Trying to overcome my biggest problems through BJJ

My love/hate relationship with the "gentle art" of Brazilian jiu-jitsu...

Why do people start Brazilian jiu-jitsu? The bigger question is: what the hell keeps us in?

I understand the appeal for trying it out. It’s a great all-rounder for strength, fitness and flexibility; it’s fun and it looks cool; it’s excellent for women to train and feel safer going about the world.

It’s also no doubt a great place for guys to find new friends and do something that feels primal and masculine together. It’s always full of other beginners — unlike joining, say, a football team — so it feels more accessible and less intimidating in that way.

Then of course there’s UFC and Joe Rogan and Tom Hardy and Keanu Reeves and the best people you know and the worst people you know. These days, you’re only two degrees away from someone who is doing BJJ.

I didn’t start BJJ for any of these reasons. My martial arts background is in savate and other forms of striking. In 2022 I moved from London, where my savate gym is, back to my hometown in Kent. I needed to find a new home to spar in.

One afternoon at a local combat sports gym, a friend said to me, “Ally, I think you’d really love jiu-jitsu” and I said, “I think I’d hate it” and it turns out we’re both right.

I never understood love/hate relationships until I started Brazilian jiu-jitsu. It’s hard, it’s crushingly hard. There’s so much to learn and you learn largely the old-fashioned way: fuck around and find out. You get smashed, annihilated, for at least a year. You won’t understand how or why for quite some time. The first sessions feel like when you fall off a surfboard and you just hold your breath and wait for the ocean to spit you back out. Then, you get your first stripe, then your second, and you wonder if it’s just for surviving this long. It probably is.

Then, a year in, your coach says, “What you’re doing is actually starting to look like grappling now” and you think, “Oh good” and the praise and the stripes are moreish because we’re all just beaten dogs at this point.

The prevalence of injury and general acceptance that we’re all going to end up with arthritis and two knee braces is, to this day, absolutely insane to me. There are often times, even past white belt, where you feel like the worst person in the room that day. And you probably are, because someone has to be.

I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy — but feeling aware of my relative weakness as I get politely squished by yet another stronger man is also a specific kind of bullshit feeling that is nobody else’s problem but my own.

Yet here I am, two-and-a-half years in, with my blue belt and my aching body, wondering how and why I’m still here — when everyone else in the room seems to know.

I saw an Oleksandr Usyk interview doing the rounds recently, where he says, “I don't have motivation, I have discipline. Motivation is temporary. Today you have it, tomorrow you wake up early and you don't have it.”

I really felt that. I’ve always been disciplined and consistent. I drive to BJJ because somewhere inside, that is what must be done. But I often feel a gap where motivation should be. It’s a strange feeling for me. I have no gold medal aspirations in BJJ, despite having a bunch of medals in savate. I have no drive to compete.

The truth is I’m trying to reduce the risk of big, disruptive injuries. I live by myself, I don’t trust my defence nor do I trust opponents full of competition adrenaline to give a shit about my safety.

So why do it at all then?

Weeeell it’s a laugh, isn’t it? It’s an interesting puzzle and I’ve made some good friends, and making more male friends especially has been a wholesome bonus. But my main driver is this: BJJ is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done and the struggle pisses me off so much I’m compelled to get better at it out of sheer spite.

On the mats, I see an opportunity to build more perseverance, persistence and resilience. It’s not enough for me to spend life running around and trying things. Life can be as fun and as colourful as you make it, but it’s also hard. There will be chaos; tough moments beyond your control. Pursuing a sport or a hobby that teaches you to weather a storm and not quit when things get difficult will serve you throughout your life.

The frustration I feel towards BJJ isn’t from being tapped or getting smashed. It’s not about being bested by someone bigger or better than me. BJJ forces me to confront the fact that I hate feeling trapped. Not only that, I hate feeling trapped when I’m the one that actually has the keys. It’s the moments where I find an opportunity, I start setting something up, and my mind goes blank. I can’t remember what to do next because I haven’t drilled it enough or looked it up yet. The technique we learned not five minutes before has already left my consciousness completely. Where did I put my damn keys?

This is heightened by the fact I’m a blue belt. I know things, but still have a long, long way to go. I haven’t yet found my focus and I can’t just rely on “surviving” a round anymore. I need to figure out what my game is and up it.

Receiving my blue belt from Lee Johnstone at Combat Sports Academy in April 2025

And the answer is right there: go to more classes and seminars, buy courses instead of watching the odd YouTube video. Grind the way that BJJ culture demands. Dare to compete. Hold myself to the same standard as when I was preparing for international savate competitions.

But I’m just not willing to give more than I currently am. Giving more time to BJJ means tipping the balance I’ve been trying to keep hold of, and taking time away from something else I love. I’m not willing to give more and I’m frustrated at myself for that.

What I’m trying to say, to confess, is this: I’m a BJJ hobbyist.

It’s a hobby. That’s all it is. I have a hobby that I’ve opted not to make my whole life. It’s a sport that is teaching me perseverance, persistence and resilience, yes, but it’s also teaching me that not everything has to be either 1000% or not worth trying at all.

So I carry on, with this sport that I kind of love and kind of hate. I carry on because, despite everything I’ve just said, I am an optimist. I know that if I keep showing up a couple of times a week, I’ll get better. Maybe not as fast as other people, but that’s fine.

Without optimism and stubborness, I never would have made it past white belt.

Plus there’s something nice about turning up to a space and learning something all together. Being in a room with people who have all decided to take a gamble and try this wildly difficult, silly and really quite intimate sport.

And when you have a good competitive roll with someone, and you’re both focused and flowing and moving well, and maybe you hit something new — it makes you feel awake and alive and in tune with another human being and like, damn, I’m actually not bad at this! Those rolls are golden.

If you’re getting smashed, that’s just part of your journey. If you’re smashing them, it’s part of theirs. But those good rolls with good people make you glad you started and they make you glad you stayed.

Thanks for reading,

Ally x

Photography by Mick Hall