A lot has happened on the journey since my last promotion test. Most notably, I opened my own school and I’ve had hip surgery. Both events have been very challenging; challenging my
Master Dawn Marie Sardinas, 5th Dan
independence, my discipline and commitment, my ego, and my identity.
I struggled to find my voice as a “Master” and as the head of a school. Opening Gotham Taekwon-Do just months after receiving my 4th Dan, I had no time to be taught how to conduct myself as someone with the rank of “Master”. My previous experience as Head Instructor of SJ Kim’s Children’s program was fine for what it was, but now I was the head of a school. The compliment I had received years earlier of being “too Korean” when I taught was no longer suitable. It wouldn’t work for me to run a school full time pretending to be a way that I was not, but I was afraid to be myself. I wanted to do what I knew, what I knew worked, and that was to behave like my teacher; strong, reserved and a little bit gruff. Ultimately, I knew that I had to find my own Way, to create my own image of what a TKD Master looks like.
In the early days of running the school, my ego was often bruised. Prospective students would call and ask if the instructor was male and/or Asian. I was neither. It was often assumed that I “just worked there” or that I was the student of my partner and peer, because he was both Asian and male. Students addressed me by my first name even after they had started training and they never made this mistake with my partner. However, I learned to stand in what I know, and who I know myself to be – a strong martial artist.
One day, one of my black belts complimented me by saying that I was nice and approachable, my class was fun, and he had no doubt of my skill and readiness to put people in their place if need be. I had found my voice as a teacher.
Master Dawn Marie Sardiñas, 5th Dan, of Gotham Taekwon-Do in New York City
The other challenge I faced when opening the school was my own training and practice. I thought that it would improve, that being in a dojang full time would offer me the opportunity to train more often. This proved to be untrue. I tried training in the mornings, but wasn’t able to make myself wake up early. I tried training at night, after the last students had gone home and I found I lacked the desire. I tried training at lunch and was often distracted by the phone or one of the other innumerable tasks that require my attention during the day. All the while, I was not sure that I was welcome in class at Grandmaster Kim’s school.
I was upset at first, that I was left to train and learn most of the patterns on my own. I missed being in class with my peers. I realized that I liked taking orders. There is something very comforting and safe about saying “yes sir” and doing what I’m told. But I also realized this was no longer my [primary] role. I now had a responsibility to my students to provide them with that space. I realized I wasn’t being responsible for my own training. While it was okay at one time, to just show up and let someone else train me, I couldn’t afford that luxury anymore. I was, and am, responsible for how my training, and indeed how my life goes.
Now, I most often train on my own outside of my own dojang, in the park or at the community center near my house. I’ve found the discipline required to maintain and improve my own practice. I found it in my declaration of myself as a martial artist. I create and declare my training program before I begin and I complete it. Sometimes I add to it, but I never do less than what I told myself I would do.
I also train, from time to time, at Grandmaster Kim’s school. I see it now like a child who has grown into an adult, and leaves home to start his or her own family. They’re still welcome to sit and eat at their parents’ table.
Then, I think it was the summer of 2009, I injured my right hip demonstrating a kick while teaching. I rested it but it continued to bother me. I went to the doctor and was prescribed anti-inflamatory medication and physical therapy (twice). It made little to no difference. I was still in pain. It was painful to walk, never mind kick. I was diagnosed with a torn labrum. The tear was significant enough that when shown my own MRI, I spotted the tear without any help from the doctor. I considered myself young and to have many years of TKD practice ahead of me (although my doctor disagreed with me on both counts). I chose to have it operated on and in March 2010 I underwent hip surgery. It was excruciating. What they didn’t tell me beforehand, was that they have to dislocate your hip to perform the procedure.
When we were discussing the post operative process, rehab etc., the surgeon told me that TKD was not going to be an option for me moving forward. This was the thing I feared to hear most and I objected; I told him that really wasn’t an option for me. It was not only what I did as a profession, but who I was. When pressured, he admitted that he had performed this surgery on other martial artists who had returned to their practice without incident. Relieved, I asked how long that would take. He told me 6 to 9 months and I said okay.
I balked when I saw that he wanted me to get on a stationary bicycle the same day as the surgery, but I did. I followed each instruction to the letter. I was determined to do everything I could to recover full use of my hip. I was going to come back just as strong as before, if not better. The PT exercises that I was assigned, looked simple and yet were very challenging. I nearly passed out during my first session from the pain, but I continued to do the work.
At 6 months I tried to return to my practice and it was a disaster. I couldn’t stand on either leg. My opposite knee had become overworked and weak. When I moved quickly, my knee buckled. While I could walk fine, I was in danger of falling down each time I lifted a leg to kick.
At 9 months, I tried again. It wasn’t pretty as I had lost a lot of strength and flexibility in my hips and legs, but at least I had a place to start. From there, I pushed through pain and fear. Initially, it was just pain. My muscles were weak and the joint was tight. I continued to do the PT and added in TKD in little by little. I trained myself as a white belt at first, then up through the color belt ranks. It was humbling and frustrating to move at such a slow pace.
Once I had regained sufficient strength to practice patterns and basics, I realized I had another challenge in front of me, fear. I was afraid to re-injure my hip executing a technique properly or with more power. It wasn’t just kicks, but stances as well, but fear was not going to have me. I thought of my seniors, who must have all had to face this same challenge. We even spoke of it and that gave me the determination to work through the fear of re-injury. Again, it was slow. I’d push and my hip would push back. I’d let it rest and then push some more.
All this time, I was in my school, hiding from my students the fact that I was using crutches to get to and from the dojang. I hid in the office, claiming I was giving my assistant space to grow as an Instructor (which she did). When the time came and I was able to teach again, I was happy that I could demonstrate on one side and hoped no one would notice, but I felt like a fraud. Here I was pushing my students to train hard and I was unable to do it myself. I was afraid that the students in my relatively young school, would change their mind about TKD when faced with the probability of a serious injury after years of training. I didn’t want them to be afraid of their training. I wanted them to fall in love with it, as I had. I didn’t want them to think less of me as a Master. My own teacher would never have shown any weakness to his students.
And that brings me back to the beginning. I am not my teacher. His stoic way is not mine. While I honor his way, and I love him and am grateful for all that he has given me, I also see benefit from sharing challenges and victories with those that you lead. Yes, there is an appropriate time and place to share but people are inspired in many ways. A person’s character is created in how they handle the challenges that life puts in their path. Why not share those stories too? It’s humbling and it takes courage to be vulnerable to share that we are not perfect; we have our challenges too.
Little by little, as I grew stronger, I shared with select students what I had gone through in regards to my hip; the determination, the responsibility, the strength, the patience. I do not regret it. Those students now have a better understanding of me as a martial artist and perhaps even more respect for me as a practitioner and as their teacher. I know something has shifted in our relationships for the better.
The mental training I’ve done in these past years is the most challenging training I’ve done as a martial artist so far. When I was unable to kick and punch, it really messed with my identity. I was known to my friends, in TKD and out, as a black belt; I kicked ass. It was very difficult to hear people speaking of me in this way and know that I was unable to perform the way I had in the past, heck at certain times, I couldn’t even walk without pain. TKD was not just something I did, but it was who I was, and without it, who was I left to be?
The answer of course is up to me. It always has been. I get to say; and I say: I am Master Dawn Sardinas. I am a 4th degree black belt under Grandmaster Kim Suk Jun, testing for my 5th dan today with his blessing. I own and operate Gotham Taekwon-Do. My students are wonderful and I am honored to be their teacher. I am not perfect, but I am me. I am a Taekwon-Do practitioner and I always will be. Taekwon.
