Protect Your Ego — Or Expand Your Capacity. Pick One.
You can protect your ego.
Or you can grow.
You usually can’t do both.
At 47, I earned my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu blue belt. Not because I was naturally gifted. Not because I dominated training.
But because I was willing to be publicly bad at something — for a long time.
That’s the part most people won’t tolerate.
From Competent to Clueless
I’ve practiced martial arts for nearly two decades. I’ve been a nurse for over twenty. I teach both.
In those arenas, I move comfortably. Experience fills the gaps. I don’t have to think through every decision.
But expertise is domain-specific.
Change the arena, and you reset.
I learned that years ago when I transferred from med-surg to the ICU. Same hospital. Same license. Different hallway. Suddenly I was mentally exhausted every shift. Tasks that once felt automatic required deliberate focus.
BJJ was even more humbling.
I teach Silat, primarily a striking art. There’s overlap in movement and body awareness. But once grips, positional control, and submissions entered the picture, I was lost.
Every roll felt like controlled drowning.
I didn’t know when I was safe.
I didn’t know when I was in danger.
I definitely knew when I was losing.
Which was often.
At 47, being physically dominated by younger athletes forces a confrontation with your ego.
And mine did not enjoy the conversation.
The Real Barrier
The hardest part of growth isn’t physical.
It isn’t intellectual.
It’s psychological.
Most adults are addicted to competence.
We build identities around being capable. Knowledgeable. The one who knows.
So when we enter a room where we are clearly the least skilled person there, something in us resists.
We feel exposed.
Behind.
Embarrassed.
And many people retreat right there.
Not because they lack ability.
Because they refuse the temporary identity of beginner.
But here’s the truth:
There is no skill acquisition without public awkwardness.
No mastery without repeated exposure to failure.
No confidence without surviving incompetence.
That stage you’re trying to avoid?
That’s the work.
Submitting to the Process
Submitting to the process isn’t inspirational. It’s repetitive.
It’s showing up knowing you will lose.
It’s asking questions you’re embarrassed to ask.
It’s tapping out — again — and coming back tomorrow.
It’s replacing “I should be better than this” with “I am learning.”
Little by little, things shifted.
Positions made sense.
Danger became recognizable.
Energy became manageable.
Panic became patience.
The progress wasn’t dramatic. It was incremental.
But it was real.
Promotion — and Doubt
About a year in, promotions were announced. I knew who deserved blue belt — former wrestlers, dominant performers, guys who controlled rounds and dictated pace.
When my name was called, I felt two things at once:
Pride.
And doubt.
The pride was quiet.
The doubt was loud.
Had I really earned it?
Was I being grouped in out of timing?
Did the coaches feel obligated to promote me with the others who started around the same time?
That’s the strange thing about growth. You can work for it, bleed for it, show up for it — and still question whether you deserve it.
For weeks after, I tied that blue belt with hesitation.
Then something shifted.
As new white belts joined and I rolled with them, I started recognizing positions faster. I felt less panic under pressure. I could explain concepts I once didn’t understand myself.
I wasn’t dominating.
But I wasn’t drowning anymore either.
That’s when it hit me:
Growth doesn’t feel dramatic when it happens.
It feels subtle. Almost underwhelming.
Until you realize you’re no longer who you were.
I wasn’t advanced.
But I had expanded my capacity.
And that was earned.
Pick One
If you want to grow — in business, fitness, leadership, parenting, anything — you must tolerate looking incompetent for a season.
You cannot protect your ego and expand your capacity at the same time.
Pick one.
If you avoid environments where you might look foolish, you are choosing ego.
If you step into them anyway, you are choosing growth.
Awkwardness isn’t evidence you don’t belong.
It’s evidence you’re learning.
Failure isn’t a verdict.
It’s exposure therapy for your ego.
Stay long enough for the reps to compound.
Stay long enough for humility to turn into skill.
Stay long enough to survive incompetence.
That’s how beginners become dangerous.
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