Saturday, July 3rd-
I was having an internal conflict.
Should I go back to jiujitsu or not?
I was scared shitless of getting “found out” as trans somehow. I imagined them pulling my pants down and realizing that I was AFAB; I conjured up thoughts of them assaulting me by feeling my breasts or crotch and then beating me up. These thoughts haunted me. But at the same time, I realized that the fear was perhaps a signal of what I actually should do to leave my comfort zone, pointing me in the direction of what I wanted and needed.
I was seriously considering not going to training. The voices inside my head said: Maybe I should just call it. Nobody will notice if I don't show up. Nobody will care. As one friend said, “it doesn’t benefit anyone.” Why not just take the week off and train in Prague when I get back? You don’t have to train. Just take the time to relax and chill at the hostel.
“You don’t need to train,” the logical part of my brain kept insisting; the part of me that wanted to keep me safe.
And yet. And YET.
Jiujitsu does benefit me. This opportunity to go back to Golden Eagle was not only about training jiujitsu. It was about presenting male, making connections, having fun, and playing. It was about taking care of my mental health. It was about cultivating social connections and emotional health. Jiujitsu in that moment was about accessing every part of myself and being vulnerable with others. It was about stepping outside of my comfort zone. It was about challenging myself. It was about doing what I wanted to do, creating the life I wanted for myself, and training the sport that I love.
I looked deep inside myself and asked, “What do you want?” The answer was clear: “I want to play.” I could not deny my inner-child the chance to play—what was I going to say to him, “Sorry, it’s too risky because you’re trans, you have to stay home”???
No! That’s not what I would want for myself; that’s not what anyone else would want for their kid either, trans or otherwise. What I wanted to say in response was: “YES! Go play! YES, you deserve this chance to play just like anyone else. I don’t want you to be limited or limit yourself because you are trans. You deserve the full spectrum of human experience. Yes, your life is inherently riskier now, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put yourself out there.”
I wanted to go. I wanted to play with the other kids.
After deciding that I would go to training this evening after all, I laid down in bed to re-fuel and re-charge mentally. I felt a sense of dread and doom wash over me. My mind kept telling me, “This is too dangerous, this isn’t worth the risk.” But it was something I wanted to do for myself anyway.
I did some reading to relax. I pulled out my phone and messaged Golden Eagle, letting them know that my COVID test was negative and confirming that we had class at 7 tonight. They said in response, “Yes, and also maybe you could come help with the kid’s class at 5:30?”
I responded with a simple: “Yes [smiley face emoji].” Nothing else to get me going somewhere faster than to make me feel like I’m helping. (If you want to get me to do something, just tell me that I’m going to be helping someone out and I’ll be there. Yes, I am type 2 on the enneagram…) The drive to go was stronger now that I was feeling like they needed and wanted me there.
I looked at the clock. It was already 4:40. I needed to leave soon to get there on time for the kid’s class. I did a 5-minute meditation. The meditation ended, and I prayed: “Universe, give me the strength to do your bidding. Give me the strength to help out where I am needed. Give me the strength to spread Love.”
I got up and got changed. I put on my tightest sports bra (thankfully I was gifted such a small chest; I don’t know how other trans men survive before top surgery). I put my passport away (I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing it somehow and seeing my birth name). I put my period stuff in a separate pocket in my backpack so that nobody would see it if I opened up the main pocket. I did 5 minutes of foam rolling to get my muscles ready and was out the door, getting a Yandex (Kyrgyz Uber) and heading over there. I was anxious, and had to do breathing exercises the entire way there to stop from hyperventilating.
A big part of me still wanted to give up and go home. Then I thought to myself, this is my misogi.
Misogi was a term I had learned listening to a podcast called “The Benefits of Discomfort,” which was an interview about a book called The Comfort Crisis.
Misogi has been appropriated by Western culture to mean something different from the original Japanese definition, not unlike what has happened to yoga. The word misogi translates as "water cleansing." It’s a Japanese and Shinto practice of ritual purification that typically involves people drenching themselves in freezing cold water, usually a waterfall.
The "new misogi concept," aka the Western re-appropriation of the term and idea, is the name for a certain kind of extreme challenge.
According to Michael Easter, the author of the book featured on the podcast, a misogi is a rite of passage. A misogi is specifically a challenging mission where you want to give up and there is a very real chance of failure. If one does succeed in the misogi, they have the opportunity to slay a dragon, and very often that dragon is actually themself—often the part of themself that is doubting, limiting or hindering them in some way. This is the hero motif that runs through so many stories because it resonates with the human experience: a problem or a challenge that the protagonist overcomes, often by slaying the enemy, and sometimes that enemy is an aspect of the hero themselves.
