An effective fighter, a man or woman capable of facing violence in a society full of predators, must acquire and train many attributes. One attribute necessary to self-defense, and which self-defense training encourages, is often neglected in martial literature and philosophy. That attribute is confidence.
One of the first lessons taught to me by one of my martial arts instructors, David W. Pearson, was, “Stop being afraid of yourself!” He forced me to stop retreating to understand the need for space domination, to understand how to seize the initiative. He once said to me, somewhat sadly, “You’re constantly putting yourself down, Phil. You have a real problem with that.” He was right. When we first starting working together in 2001, I had so little self-confidence that I would deliberately diminish, dismiss, and underestimate what I had done or could do.
My lack of assertiveness, my miserable dearth of confidence, spilled over into every part of my life. My career, my personal relationships, my hobbies — no corner of my life was spared. I was so wrapped up in self-deprecation that I lied to myself regularly, running myself down in my mind.
A curious convergence of coincidental criticism, cautious encouragement, and the benefits of my martial arts training helped ignite the spark of confidence in me. It was this spark of confidence that helped me to launch my freelance writing career and, ultimately, to leverage the martial writing I did at PhilElmore.com to create The Martialist. (The Martialist also owes its creation to a certain streetwise fellow named Dan Webre, who first told me, “Phil, you should start your own magazine.”)
There are times, to this day, that I catch myself indulging in the misanthropic remnants of that earlier lack of confidence. To this day, every once in a while, I catch myself deliberately obfuscating aspects of my life for what I call my “personal security,” though what I’m really talking about is my “emotional security.” I am, however, finally being honest with myself about myself — a wonderful but sometimes sobering and upsetting aspect of personal growth.
Russian novelist and philosopher Ayn Rand once wrote prophetically about the resentment people have for creation, for human industry. I may not be some Randian Ideal Man, but I’ve now experienced first-hand the problems caused by daring to create. Publishing this magazine and pursuing my career have not come without personal cost. I’ve lost friends. I’ve seen relationships collapse. I’ve made enemies. I’ve experienced the destructive politics of the self-defense community. I’ve alienated entire virtual communities, sometimes by association and sometimes thanks to ill faith and untruths. I’ve been threatened. I’ve been called every vile name there is and questioned on every aspect of my existence. I’ve been called a liar and an egomaniac.
The interesting thing about confidence, however, is that it prepares you for these trials and tribulations. It braces you for this and more. It’s almost a paradox, really. Confidence makes self-defense more possible, while self-defense training makes one more confident. The benefits of assertiveness — and, more importantly, the ability to be honest with yourself — extend to every corner of your life. Just as lack of confidence debilitated me mentally and emotionally, acquired confidence liberated and empowered me.
Confidence allowed me to step forward and create. Confidence enables me to face fear — particularly the fear of myself — and makes it possible for me to become an effective fighter. Confidence makes me a better man.
The benefits have been worth the cost, though I mourn the friends lost and the ways parted. I wish I knew how to tell you how to gain confidence if you lack it, how to acquire it if you seek it. I don’t, though. It’s a process that can only occur within you and it often consumes you without your knowledge.
In all things, you must ask yourself if you can face yourself. You must ask yourself if you can be honest with you. You must know that you are an individual and no one is your master unless you permit it.
That “no one” includes the worst within you — but excludes the best of your being.