A line in the sand.

People often ask me how I started training.  It began with a crisis in confidence.  I was at college writing my senior year thesis.  My professor went on sabbatical in the middle of that year.  He offered to keep helping me during his time off to write his book, but being a New England girl, I felt that it would be too forward of me to take him up on the offer (In hindsight that kind of thinking was just foolishness that did me a disservice.  I would tell any of my students today to take advantage of such generous support as long as they were comfortable working with their professor). 

In any case, my professor’s replacement was both philosophically and ideologically on the opposite end of the spectrum.  At each meeting with this new advisor, I found myself struggling to stand up to him and effectively communicate.  My confidence was eroding quickly and every week I left his office more discouraged.  I was growing increasingly worried that my lack of confidence would affect the outcome of my thesis review. 

Riding my bike home one night after one awful meeting, I decided I had to do something for myself to regain my confidence – what I needed was to take a women’s self-defense course.  I knew there was a woman who taught self-defense on campus, but I didn’t want to take the class there because the college was the source of my distress.

Instead, I sought out her school where I learned that they didn’t teach women’s self-defense because they shared space with a dance studio and only had a few hours on the schedule, instead they taught only an Indonesian martial art.  But, they assured me, all the women’s self-defense was based on the martial art.  I decided to give it a go.  I was hooked in a few short weeks. 

You should know that I am not a natural athlete.  I was a kid with asthma, and gawky.  More than anything I wanted to be a dancer or athlete but I was often either falling over (generally clumsy), having awkward arms (“too long for the ideal” one ballet teacher told me), or sitting on the bench (because two lengths of the basketball court with the excitement of the game had me wheezing on the sideline).  Fortunately, I am a plugger – perseverant to a fault.

So, I kept going to class. And, the most amazing thing began to happen.  With each hold (response to an attack) I learned, I gained more confidence in my body.  With each iota of physical skill, I felt a bit better in my own skin. I began to feel more confident in increments.  The physical change first manifested in having a greater awareness of my self and my surroundings.  I noticed people on the street more and was more aware of how they took up space, whether it was on the bus or in the classroom.

My increasing physical awareness and sense of physical power seemed to enhance my sense of my own boundaries and other people’s – and not just the physical boundaries, things like who stood too close, who was overbearing or used their body or voice to intimidate.  But also, the non-physical ones, who interrupted, who started to speak and got interrupted unable to finish their thought, who condescended or insulted.  

Suddenly, I was able to stand up for myself.  It was as if, once I knew I could draw a line in the sand physically and back it up, I could draw non-physical lines in the sand for myself.  I started setting boundaries for myself, including standing up to my advisor and finding my voice in our thesis meetings. 

Even better, I was standing up for and with others. In one class, several people used condescension and interruption to make their points, frequently preventing several women from being able to finish their thoughts.  I approached two of the women and asked if we could make a pact.  If we noticed one was being interrupted.  We would interrupt and say, “I’m sorry. You just interrupted Kate and I would really like to hear what she has to say. Kate, you were saying…”  The pact worked and we heard a lot more voices that spring.  

I know the New England girl who started that senior year would never have done this, but the martial artist who finished the year had the confidence to use her voice to draw those lines in the sand.

People also ask me if I ever have had to use my training.  I use my training every day. I firmly believe that if I had not started training, I would never have done most of the things I have in my career.  From becoming an equity research analyst and helping build a retail brokerage into an institutional investment bank to managing investor relations for a $2 billion software company to working as an early stage venture capitalist, at every stage, every day, I use my training and the awareness of boundaries – those lines in the sand.