Gratitude has taken on a whole new meaning since I started training Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Sure, I’d always understood gratitude as something to be expressed — during the holidays, in a journal or when something particularly good happened. But on the mat, I experienced a deeper, more embodied version of it: gratitude rooted in shared effort, mutual respect and the simple yet powerful act of showing up.
What surprised me most was how much thankfulness lives in the small, quiet gestures: a bow to enter the mat, a slap and bump before a round, the “thank you” exchanged after drilling — even when your partner just practiced a choke on you. Jiu Jitsu revealed a layer of gratitude I hadn’t encountered before: one that’s constant, communal and physical.
This awareness caught me off guard because, truthfully, I didn’t grow up in sports. My childhood was shaped more by academic pursuits — my parents encouraged books and studies over physical competition. But in my 20s, I found my way to movement through weightlifting and running. I loved the rush, the discipline and the motivational cues from instructors that pushed me beyond what my mind believed possible. I started to understand how moving my body wasn’t just about fitness, but emotional well-being, mental clarity, and a deeper appreciation for what my body could do.
That foundation helped prepare me for Jiu Jitsu. But this art — this practice — took it all further. It reconnected me with my body in my late 30s and helped me notice the mindset blocks I still carried, especially during times of transition: moving from Brazil to the U.S., getting married, becoming a mother, starting a business. Each of those moments asked me to stretch and grow, but stepping onto the mat presented a different kind of challenge — one that surfaced self-doubt and discomfort in very real ways. Yet, it also reminded me how capable I truly am.
[Why is Gratitude So Wierd/Hard/Important Always?]
More than that, Jiu Jitsu expanded my understanding of gratitude beyond myself. For the first time, I started noticing how much of this journey depends on others. There is no Jiu Jitsu without a partner, a coach, a professor or even an opponent. After drilling with upper belts, they would always say “thank you,” and at first, that confused me. I thought I should be the one thanking them — after all, they were showing me the way. But then, as I started gaining experience and earning stripes, I began to understand. We all need each other on this path. Every partner is a mirror, every round an opportunity.
That moment hit me deeply when someone in their first class thanked me for being their partner. They probably felt awkward and uncertain — just like I did at the beginning (and sometimes still do). But in truth, I was grateful for them. I couldn’t have done that class without their presence, their willingness to show up and try.
Now, each bow on and off the mat, each exchange of respect before and after a roll, feels like a nod to something bigger: to the discipline, the humility, the willingness to learn — and to the people who make it all possible. Gratitude in Jiu Jitsu doesn’t feel performative; it’s woven into the culture. It’s in the sweat, the struggle, the shared learning. It especially shows up in the way we care for each other while testing our limits.
I’ve learned that gratitude isn’t just a feeling we save for the holidays or the highlight moments. It represents a way of living. And for me, Jiu Jitsu has become one of its most powerful teachers.
