books, writings, shoes & nudes

Tag: bjj

  • dear white belt, 

    When I first met you, you were stripe-less and perfectly white, and I was perfectly lost and broken. I was younger then, had no idea the lessons you were about to teach me. Lessons like what healthy coaches and influential men look like, and how to strangle unhealthy ones. You taught me how to be part of, and lead a powerful team of badass women. You taught me that if you have authentic community in this life, you can roll through anything. The lesson of hard work equals success. When life zigs, we zag. You can cry through it all…but you don’t get to quit. You gave me permission to be a beginner every single day. You gave me the space to fight fights I never deserved. 

    When we met, I was tattoo-less. I believed I’d be with him forever. Thrive didn’t have an address. The Storm wasn’t a thing. The tribe I call my own was nothing but a movie made dream. Everything has changed. I changed a little bit every time I tied you around my waist. 

    We have cried together, won together, lost together, healed together, bled together, worked through triggers together. Thank you for reminding me of how far I’ve come. Thank you for humbling me. Thank you for kicking my ass weekly. 

    Signed, 

    Siren the Deceitful 

  • jits

    Jits is suppose to be my safe place. It’s suppose to be the bus in which I transfer the next broken lindseys. It’s suppose to be the team, the community, the family. It was the thing I used to remind myself the answer to the question I have been riddled with every night at 3am for the past eight years.

    “I can handle anything.” Written on the gym walls.

    “I am strong as fuck.” Written on my gi.

    “I am powerful.” Written on my rash guard.

    “I am still alive.” Written in sweat.

    I lost my proof. I became human, and a weak one at that. I am still broken. My body cracked and everyone saw. The mat isn’t safe. Jits is where I find out I am just another broken body. My bones aren’t made of solid belief. They are broken bones. Unusable. Hindering even. Damaged from all the damage. My body isn’t my warrior fighting for me. She isn’t the hero. She isn’t the fighter. She is the score board. She is the unusable target that’s holes are too big to be significant. Jits was suppose to be the showcase where you prove what you are. But jits became the mirror of harsh reality.