The Art of Throwing

Until recently, in my practice of aikido, I have been focusing on refining my ukemi. My previous essay, “The Art of Falling,” describes this journey. In my life, I have spent a lot of time clinging onto people and ideas that do not suit me. My anxious attachment relationship style means that I seek validation and connection to a fault—becoming so demanding with my needs from others that I push them to a point where they must reject me, say no, set boundaries. Aikido has been a beautiful practice for me to somaticize the ability to let go when such rejection and boundary setting happens. This has been a necessary and important step in my recovery from relationship addiction.
In August, I moved from Richmond back to Oakland, California. I had been attending an aikido dojo in Berkeley that was easily accessible by car from my former home. When I moved, a series of unfortunate events befell me, which included my car being stolen. I realized that I would be unable to continue attending the dojo where I had learned such beautiful meditative skills of letting go and surrendering to another’s throw. I did not want to completely lose this art, though, and so I searched online for nearby aikido dojos, and discovered that there was one only two blocks away from my new apartment.

When I set foot in the dojo, I could tell that things were going to be different here. This dojo had classes for an array of martial arts, and so was not just dedicated to aikido as an elevated and special martial art. When I started the class, I found myself flustered and confused. The techniques this male Sensei was teaching were different from the graceful and flowing ones my female Sensei in Berkeley had taught. They had different names. They were sharper, more aggressive. Rather than the focus being on receiving the technique as the uke, more attention seemed to be given to neutralizing the uke’s attack in a way that could cause harm if needed. This is the nage’s job, the one who is initially grabbed or attacked by the uke and does the final throw or pin. Even the stances indicated this different focus—whereas at the Berkeley dojo we stood with more weight on our back leg, creating a somatic experience of being ready to dodge or receive, here, we stood with the weight on our front leg, ready to move forward into the technique and throw or pin more powerfully. At first I was turned off by these differences. Isn’t aikido supposed to be non-violent? I asked myself and the Sensei. He told me that there were several strains of aikido that had dispersed from the first aikido Sensei, O-Sensei’s teachings. Some of these were more meditative and spiritual, and others were more focused on practicality and counterattack towards the enemy. The form he learned was one of the latter. So because I had no other option, I decided to accept this change in my practice. After all, I live in Oakland, in a high-crime area where my car was recently stolen. Maybe I do need to know how to neutralize an attacker, and yes, this might involve violence. I also think about the direction our country is headed in general, with violence on the rise. Maybe simply staying calm in the face of aggression and dodging attacks is not sufficient to rise to the occasion of the moment. Maybe, we need to hurt back, with discernment.
This shift paralleled what was happening in my personal life and relationships. I was now further in my twelve-step journey, as a part of the Codependents Anonymous fellowship, and had reached a point where simply receiving rejection with grace was not enough. I had been harmed numerous times by men and others in the past few months, including being raped two days prior to my car being stolen, by someone in my apartment complex. I was harboring a deep rage and violent impulse towards men as a whole, and some men in particular. I deserved to be the one to throw, and to pin these men who attempted to grab me—literally or figuratively. Not every connection that is attempted to be made is worth receiving. Some, I must end before I am harmed by them. And so as I was learning a more aggressive and proactive form of aikido, I was also learning “the art of throwing,” the path of the nage, in my personal life. After the rape, rather than simply receive the harm with grace, I pursued various means of getting this man away from my home. I spoke to the tenant he was staying with and told her what happened, I filed a police report (despite the ethical complexities I felt in doing so), I spoke to the property managers, and I attempted to file a restraining order. These did not succeed, but taking the proactive action of attempting to eject someone who harmed me from my space was significant. My stance is still leaning forward, on my front foot, and I am ready to step towards my rapist and throw once again, if that is needed. For now I wait.
I have had several short-lived romantic connections with men since I wrote my last essay on aikido. Because of my experience at the Berkeley dojo, I had built up more distress tolerance around my fear of abandonment, and had more patience for men who were avoidant or had communication difficulties. However, in these connections, as soon as I was clearly disrespected or violated I rejected them, ended the connection, and in some cases blocked them. I feel that I am treating myself with more dignity by allowing myself to be the first one to say “no—you cannot treat me this way. It’s over.” The art of throwing has become as exhilarating and spiritually fulfilling as the art of falling has been. It is the next step in my journey towards empowerment and valuing myself in relationship. I am learning to not simply settle for the thrill of the chase and the surrender of the fall, but to also bask in the glory of the throw—by setting boundaries and rejecting those who injure or attempt injury.

originally published 2024.