From the Mat to the Stage: What Jiu Jitsu Taught Me About Performing Under Pressure
I walked onto a stage recently wearing my Easton Jiu Jitsu gi and blue belt.
This wasn’t a martial arts event. Most of the people in the audience had probably never rolled. I was speaking at CreativeMornings Denver, and although I’ve spent years as a professional singer and speaker, this time I wanted to talk about a place where I haven’t always felt confident: the mat.
I started training a little over two years ago after my husband and I enrolled our triplets. A family membership made sense, which meant I could try it too.
So I did.
I felt completely out of place. I didn’t grow up athletic. Being that physically close to another person felt strange. Grabbing someone, pushing them around, trying to choke them or keep them from nearly breaking one of my limbs was not my idea of a comfortable Tuesday morning.
Then my coaches started talking about competition.
Absolutely not. I had a husband, triplets, a dog and a business. I was already well into my 30s. Why would I voluntarily add the stress of competing in a combat sport I had just started learning?
Naturally, less than a year later, I signed up for my first tournament. Then another. And another.
Somewhere along the way I realized the reason I kept going back wasn’t about beating someone else. Competition kept showing me something about myself.
[As In Combat, So In Life: What We Gain From Competition]
Pressure reveals what you’re afraid of
I lost both matches at my first competition. I didn’t even make it through a full five-minute round. My opponents submitted me twice. Later that day, I cried in the shower.
That reaction surprised me. This was a hobby I had chosen as an adult. My livelihood wasn’t riding on the outcome. So why did losing hurt so much?
Eventually I figured it out. I wasn’t afraid of losing. I was afraid of failing publicly. My coaches had invested time in me. My family had watched me train. And then everyone got to see exactly what happened when I wasn’t good enough, at least not yet.
The tournament exposed a fear that had existed long before I stepped onto the mat. That’s one of the things pressure does: it strips away the explanations we give ourselves and shows us what’s underneath. And once you can see the fear, you can work with it.
I competed again.
Pressure reveals your preparation
There’s something humbling about discovering that a technique you performed perfectly in class apparently no longer exists in your brain once the referee says “Combate.”
That’s where I started noticing a connection between Jiu Jitsu and something I’ve been doing most of my life: performing. Knowing something and being able to access it under pressure are two different things.
I’ve sung in front of thousands of people and performed the National Anthem for professional sports teams. Those environments feel comfortable to me now. They didn’t always.
I remember one of my first large National Anthem performances at the Denver Coliseum. I wasn’t prepared for the echo in the building. I’d sing a phrase and hear my own voice coming back at me. It became a particularly long rendition of the National Anthem. I was mortified.
But I performed again. And again. And eventually the thing that once created enormous pressure became familiar.
Jiu Jitsu keeps reminding me that confidence works the same way. We think we need to feel confident enough to do the thing. Usually we have to do the thing enough times to become confident.
[Creating Space in the Face of Pressure]
Pressure reveals who you’re becoming
When I first started, I heard people talk about tournaments and internally rolled my eyes. You can stop talking now. I’m never doing that.
That woman competed four times.
The woman who felt awkward making physical contact with another person learned to fight for grips, control positions and hunt submissions. Two years after walking in as a complete beginner, I earned my blue belt.
The belt matters. It’s tangible evidence of progress. But the most meaningful part wasn’t the color around my waist. It was realizing the woman wearing it was different from the woman who had first walked through the door.
That’s the other thing competition teaches: sometimes we become someone new so gradually we don’t notice while it’s happening. Then something reflects it back. A competition. A promotion. A roll with someone who would have overwhelmed us six months ago. Or standing on a stage in front of a room full of people, realizing you now have something to teach them because of the experience that once made you feel most inadequate.
Taking the mat onto the stage
During my CreativeMornings talk, I eventually took off my gi and belt. Underneath I was wearing a Denver Broncos jersey.
It got a laugh, but there was a reason. I’ve had the privilege of performing the National Anthem for several of Colorado’s professional sports teams, but one is still on my list: the Broncos. So I decided to say the dream out loud.
Later, during the Q&A, someone asked me to sing the anthem. So there I was, wearing a Broncos jersey and singing after spending the previous several minutes talking about Jiu Jitsu. I couldn’t help but appreciate the full-circle nature of it.
The stage represents something I’ve practiced long enough to trust. The mat represents something I’m still learning. I need both.
The challenges we choose become mirrors
Not every challenge arrives by choice. But there’s something valuable about occasionally putting yourself in situations where you don’t already know you’re going to succeed.
Jiu Jitsu has become that place for me. It shows me when I’m afraid, whether I’ve prepared, and what my habits are when the pressure rises.
I make my living on stages. I still love singing, and I still love speaking. And three times a week I voluntarily let people try to choke me because the place where I once felt most out of my element has become one of the clearest mirrors I’ve ever had.
The challenges we choose show us who we are. And if we keep showing up long enough, eventually we get to see who we’re becoming.
