Sensei's Notebook
Blending
Gina LaGalbo
Over the last six months I have been trying to blend. Blend with my ukes, blend with my family, and blend within myself. In my mind I have three identities--myself as a mother and wife, myself as a physician, and myself as an aikidoist. My waza in each of my worlds is completely different, and it has been a challenge to try to blend them together in a cohesive way while maintaining my center.
Last year I had the honor of caring for a dear friend of mine during her pregnancy and delivery. Baby Evie was my first “dojo baby” and the first baby born to a woman who was friend first and patient second. It was extraordinarily wonderful and extraordinarily stressful.
I had nightmares about preeclampsia and cord accidents, fetal distress and post partum hemorrhage. I could picture every devastating complication possible. Just as clearly I could imagine my response, as well as the potential complications of my actions. Because I knew how they could come to harm, I could prevent it. That reality is what four years of residency prepared me for.
And prepare me they did. For four years of 100-hour work weeks I operated and delivered babies at all hours of the night, being pushed to excel, to do it right, and not to complain. It was during this time that I started Aikido. It gave me an outlet in which failure was accepted rather than punished. I spent all day in an atmosphere where my mistakes could threaten lives, but at night in the dojo I could relax because the stakes were so much lower. Even after residency, when life became less chaotic, I looked at my training as an escape and took comfort in my mistakes. I had no expectations or real goals other that the pure joy of being on the mat.
This continued for seven years. Occasionally I would be asked to test, which I did, but always with the mindset that I couldn’t really “do” Aikido. Despite the fact that my belt kept changing colors, I pictured myself as a bull in a china shop compared to those around me, and I liked it. No pressure, just train.
We were working on atemi one day when Lynda was early in her pregnancy. I kept hesitating, my strikes lacking honesty and intention. After listening to my excuse of having taken an oath to “do no harm,” the sempai that I was working with looked me in the eye and said, “How can you keep from hurting someone if you don’t know how to hurt them in the first place?"
Those words echoed in my head for days, making connections that I really didn’t want to make. Sensei had recently brought up the subject of testing for shodan, but I waffled. Unsure why, I kept making excuses for myself. Over time, the parallels between residency, my family life and Aikido became clear. I was ready to move on to a different level, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the responsibility of a black belt or of a mother of a preteen, to admit that I could be centered and strong and in charge. I didn’t want to admit that I could hurt people that I loved. Both the practice of Aikido and life itself has potential to profoundly injure and I did not want to face that fact.
My medical training had prepared me to see that potential for harm and to take action to avoid it. While the process was painful, I embraced the lesson. I knew that I would never knowingly hurt anyone, but I informed my patients of the possibility and I knew my limits. What was so different about Aikido, or my family? In retrospect I believe that I had separated my identity and abilities as a doctor from my identities as a mother and aikidoist for so long that I was unable to accept that I was ready for shodan. I had, until that point, been blind to the fact that all along I had been learning to hurt people so that I could protect them. As I had in my professional life, I needed to embrace that concept in order to become shodan, and more importantly a better mother and wife.
Taking care of Lynda helped me to do just that. For the first time my worlds came together, and rather that colliding, they blended. With this successful blending I began to see that my identities were not as different as I had thought. Over the nine months of her pregnancy, I saw Lynda on the mat and in my office. It took a while, but I started to realize that in order to commit to becoming shodan ho I had to accept that the confidence and power I felt so comfortable with in the office and the hospital was vital on the mat
Evie’s birth was amazing. Lynda proved to be a goddess, as did all of the courageous women surrounding her--most of them from our dojo. Lynda’s husband Jason proved to have his own quiet, deep strength and was equally amazing. The role I played was to control the space, maintain center line, and to use Lynda’s energy to keep all involved calm and safe. Once it was over my heart was in it. No more tiptoeing--I was committed to becoming shodan.
Over the last six months I have struggled with my identity as it relates to Aikido. For years I had been a wife, mother, doctor and aikidoist, but all separate. I understood the theory of utilizing the concepts of Aikido off of the mat but was having a hard time with the practice.
As a doctor I am comfortable with my role as nage and can usually perform with an element of grace. As a mother and a wife I struggle the most. Balancing the complex emotions and issues of a family is messy at best, and my waza tends to be overbearing, my ukemi sloppy and distracted. There are moments in which I am grounded and centered, but they feel few and far between.
Emotional attacks are complex and varied--there are no set rules. The techniques that we fall back on have been taught by parents and others who may or may not have been skilled in building healthy families. In my case, I was raised in chaos. Despite it’s dysfunctionality, I am comfortable there and fight against my natural tendency to clash when family conflicts occur. Add to that the stress of being away from my husband and children in order to train and the conflicts increase--when faced with “Are you going to train again?” and “Why do you love your dojo family more that us?” I know that I should blend with gentleness and compassion. Unfortunately, my first response is to feel the sharp pang of guilt and respond defensively. This emotionally charged sparring does not usually end well.
My challenge on the mat has been to find a middle ground, to find a balance between my strong, capable doctor self and my frightened, defensive emotional self. During my shodan preparation the intensity of training and attacks has increased exponentially. While intellectually I know that I can handle it, my head sees attacks as charged with emotions and shrinks from them. Of course I’m late, because the last thing that I want to do is invite an attack. To welcome them as a gift is a concept that I have difficulty with. Slowly, slowly it has become easier. Breathe it in, relax on the out breath, sink and settle back. Fear more frequently sits on the sidelines with his buddies, Self-doubt and Criticism. It has become easier to accept that like my patients, my ukes know that they could be hurt and that any injury would be unintentional. They have trained long and hard to protect themselves and me as I trained to care for them. This has allowed Guilt to sit alongside Fear on the bench. I recognize that controlling the space does not mean controlling uke, but something much bigger. And I accept that shodan is only a beginning, with recognition being the first step on a long, long path.
At home things are still challenging. My husband and my children want me home. They don’t understand how profoundly Aikido affects my life, but it is not necessarily their responsibility to do so. I have neglected to bring what I have learned home to them in a constructive, compassionate way. As I enter into a conflict it is my duty to do as I try to do on the mat. Breathe it in, relax, listen to what is being said and to the energy behind it. Control my own anxiety and anger and allow it to flow into resolution. I cannot be the same nage that I need to be at work at home. My strength must be tempered with more gentleness, less anger and blame. This will be my biggest challenge after my demonstration, and my most important test.
As the long months come to a close, have I succeeded in blending my different identities? I suppose that it depends on your definition of success. At work I am still in charge, but I try to temper it with humor and gratitude. At home I still get flustered when my kids misbehave or I disagree with my husband, but I try to see things from their point of view, maintain my center and act with compassion. On the mat I am learning to recognize when I am out of my center or collapsing my arms, and how to correct it. I am more confident in my ability to practice safely and honestly. My giddy joy is slowly being replaced by a deeper sense of happiness and accomplishment. Of course I know that in all three worlds I have a long way to go, but hopefully I can approach each day with the same sense of beginning that shodan represents.
