Chapter 7 - I Kept My Self-Defense Work Quiet Because Derek Made It Embarrassing
I started teaching self-defense at twenty-six.
The program operated through a neighborhood women’s center.
Two evenings a week.
Sometimes:
one.
I taught:
situational awareness,
boundary setting,
escape techniques,
basic striking,
grip releases.
The most important lesson was never:
how to win a fight.
It was:
leave sooner.
Derek attended one class early in our relationship.
Afterward he laughed.
“These women think they’re going to wrist-lock some six-foot-four attacker?”
I answered:
“They’re learning options.”
He said:
“It gives people false confidence.”
I stopped inviting:
him.
Eventually I stopped mentioning when I:
taught
rather than:
trained.
Why?
Because I did not want to defend something that mattered to me.
That was a small form of:
shrinking.
I did not recognize it as such.
The irony became obvious the night before our wedding.
I had spent years teaching women:
strength is not staying in dangerous situations because you think you can fight your way out.
Then I did exactly that emotionally.
I thought:
If Derek ever crosses a serious line, I can handle myself.
Wrong standard.
The goal should never have been proving:
I could stop him.
The goal was recognizing I should not marry a man whose respect depended on never hearing:
May you like
no.
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