Ah, jiu-jitsu.
The “gentle art”. As an adjacent stop on the bipolar express to other forms of exercise (including Muay Thai), jiu-jitsu is another great way to rechannel manic rage. Granted, there’s no striking in BJJ (Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu). There’s no immediate gratification of landing a blow or hearing your glove hit a pad at top speed. Grappling, on the contrary, is an investment. It’s a goal you have to work toward. Something you earn. Kind of like those medications you might have taken that you know require a while to work. And this was the hardest part for me. It takes time, patience, discipline, and work. And – much like Muay Thai, that translates to day to day interactions. In striking, the ability to maintain composure while getting hit carries over into every day life. This is so helpful for both interpersonal interactions in general – as well as for when those episodes hit.
The carryover of jiu-jitsu is instead – the patience.
(No one starts as gold medal material in BJJ. And no one feels like they’re gold medal material – even after they win one.)
And while this is important for everyone, it’s especially helpful for bipolar folk.
I live in the same world you do. Everything is at my disposal and at the speed of yesterday. I can order any product on Amazon. I can order any food with DoorDash. I can get a ride in 8 minutes with Uber. I can learn any information in the next five minutes I want to. I can reach out to anyone I’d like, by texting. It all takes five seconds. Everything is immediate. Immediate gratification. Jiu-jitsu, though? Pure patience. And that sounds good in theory – until you realize the first few months are just pure humiliation. I’m now a gold medal winner. (I’m not good, I just sucked less than my white belt opponents at the time.) But I can’t tell you how many times I quit and started up again because of the frustration of “not being good enough fast enough”. Finally, in 2021, I went all in. I competed the next year. I won twice. I was getting better. But then, right after getting my blue belt, I sustained an injury that’s put me out for quite a time. Now, it’s the game of patience all over again. But that is so underrated for those of us dealing with bipolar. When you’re going through an episode, patience helps you remember “this too shall pass”. Patience may even prevent the triggers that set off those episodes.
Like Muay Thai, you make close friendships as well. Probably even more so. (You can’t commit violence at such close quarters without forming some sort’ve friendship.) Again, averting loneliness while performing something self affirming (like getting better at a difficult art) is immensely helpful for those of us suffering from a disorder where depression is a factor. And, also like striking, you want the right gear. For me, there are some things I’m willing to sacrifice (like a Walmart boil and bite mouth guard) and some I’m not when I step onto the mat. My go to’s that I don’t head to the dojo without? My gi (obviously) by Fenom. Fenom is made by and for women. With their pearl weave fits and longer pants and arms, I can get just the right length and width, without all this extra fabric I’m just giving my opponent to choke me with. (More fabric means more ability for them to maneuver you.) And, aside from the functional aspect of it – let’s admit it: no female likes wearing a guy’s size where it looks like you have on a diaper with capris because the butt part is so big and the legs are so short. (Tall chick problems.) I know we’re not here to make a fashion statement. But, if I can get some cute submission jammies, I’m all about it. Fenom’s products are also made out of quality material. Where other gis I’ve bought shrink up in the wash (yes, the wash – not the dryer), this stuff is durable enough to have won me more than one competition.
(Ain’t no one getting using that gi tail to choke this chick!)
The other thing I won’t sacrifice?
Monkey tape. You want to tape your fingers before your manic depressive management classes because all that gripping and pulling leads to gnarly hand joints. I learned this the hard way. (Like everything else in jiu-jitsu, TBH.) By class three, my fingers looked like a haunted tree in a tornado. At first, I tried to go cheap. I attempted the usual cruddy tape they use to add stripes to our belts. Massive fail. Came off before drills were even over. (What? I sweat a lot.) Then, one day, I had nothing and borrowed some from a friend. This stuff was stupid sticky and lasted all class through my sweating, gripping, twisting, pulling, and flipping. My little joints were all cozy, happy, safe and – most importantly – not hurting by the end of class. After asking what it was, I hit the Amazon search bar and got my own Monkey Tape the next day. (Hey, I’m glad some things are still available by instant gratification.)
I’ve stuck with it (ah???) ever since – for every class, roll, and competition.