It hadn’t dawned on me until this week that the reason i’ve been attracted to martial arts most of my life is directly because of my autistic-ness (e.g., my love and need for stimming; routines; structure; etc.).

While i waltzed ignorantly into my first experience with martial arts (Kun Khmer), i pursued Pencak Silat (abbr., silat) out of a fascination for its beauty that i could not explain until — seriously — just this week.

My fascination for silat came in 2015 when i watched the stunning choreography in the film The Raid (2011) for the first time.

And now — today — i know why i found (and find) it so beautiful.

It’s the stimming.

Silat — even kun khmer — makes my body feel good and helps it relieve stress, tension, and trauma through movement, feeling, and concentration.

But my journey with martial arts began in junior high school with kun khmer, and the whole story is certainly worth sharing, so i’ll start there.

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I had made a new friend at my school during a period of social isolation in my life, and we basically stuck together like glue.

We’re still friends. His name is Brian.

One day Brian told me about a kickboxing class he attended, which i mistook for this.

With little better to do, i invited my-self along (i think; Brian may have invited me first).

I had absolutely no idea what i was getting into or that i had no idea that i had no idea what i was getting into.

To my initial chagrin, it was a two- to three-hour kun khmer class replete with bamboo stick shin conditioning, full-contact sparring, stick-whipping, tire-punching, and flying knees to the chest.

Granted, i didn’t get thrown into these things until i was ready for them (except for that last one… ouch).

The first class i attended was on a school night, and going to school the next day was torture.

And not because school sucked, which it did, but because my body was sore.

Literally my entire body.

That was my first breakthrough in healing (ironically) from martial arts:

Feeling tired; sore; spent; from an actually engaging activity; for the first time in my life; felt revitalizing.

I knew immediately that this teacher was a good fit for me.

The class was a good fit as well, with many of the students — though older than my-self (think 30s-60s) — having in common with me many things (e.g., black metal; Scott Adams; kicking things; etc.).

Community can be another wonderfully healing aspect of martial arts.

I was terrible at kun khmer though, and i definitely felt like quitting many times.

In fact, i have “quit” many times (or taken breaks, as i always come back).

I didn’t know what i was doing with my body then, and the instruction didn’t make much sense to me.

The problem was that i didn’t feel comfortable enough and/or know how to speak up in class to get the information and instruction i needed.

A large reason this problem existed for me was because my sensei promoted, as many sensei do, the utmost respect for authority (his authority, particularly).

That meant no asking “why?” or “what?”.

I think it’s clear “why” that didn’t work for me.

What did work for me, however, was discipline.

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On top of respect for authority, my sensei emphasized discipline, and i’m glad he did.

He may have been tough with me (e.g., whipping me with sticks when i failed to complete a sequence of kicks), but he was also kind (e.g., laughing with me later about whipping me with sticks) (i kid — we also had other tender moments).

Further, he helped me become capable of returning to martial arts when i felt like quitting.

He taught me discipline.

That was my first breakthrough in discipline from martial arts:

Discipline is, in its most basic form, returning.

Showing up.

Then: wham!

Three months into training — which primarily looked like me waving my arms and legs in front of a mirror incessantly — and i could more-or-less perform a decent punch, kick, elbow, knee, and clinch (clinching actually came quite naturally to me, no doubt because of my natural love for clenching).

I felt stupid those entire three months flailing around, but let me tell you, it paid off!

It was just like one day i woke up and could throw a punch.

Progress isn’t always linear or gradual, so don’t get discouraged:

Sedikit-sedikit. Step-by-step. Little-by-little. (I have my silat guru to thank for this.)

After those few short months, i was sparring in “the ring” — which at first was just an open studio in a gym before my sensei had built a dojo at his home — cowering in the corner with my hands over my head like a little kitten.

That was another one of my (ironic) breakthroughs in healing from martial arts:

I realized i needed to learn to address my fears directly if i was ever to hit them back. Hit being a metaphor, of course. 😉

I can’t hit without looking. And i can’t look if i am afraid.

Over time i learned some tricks that helped me avoid my fear-based reactions: tuck my chin, focus on the throat, see the whole picture.

I learned to use mindfulness to reduce my fear and, thus, to enhance my focus.

