Cancer, the Battle Within, and the Dojo: How practicing martial arts helped me on my journey through breast cancer

It's a chilly, dark October day here in Michigan. The trees are wet and their gold, orange, and burgundy leaves pop against the gray sky and the dewy green grass. It's the kind of day that triggers reminiscence, nesting, nostalgia, and reflection. 

October's chilly air and earth tones are inundated with clashing splashes of pink everywhere you turn, reminding us that it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. We see pins, bumper stickers, bandanas, even pink football gloves and shoes, as the male-dominated sport reminds us that men are also affected by this ubiquitous disease. As about 1% of breast cancer diagnoses are in males, their bodies are at risk, but more often it's their spirits that suffer as they witness their beloved companions, sisters, mothers, and grandmothers fight for their lives.

As both a breast cancer and melanoma survivor (ages of onset 41 and 27, respectively), this dedicated month of October gives me an opportunity to reflect not only on the past summer and encroaching winter, but also on this topic of fight and survival which affects so many (a woman born in the United States today will have a 12.8% chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime). 

Don Highstreet (coach), bottom

Fighting has never been a stranger to me. As a child, we had both a heavy bag and speed bag in my home. My grandfather (see picture) was a boxing coach. Although he passed before I had a chance to develop memories of him, I can remember my mom's cousins coming over and playfully sparring and goofing around--these giant men who would make that heavy bag go flying while I could barely shake its chain with my untrained punches. Although my older brother got regular training and practice, I was a girl, so I was left to watch from the sidelines. The extent of my participation was when I was Uke to my brother when he wanted to practice sweeps. Just try to sweep me to this day, and you'll see the shadow of this unwilling "partnership" as I squeal and become a 7-year-old girl again, clutching you and frantically yelling, "TAP!" Even chairs which recline backwards too far can trigger my panic! 

Fast-forward to the day when I began practicing at the Rochester School of Martial Arts (in MI). At 38 years old, I was finally going to receive the training I had longed for as a child. Most new students are surprised that the practice of our dojo is so much more than what meets the eye and are blindsided by the profound benefits. However, since I had watched my two sons grow through the children's program (Wushu and Lohan), I had some clue. Hearing the students recite the creed on the mats during every class prepared me not only for how my body would be challenged, but also my character. 

My breast cancer journey was embedded with dojo life from start to finish. I was actually sitting outside the dojo when my ob-gyn called me with the biopsy results. I took the news so in stride, she repeated it to me, making sure I understood. Little did she know I was receiving this news in the safest place I could--the bubble of the dojo. 

One of the first people I told of the diagnosis was my sifu, Patrick Donahue. One of the toughest guys I know, he is also one of the most compassionate. He assured me that the dojo was with me 100%, and whatever I could do, whenever I could, I was welcome on the mats. In addition, anything I needed which the dojo could provide was available to me at any time. I couldn't have been more supported. 

Throughout the next three years, I had five surgeries. I maintained my practice as much as I could, but as you can imagine, there were long periods of time when I had to stay off the mats. Whenever I eventually returned, however, I can't describe the overwhelming feelings from bowing in once again, touching the tatami with my bare feet, and sitting with my dojo family in zazen. Seemingly in contrast with the seated meditation, I could not wait to unleash on the shields, as striking provided me with peace via another pathway. My partners were incredibly accommodating and kind. They gave me the gift of challenging me, trusting that I would tell them when I needed to slow down or ease up. 

The whole-body involvement of martial arts certainly provided me with all the physical therapy I needed to recover, but there were added benefits that weren't so obvious, like balance training and learning how/when to set limits for myself. Overcoming my ego was a huge struggle, as I simply couldn't do a lot of the work done by others. I had to be ok with being the slowest, the least able, the weakest. New students would come in, and I had to swallow my pride and not make excuses for how awful my technique might be at that time, or explain why I couldn't do a sit-up. Class is certainly not the time tell a new partner about your medical struggles. 

I made mistakes on the mats. Misjudging how much I could handle, there were times I pushed too hard, damaging my progress and even doing permanent damage in terms of internal scar tissue. Therefore, I also learned how to go slowly and take things easy. 

With the encouragement of my son, Evan, I began studying Tai Chi with Sifu Brown at the Berkley, MI dojo. Tai Chi become my gateway to returning to the mats. The deep stretches at the beginning of class were challenging and amazing to my broken body, and Sifu Brown could not have been sweeter or more kind with slowly helping me move again. Tai Chi provided me with a way to ease into the martial arts motions, build strength, and reconnect with my breath. Again, I had ego to overcome. I had this misconception that Tai Chi should be easy--it was always portrayed on television as a great activity for seniors, right? I couldn't have been more wrong about that! The deep squats, concentration, rotation of joints, bends, weight shifts, coordination, reaches, and breath were as challenging as any martial art I had learned. I would sweat like crazy learning this gentle and ancient art! 

