So many stereotypes have focused around women and talking. Girls are taught to play quietly, not to shout, not to raise their voices. Don’t speak up. Don’t raise your hand. Don’t interrupt.  Listen quietly. Your actions speak louder than words. And — especially — don’t ever speak out of turn with a man.

Why?

Because the voice of the minority is threatening. If women start talking, they’re likely to also start asking for things — help, respect, authority. If women start talking, then they can say the one word an abuser never wants to hear: NO!

The women’s movement began the process of helping women find their voices. It taught our mothers they had a right to talk, that the stereotypes of women talking too much were another means of social control. We have made progress in getting women’s voices heard: women are now heard in schools, governments, media. We listen to women professors, women diplomats, politicians, government officials.

And yet, the average woman will still stop talking if a man enters the room. An abused wife will keep silent about her torment. Girls still speak up in school much less than boys. Why? One simple reason — fear. As women, we’re taught to fear the power of our own voices. Interrupting a man can cause rejection by him. Speaking up in class can bring about isolation and bullying. Protesting abuse can bring further pain, even death. Yet, the very times we fear talking the most are the times when our voices are most critical.

In martial arts, we learn the power of voice. The ki-ap puts force behind our strikes. It serves as a focus for our power and it can signal our intent. For example, in TKD self-defense practice, the defender ki-aps to indicate she’s ready for the attacker to begin. Voice is used to warn, scare, inform. But a strong ki-ap is frequently one of the most difficult things for a woman just starting martial arts to learn. Our voices may not be as deep as our male counterparts, but they can be just as loud. With time and practice, most of us female martial artists learn this vital technique.

But we need to take our voices out of the dojang and into our daily lives. We need to learn to speak up during the times we may feel the most fear. Self-defense experts say the strongest weapon we have is our voice.  Sometimes, just speaking up can drive a would-be attacker away. Shouting “NO” can let others in the area know you need help. As strong voice can make a woman look less like a victim. Silence conveys acceptance, validation.

Even outside of life-or-death attacks, we still need to use our voice. If we don’t like the way a spouse is speaking to us, we need to say so. Yes, I know it’s much easier to say than to do. Fear kept me silent for nearly 10 years of an abusive marriage, so I do understand. But like an attack, speaking up can let your friends, family, neighbors know there’s something wrong. It can potentially bring help. Because even if an abuser never lays a violent hand on his partner,  abuse kills the soul.

Additionally, there’s one more way our voice can help: we can name abuse when we see it, especially for those we care about. It may seem strange, but often an abused partner doesn’t know she’s in an abusive relationship. Especially if the abuse is non-physical. Be specific — describe in detail instances of abuse you witnessed and why it was abusive. I doubt I would’ve left my ex if my heart-sister hadn’t told me repeatedly for months that my ex was verbally and emotionally abusive. Even after I left, her ability to name and recount my ex’s abusive behaviors kept me from going back.

Our voice is one of our most powerful tools. As women, we need to learn to use it, for ourselves and for those we love.

When self-defense is address, it’s usually designed to prepare you to protect yourself from a stranger off the street. But that’s not where the real danger lies for most women. Far more women are hurt by a husband or partner than will ever be threatened by a stranger. One figure I read states that 1 in 3 women have been physically or sexually abused by their partner/spouse; that doesn’t even count the numbers of women suffering from non-physical abuse. When your husband / partner hits you, you know that’s abuse; non-physical abuse is much harder to identify.

I’ll address “red flags” — warning signs of non-physical abuse — in another post. Here I want to make a plea to all people who teach self-defense: please, please include some material in your classes on how to recognize when you or someone you love is in an abusive situation. If I’d had that knowledge, I wouldn’t have stayed in my marriage for ten years.

Rank Testing: In my Integrity post, I’d written that I planned to test for my next belt rank on 18 April. I didn’t actually end up testing that day. A week before the test, I realized my endurance wasn’t were I needed it to be and I wasn’t ready yet for the increased stamina demands the next higher rank would require.

At the beginning of February, I was in two car accidents, within three days of each other. Neither resulted in serious injuries (I walked away with some whiplash and I had the worst injuries, luckily). But healing from the whiplash meant I had to suspend training until the end of March. Physically, I probably could’ve continued careful training, but I didn’t want to give the insurance company any reason to deny my chiropractor bills by saying “Oh, well, you participate in a dangerous sport and that’s why you were injured.”

I didn’t realize how much endurance I could lose in only two months of lost training. But I’ve had another month to recover (and Dynamo’s had a month to make up back homework ) and I feel ready to test again. Saturday (16 May), Dynamo and I will be testing for 7th Gup (yellow belt with green stripes).

When I first started studying martial arts, belt ranks meant very little to me. I was there to learn skills, which I’d get regardless of what color belt was around my waist. It didn’t matter to me then if I ever achieved black belt.

This time around, things are different. I’m actively pursuing my black belt and training hard to reach that goal. My goal is to get it by the time I reach 50 (given that I’ve got about seven more years to go, I think that’s a reasonable time frame to give myself). For me, it’s not about power, or rank itself that draws me to that goal. It’s about recovery.

Each new rank, each new step towards my goal gives a reminder of how far my healing from the abuse of my marriage is coming. Each new stripe, new belt is one more part of myself recovered, one more negative voice in my head silenced. It’s visual proof to myself that I can accomplish something and that I’m not weak and helpless, ineffectual and wallowing in victim-hood. It’s one more proof of the truth of what the people who are still closest to me say: that I’m strong, that I’m resilient and that no matter what knocks me down, I always get back up.

I’ve always identified with dragons, particularly the Asian ones. But when Jay and first started dating a year ago, he told me “You’re not a dragon; you’re a phoenix. No matter what fells you, you always rise again from it’s ashes.” He’s had time to see it — we’ve only been dating about a year, but we’ve been friends since I first moved to North Carolina, almost six years ago.

Earning a black belt is like earning my degree was 15 years ago: an accomplishment no one can ever take away from me.