Self-Defence, Human Touch & the Unexpected Weight of Being Held

 Last night I went to a self defence class.

They had fake knives and ways to cause harm if attacked. 

My sparring partner pushed at my chest with her palms and I came flying across three cubic mats to the floor. 

The falling on my back didn't hurt nor was my pride bruised. I just wish I could remember what it felt like to fly. 

That instance that was probably less than a second

where I was weightless, my feet not touching the ground. 

I imagine I looked like a carton character, sickle shaped, arms and feet stretched forward, gliding through invisible molecules. 

Whoosh!

I want to do that again. 

I want the feeling of surprise, 

I want the feeling of weightlessness,

of course without the hurt. 

And there was the instance when the fake knife was at my neck, 

fake or not the feeling was fear.

And when the teacher said, 

"you sacrifice your fingers for your artery". 

My internal reaction was, 

"that is definitely not going to happen".

Its been years since I have been violently attacked, 

I would like to keep it that way thank you very much. 

The memories sometimes come to hunt me. 

With the shame and the what if's. 

I was telling my friend who kindly offered to babysit for me.

A kindness that I am not sure I would offer another were the shoe on the other foot. 

Not offer another man, a woman I was infatuated with maybe. 

Infatuation - that's how I understood that if someone wants to do something bad enough they will if the they are motivated enough. 

I wonder then if I must not be motivated enough. 

Going back to the talk with my friend, 

Saturday as I told him was the first class I took on self defence, 

the teacher was female, she put her shoulder and head behind my lower back, 

her arms around my waist, 

I was held in a tight grip, she pulled and a muscle in my right glute cheek, 

somewhere deep and unknown twitch, 

At first I was standing unbalanced, 

the next instance I was on my back and she beside me. 

Nothing sexual, 

but as I was going to the changing room after the class, 

and my glute cheek twinged, and my lower back tighten so much I bent in two, 

I realised that it had been a very, 

very long time since I had been held that close by a woman. 

And when, my friend was leaving yesterday after helping me put my son in bed, 

In the kitchen, as I was peeling red potatoes, 

not knowing what to do, 

used just being by myself alone with my son, 

not knowing how to say to this kind person, who has given me the gift of time for myself, 

"please leave now"

He gave my a tight hug, and again I realised that for weeks I had needed that, 

I voiced it and he gave me another. 

Nothing sexual, 

Just human. 

From ChatGPT 

Self-Defence, Human Touch & the Unexpected Weight of Being Held

Last night, I went to a self-defence class.

They had fake knives and techniques to cause harm if attacked. My sparring partner pushed against my chest with her palms, and I came flying across three cubic mats to the floor.

The fall didn’t hurt, nor was my pride bruised. But as I lay there, I wished I could remember what it felt like to fly.

That fleeting moment—probably less than a second—where I was weightless, feet not touching the ground.

I imagine I must have looked like a cartoon character, sickle-shaped, arms and feet stretched forward, gliding through invisible molecules.

Whoosh.

I want to do that again. I want the feeling of surprise. I want the feeling of weightlessness. Of course, without the hurt.

But then came the fake knife at my neck. Fake or not, the feeling was fear.

The instructor's voice cut through the moment: "You sacrifice your fingers for your artery."

My immediate thought? "That is definitely not going to happen."

It has been years since I was last violently attacked, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Yet, the memories sometimes return, uninvited, bringing with them the shame, the what-ifs, the self-recriminations that never fully fade.

Later, as I told my friend about the class—someone kind enough to offer to babysit for me—I found myself reflecting on something deeper.

I don't often allow myself to rely on others. The truth is, if the roles were reversed, I don’t know if I’d offer the same kindness, at least not to a man. A woman I was infatuated with? Maybe.

Infatuation.

It’s a strange thing. It taught me that when someone is truly motivated, they find a way. That if someone wants something badly enough, they will make it happen.

I wonder, then, if I haven’t been motivated enough. If my own passivity has kept me from pushing past certain barriers—career, relationships, even personal safety.

Back to the class.

Saturday was my first self-defence lesson, and the instructor, a woman, demonstrated a move on me. She put her shoulder and head behind my lower back, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pulled. A muscle in my right glute twitched—deep, unfamiliar.

At first, I was standing, unbalanced. In the next second, I was on my back, and she was beside me.

Nothing sexual.

But later, as I walked into the changing room, my glute still twinging, my lower back tightening to the point that I bent over, it hit me: It has been a very, very long time since I was held that close by a woman.

That awareness lingered.

And then, yesterday, when my friend was leaving after helping me put my son to bed, I stood in the kitchen peeling red potatoes, unsure of how to say, Please leave now.

I have grown so accustomed to being alone with my son that the presence of another adult in my space feels foreign.

He must have sensed something because he pulled me into a tight hug. And in that moment, I realized just how much I had needed it.

I voiced it, and he gave me another.

Nothing sexual.

Just human.