I knew that in terms of jiujitsu training, there was a 50/50 chance that I could fail—that I will lose at sparring, get tapped out, get smashed and/or get “found out” as AFAB. This evening was my challenge, my misogi. It was my opportunity to slay my dragon: the dragon of self-doubt. It was my opportunity grow into myself in my confidence and belief in myself.
The Yandex arrived at Golden Eagle and my (mini) misogi began.
When I entered the building, it was like I entered a different world. It was a world where I was male. I greeted the males on the sidelines—the dads watching the kids’ class—with a handshake using two hands as was customary in this gym for all the males. I put my backpack and my money belt to the side and put on my gi.
Kids' Class
I told the instructor—a short, stalky Uyghur man with a long beard who spoke English—that T had told me to come help with the kid’s class. The coach seemed surprised—nobody had informed him that I was coming, apparently. T himself was nowhere to be found. He said I should wait on the side and he would let me know.
I did some stretching on the side while the kids played a warm-up game of tag. Then the coach invited me to play a dodge ball game with the kids with a huge bouncy ball. The coach and I ran around throwing the soft ball at the kids to get them out. While the kids screamed and giggled, we threw the ball at them and they dodged us and ran around. The kids also played some games of leap frog to warm up (and they were SO cute).
Then we did some jiujitsu drills in a circle and I joined them, and the kids helped me out when I didn’t understand the Russian, pointing out when I was going in the wrong direction. Next, the kids all sat in a circle while pairs would go in the middle of the circle and roll while the coach yelled at them competition style, telling them what to do.
The kids (ranging from 4-7 years old) were really good, passing guard, maintaining guard, and putting on armbars and chokes. Some of the kids had on expensive and new brand name Shoyoroll, Tatami, and Hayabusa kid’s gis that I'm sure ranged in the hundreds of dollars. Others had faded or torn blue gis, some just had a gi top and no gi pants (just shorts), and some of the kids didn’t have gis at all. It was clear that these kids came from a wide range of different economic backgrounds. We were in the Uyghur neighborhood and many of the members were Uyghur—and Uyghurs in KGZ range from privileged to impoverished. Clearly these kids were from a range.
The kids were so cute, struggling as hard as they could, some with their parents shouting at them from the sidelines, some parents taking videos of them. One dad was particularly vocal when a kid got in the middle and Z (one of the guys I trained with who spoke English) stood behind him mouthing at me, “It’s his father.” I just laughed. The kid looked exactly like him and it was so obvious that this dad was projecting onto his kid everything he wished he could be or could have been.
They sparred for about 30 minutes, but I was just sitting on the sidelines doing nothing, I couldn’t really help because the class was being instructed in Russian. While I can speak Uyghur and Kyrgyz people can understand me, I don’t know enough Kyrgyz for the kids to understand me. I offered to the instructor to roll with some of the kids who were sitting out—the kids on the sidelines were clearly getting bored and distracted, many running off to go play with each other while the others sparred. I rolled with a few of them, but they were clearly intimidated by me and many were too scared to roll with me.
Training
After the kid’s class, the coach and some of the other men with long beards went into a back room to pray. I stretched while waiting for the adult’s class to start. Everyone else in the class was a white belt. We did some warm up drills.
It was at this point that I started to get really nervous. Everyone was bigger than I was—a lot bigger. I noticed a 4-stripe white belt I hadn’t seen before who looked really strong with really broad shoulders. He was tall and looked mean. My heart started beating faster.
In that moment—warming up and looking at all the big guys around me—I kind of started freaking out. I was really scared that I would get smashed and that I would get found out. I felt sick to my stomach, like I was going to vomit. My face got hot, my heart was beating fast, I almost started hyperventilating. I was light headed and a little dizzy, and my mouth was dry. But I kept telling myself to just stay present, and that I was connected to universal energy that would give me strength.
We drilled a cool armlock from bottom of guard I had never learned before: overhook the arm and grab the opposite lapel, hip out, put the opposite foot on their hip and the other foot by their armpit, squeeze the knees).
I was paired up with a Uyghur man with a long beard with red in it. He was very adorable and didn’t say much to me. He was shy. At that point, I started feeling better as I was able to get present while we were drilling and felt more confident in what I was doing.
In the middle of drilling, the two smaller blue belt guys I had trained with last Thursday came in carrying a championship belt and a gold medal. They explained that they had competed at a tournament yesterday and they had won the championship medal. Everyone cheered them.
After class, we had sparring time and the one blue belt—we’ll call him R—called me out and asked me to roll.