Off the mats, the mind/body/spirit trinity of practice kept my head level. I continued to meet new problems with a positive attitude. Because everyone in my household practiced at the dojo, we had a common doctrine to reference for framing all of our challenges. It wasn't easy for 16 year old boys to watch their mom go through cancer. To see her in pain, immobile, and to have to help her while managing their own responsibilities and emotions. It's not easy for a husband to see his wife surgically maimed. To have to learn how to wash, comb, and style her long hair. To care for his Frankenstein bride with her five feet of stitches. We all had our concerns and worries, but we also had the voices of Sifu Brown, Sifu Donahue, and Sifu Scott echoing in our minds, carrying us through the hard times with their strength and wisdom. 

It was mid-January of 2020 when I was finally allowed (once again) to step on the mats and resume practice after surgery number five. Maybe this time, finally, I could work up to that second yellow sash test. I'm pretty sure I've broken records in all three dojos for holding the first yellow rank the longest. (I speculate that I probably have simultaneously broken the record for most medical leaves!) Mid-February, just one month after returning, I got horribly sick, possibly Covid-19? We didn't think there was community spread at that time, and there wasn't a test to take anyway, so I'll probably never know. I was off the mats again, sick for a couple of months. By the time I recovered, there was no going back to the mats in the near future--we were on full lockdown in Michigan. 

So much for getting back into my training! 

But we learn to be like water, correct? I adapted and flowed into our new situation, and eventually Zoom classes became a thing. It was quite an adjustment from being in the dojo! On top of everyone learning the technology, practicing at home, on your carpet, trying not to trip over the dog, with curious neighbors watching and listening, provided unique challenges. Yet it was such a blessing. Like returning to the mats after being on leave, seeing everyone's faces after weeks of lockdown isolation and all its worry was incredibly therapeutic. 

I eventually ended up joining Sifu Scott's Zoom Tai Chi classes from his West-LA dojo. Because the classes were offered six days a week, I began doing more Tai Chi than I had ever done in my life. Having it integrated into a daily practice, I began to see benefits physically in areas I thought were completely healed. Particularly in the axilla areas, where I had an excessive amount of scar tissue built up. I was under the false impression that all the punching and push-ups I had done over those cancer years would've minimized the long-term scar tissue damage. Again, I was wrong--Tai Chi was creating soreness I hadn't felt in months, and the scar tissue began to loosen its hold even more! After a little research on slow movements' effects on connective tissues and scar tissue management, I saw the data supporting what I was experiencing from the Tai Chi. 

Meditating at the beginning of Zoom martial arts class.

Practicing and learning Tai Chi in my home has been a blessing. For as much as I love being in the dojo and feeling the tatami mats under my feet, there has been great benefit to creating a sacred space in my home as well. Also, Zoom Tai Chi has allowed me to attend class so much more often because it eliminates 2 - 2.5 hrs of driving for me to attend the Berkley dojo. Yes, I must say, learning in person is the ideal, but the online learning hasn't been all bad. I'm incredibly grateful for the myriad of life benefits I'm receiving from the practice and my Tai Chi family. Sifu Scott has also been a mental rock, always an amazing, calm voice of reason and Zen who challenges us every day with our mind/body/spirit discipline. During this pandemic, having a daily resource to plug into through his dojo has offered innumerable graces not only for me, but radiating through me to my household, and hopefully all those to whom I reach out. 

There is so much struggle right now, and so much uncertainty and fear. It is quite similar to going on a cancer journey. I am reminded of a point Sifu Brown made in a beach talk on retreat one year, which I'll do my best to paraphrase: 

ZMA retreat in Gaylord, MI

Life is hard. There is struggle. And there's always going to be struggle. And after that, there's going to be more struggle. And although you may surround yourself with people who support you, in a way, the struggle is yours alone. The battle is always within. When you find yourself between struggles, when things are relatively good, that's when you have to prepare for the next struggle. What are you doing RIGHT NOW to prepare for the next struggle? 

The dojo is how I prepare for struggle. Sifu Brown is so right when he says the battle is always within. Every challenge in my life has been eased and supported by my dojo practice and dojo family. The overt teachings and the subtle ones. The lessons I learn which I keep to myself because they are too intimate to share. The lessons I shout from the rooftops. Those taught through my sifus' voices and those modeled by their actions. The strength and excellence of my partners on the mats. The peace that I work out through my sweat or from my meditation. These are all the things that have gotten me through my struggles. 

The sun is now trying to get through those gray October clouds. I'm watching the birds who no longer can hide in the half-naked trees. My reflection this October is full of gratitude for the depth and richness my life has developed since I became a student of martial arts eight years ago. We all have been touched by cancer somehow, either personally, or through a loved one. People often ask me for advice about how to support a loved one with a cancer diagnosis. Perhaps martial arts isn't a one-size-fits-all solution for every individual, but think about the supports I've expressed above. How could your loved one find or remain plugged into a similar network? Mind, body, and spirit will all need special attention. Maybe this could be found in a dojo, like myself, or maybe it's a church, a book club, or support group from the hospital. Have the conversation with them about developing the internal and external practices which will carry them through when that battle within rages. 

And don't forget your mammogram, ladies. 

Namaste.