The more i focused, the less i missed.

The less i missed, the less i feared.

And the less i feared, the more i focused.

I didn’t know it yet, but i was ready to defend my-self once i practiced this process repeatedly:

To make a long story short, one day that same year a bully of mine stepped on the back of my shoe while i was walking, pulling the shoe off my foot.

Without thinking i whipped around, slammed him against a wall by his neck, and told him if he and his friends didn’t leave me alone i would bite his cheeks out.

I was never bullied again.

(Although this anecdote is not to say that [1] every-one needs to learn martial arts, [2] martial arts will solve any given problem, or [3] that violence is the only solution to any given problem. Again – “hit” is metaphorical.)

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Speaking of those tricks i shared earlier, i have discipline to thank for them.

Simultaneously tucking my chin; focusing on the throat; seeing the whole picture; picking up my knee; twisting my hips; and turning my heels, while then one-after-another snapping my leg; returning to a chambered, one-footed position; and placing my leg intently back in its original position (without spilling forward), just to perform one side kick (!) was (and still can be today) incredibly challenging for me to do effectively within the span of a single second.

My brain zapped just focusing on the first two or three movements/techniques initially.

Discipline taught me, however, that step-by-step i could learn this.

My body could learn this.

And i wouldn’t understand why this was until my undergraduate psychology program in 2015:

It was in a neuropsychology course that i discovered repeatedly performing physical movements reinforces those particular neural pathways with fatty myelin sheath, consequently increasing the speed of delivery of the message to perform that movement faster.

Repetition, repetition, repetition! (I have my guru to thank for this as well.)

And in fact, i have improved my kicking, punching, etc. and have gained innumerable more skills in martial arts since continuing to practice.

Stretching is an-other story, though, as my (in)flexibility has little improved since taking up this practice.

I still stretch, and i still push my-self (appropriately) when i do, but i have accepted that my flexibility will likely not change as much as my neurology.

That is the spectrum of acceptance.

Some things i accept i cannot do, and i move on.

Other things i reject i cannot do, and i push forward.

(It’s important to note, however, that at this time i was unaware i was autistic and had the privilege of not having an early diagnosis to hold me back by certain low expectations often set by allists.)

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Fast-forward to 2015 and enter pencak silat.

I had just moved to the Bay Area to attend university and was interested in joining a martial arts class to stay physically active and not fall off the martial arts band-wagon (thank you, sensei).

My housemate showed me The Raid one night, and i was so intrigued by the film’s martial arts that i had him pause it in the middle to look up silat schools in the Bay Area.

Sure enough, we came upon Pencak Silat Gerakan Suci.

We reached out over email and connected immediately.

To my surprise, i learned that silat is even more information-dense than kun khmer and requires much more time and discipline to learn. The learning curve is steep.

Indeed, five years into my practice and i am still quite a novice.

Don’t get me wrong, i am far from where i was on day one of my silat training (i.e., i have certificates, belts, performances, coaching, etc.).

But as my guru says, clasping three of his fingers, “This is what my teacher knows,” and then clasping just his thumb, “This is what i know.”

That was another breakthrough in discipline for me:

I cannot compare my self/achievements to others.

I need to respect where i am in time.

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I could go on-and-on about the things i have learned from martial arts and my incredible, generous teachers, but i will conclude with one more:

Attention.

Silat (and my guru) taught me attention.

But not attention in the traditional sense as i have known it.

Allow me to illustrate:

Reach out your hand, as if you are going to give a hand-shake.

How many movements can you count?

One? Two?

Before silat, i may have counted one or two, but now i see an infinite number of movements:

Each millisecond, from the time you begin reaching out your hand to the time it is fully extended, is a snap-shot of movement that defines where your body is in space at a particular time.

Ergo, reaching out your hand is not one or two movements but a combination of innumerable minuscule ones.

The way i frame this in my mind is simple:

A movement does not go from point A – B but from point A – Z.

From this perspective, reaching out one’s hand becomes much more information dense and much more intricate than previously imagined.

Now when i move i count the movements in-between, and my attention is greater.

With greater attention, my intention is greater.

And with greater intention, my ability is greater.

Thank you, martial arts.

❁

Thoughts? Leave a comment; start a conversation! Thank you for reading.