Do you want to spar?

“Do you want to spar?”

An innocent question, asked thousands of times at every Belegarth event, dozens even at a single practice. It is short and sweet but holds layers of meaning. It can be sign of respect, an offer to help, or even the beginnings of friendship. It is a symbol of inclusiveness, a way to reach out to our fellow Belegrim and say, “Hey, let’s learn together.”

But, despite its benign nature, that simple phrase has triggered terrible anxiety in me for nearly eight years. After a lifetime of competing with men in academics and my career, I’m paralyzed when I try to compete with them in Belegarth. Do I want to spar?

Yes, but I am afraid.

I fear embarrassing myself in front of you, whom I respect.
I fear losing the respect that I have already earned from others.
I fear letting how easily intimidated I am by the strong and athletic show.
I fear crying in front of you, not out of pain, but frustration.
I fear making you feel guilty for pushing me and watching me struggle.
I fear being yet another woman who is seen as female first, not a fighter.
I fear failing not only myself, but those who might walk my path in the future.
I fear disappointing you and myself.
I fear my weakness, my insecurities, myself.

So I answer, “No, I don’t fight.”

And that is sometimes that. They assume I don’t want to get hit, and leave me be. But often, especially among new fighters, they ask the next dreaded question, “Why?”

I can’t answer that I am afraid, or they will try to fix it. They will tell me as I’ve told hundreds of fighters before, “Just do it and have fun.” or “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t think any less of you if you’re bad” or “No one will care if you’re just an archer.” It’s kind, but that isn’t what I want out of fighting. It isn’t who I am.

Instead I make an excuse:

“I can take a hit, but I don’t want to get hurt.” “I’m too competitive and don’t want to lose my temper.” “I hang out too much with great fighters, they wouldn’t have fun fighting me anyway.”

And eventually, the fighter who offered will accept my answers and walk away, never approaching me again.

But that isn’t right.

I have seen it on the sidelines; the losses to apathy and tactlessness. I have seen fighters and non-coms leave in disgust at the attitude of their leaders. I have seen them walk away simply because they had no one they felt they could turn to with their problems. I’ve seen them fade into the ether with no one even noticing they left. I’ve even talked to new potentials who are afraid to go out on their own and directly contributed to losing them by saying “Sorry, I don’t fight, I can’t go out there with you.”

I never again want to be the reason we lose a fighter. I never want to be held powerless to change what needs to change. I want to help. And do to that, I must fight.

It is my personal challenge to overcome my fear, to accept the losses that will happen and embrace the strength gained. It is my duty to silence the voice that says “You can’t” and prove I can. It is for myself, yes, but also for the quiet Belegrim that may one day look for hope that they, too, can overcome.

And to those who already do fight, who have overcome the trials and tribulations of their personal path to great martial skill, I offer this challenge:

Watch, listen. For one event, do nothing but sit at the sidelines and be still. Do not socialize, herald, or fight. Just focus on those around you. Understand the quiet ones, the non-coms, the forgotten and voiceless fighters of Belegarth. See the potential for growth yourself, the holes that are invisible when you always stand on the field.

I think you may learn something. I know I do, everytime I answer “Yes”.