We rolled, and I could tell I was better than him and maybe even stronger than him, but I still struggled a bit to get into my groove. He didn’t tap me but I didn’t tap him either. Then, I rolled with the other blue belt—we’ll call him Irafat. He tapped me at the end with a bow and arrow choke. Irafat and I went a second time, and this time he didn’t get me—and I didn’t get him either, it was a draw.
We were all breathing and sweating heavily at this point. We all rested for a minute and they shared their water with me. I went with R again, and this time I got on top and was able to hold him and submit him. I was exhausted, rolling as hard as I could every roll and completely out of breath. A part of me, again, wanted to give up. I told myself I would keep rolling until there was no one left to roll with, until everyone else went home. This was my misogi.
So Irafat and I rolled again, and this time I submitted him four times, and he got me twice. I don’t even know how it happened. It was a disembodied experience; it happened so fast and I just let muscle memory completely take over. I remember I got on top and told myself to keep heavy hips pressing down on him. All I remember is that I got him with a bow and arrow, arm bar from bottom of guard, an Americana from mount and one other submission that I don't remember. We just kept going without stopping between submissions. He was gracious and didn’t let up on his aggression either. After that one, he said he was going home.
R said he would roll one more with me. We rolled and again I couldn’t submit him but he couldn’t submit me either. It was just complete presence and muscle memory; it was too fast to process anything or think about anything. It was just pure brain to body.
After our roll, R said, “Okay I’m going home now.” By that time, we had been rolling for an hour and everyone else was gone.
I had made it to the other side. I had made it to my goal of being the last one on the mat. I had slayed my dragon.
Going Home
I left, tired and parched, out of breath and red-faced. I grabbed my backpack and walked out without my shoes. I put my shoes on in the lobby. I bought a water from the bar tender downstairs who giggled shyly at me.
As I waited outside for a taxi, Irafat came out and offered to drive me home. I told him in Uyghur that I was getting a taxi, so he took my phone and called the driver he was cancelling the ride. He cancelled the ride in the app and told me to get in the car. I showed him where my hostel was on Google maps and we were on our way.
He put YouTube on his phone and had Kyrgyz music playing in the background. We stopped at a mini mart, and he got a Coke, which he shared with me—the sweet liquid and spicy bubbles dissolving on my tongue. He sped down the highway, dodging cars left and right. He offered me a juicy nectarine he had in the back seat. We danced in our seats and ate the nectarines, juices spilling over our chins and down our shirts, throwing the pits out the window.
While we danced to YouTube videos we drank out of the 1L Coke bottle. It was cool and refreshing, the bubbles and the sugar exactly what my throat needed and my tongue wanted. When eating nectarines, the fuzzy, tough skin was hard to break through while the soft meat of the fruit popped and juice drizzled down my shirt and covered my hands and chest. The sticky juice covered my pants as I wiped my hands.
When we got to my hostel, he pulled over and showed me the videos on his phone from the tournament yesterday, where he had gotten two submissions by triangle. I told him that he did awesome and he smiled shyly. I congratulated him, and was genuinely proud of him for his effort. As I got out of the car, I told him I would see him on Tuesday. He said, “for sure.”
I made it out to the other side of my misogi.
I had a break through that night, in terms of my identity but also my confidence and the way I believe in myself and feel about myself. Like I’m finally becoming comfortable with myself in a way I never thought was possible. Like I deserve this. Like I belong. Like I have value.
I’m so glad that I didn’t give up, that I took the risk. It was 100% worth it to get the chance to challenge myself, play, train, work my body and my mind, and make new friends. I was in heaven.
I’m grateful for getting to the other side of my misogi, slaying my dragons: My dragons of being scared to be trans, my dragons of being scared to go hard at jiujitsu, my dragons of insecurity and not believing in myself. What I did tonight was the definition of play because I went out there but didn’t know what the outcome would be. It turned out to be quite fun.
I don’t feel like I’m spying or undercover or an imposter anymore. I feel genuine. I feel like myself.
I continued to train jiujitsu a few more times in KGZ. Of course, it was still difficult to go there and not be openly trans/queer, but it was still incredibly liberating. Besides jiujitsu, the rest of my time in KGZ was filled with hiking and working with a local LGBT organization, where I could be open. I will continue this blog series with tales from those other adventures.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: It is interesting re-reading and writing this now, 1.5 months later as I travel through Europe and Berlin and train there. Now it is completely natural to present as male at jiujitsu—in Prague where I have come out as well and in the gyms I visit—and it is not scary at all anymore (of course, the fear factor might also be a function of being in countries where it is not a huge threat to my life to be trans). And it definitely feels genuine and authentic. Looking back on myself not so long ago, it is interesting to note the change as I grow into my trans identity.
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