own fears and my own anger. I could no longer feel flippant about this weekend. What I did feel, however, was a sort of naked fear for what was to come.
While learning to punch and kick, I began to build up my own defenses once again. I was very confident in my athletic ability and the hitting and punching was fun. I refused, at first, to connect the physical activity with my emotions. I was determined to beat my own anger further into myself. While hitting the pads or taking punches, I loved the physicalness of it, just as I had enjoyed the rush that my high school basketball games created for me. The activity became a whole lot more risky when Chelona told us to visualize something that had recently made us angry.
As I visualized a situation at work and felt my fists and feet land solidly into the bags, I felt for the first time, the power of my anger. I had spent time in counseling and had been pushed to an emotional edge several times, but this was different. The hitting somehow incorporated an entire body experience and my fists became an outlet for my anger and fear. The feeling that this created scared the hell out of me, but at the same time, it was exhilarating. I knew that the ultimate goal was for me to realize the same feeling with the emotions that went much deeper than a problem at work.
When the time came that we were asked to visualize the source of most of our anger, I found myself resistant to say the least. I knew it could very well result in my loss of control, which for me was the worst thing that could possibly happen. I was rather proud of myself when after I stopped that first time, I still had all my control intact. Nothing was going to make me revisit a place that I had no desire to. I thought I was off the hook. I did not count on Chelona asking our partners if we had succeeded, if we had reached the places in our hearts needed. Of course, my partner, the one holding the bag, knew that I had done nothing more than hit a black punching bag. It's funny how women sense when another is incomplete. Therefore I had to go again and this time I experienced anger that was so out of control that it was control.
I hit over and over. My group yelled their words of encouragement, but to me they seemed very far away. To my consciousness, it was just me, him and anger. It was more powerful than I had ever imagined it could be. My body sweat and my knuckles bled and at some point I realized that I was crying. When my muscles became completely numb and would no longer work, I stopped punching. I bent over in exhaustion. Sweat and tears ran down my face, but for perhaps the first time, I was not ashamed to cry. I wasn't crying out of pain, sadness or hate. My tears were tears of liberation. I was completely physically and emotionally exhausted and it was the best I had felt in years. I was finally at the end of a long journey and I reached that end by myself and through my own power.
This was only one day, but after this day I was ready for anything. I recommend this workshop for every woman. As a high school teacher, I see an incredible need for adolescent girls to realize the power that they have. Perhaps if they can realize this power, they can avoid the situations that so many women find themselves in. I know my story of abuse is not an original one. I believe that every woman has a story that contains powerlessness. The victory comes when the story does not win. I will never forgive my uncle or even feel compassion for him, but neither will I let him take anymore away from me, who I am or who I want to be. Thank you Chelona and Jenise.
Upgrading How You Relate by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
Friend, Stranger or Enemy by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
Protecting Soul and Psyche by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
The Answer is Mutual Respect by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
Certainty as the Cure for Anger II by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
Hate Crimes Against Women by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D.
Three Faces of Fear by David W. Edgerly, Ph.D. and Chelona Edgerly, Ph.D.
Embracing Weakness by Carol Hartung
Do The Hard Things by Connie Pruss
Strong Is Sexy by Chelona Edgerly, Ph.D.