I have always thought martial arts were a typically male pursuit, but then I decided to give it a shot, and, well, here is how that went. 

Growing up, I saw my elder brother doing all sorts of martial arts — from karate to kickboxing. We even had a heavy bag hanging in our garden. Every now and then, I would take a swing at it, mostly for fun, though my attempts were far from knockout punches. He would give me some self-defence tips, which I promptly forgot, and that was the extent of my martial arts experience. It took me another couple of decades before I finally gave it a proper go.

Fast forward to my late 20s, when I met my now-husband — an all-round sports enthusiast with a particular soft spot in kickboxing and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. For our first holiday together, we went to Thailand for a few weeks. He joined a Muay Thai camp, and I… well, I grabbed my laptop and a coconut and settled in to watch. The gym’s restaurant was just a few metres from the training area, so I had a front-row seat to all the action. It was wildly entertaining — like a live reality show, minus the bad scripts.

Then, one day, my husband encouraged me to try a class. He hired me a private instructor — one who was known for being the most fun to train with. And, honestly, that was a game-changer.

At first, I felt awkward, but my kru (trainer), who barely spoke English, somehow managed to switch my mindset entirely. He cracked jokes, reminded me not to take myself too seriously, and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying myself. Like, really enjoying myself. I took more classes and left Thailand determined to keep training back home.

Spoiler: I didn’t.

I tried, I really did. I even sent a request to a Muay Thai gym. But life happened. I was travelling constantly, spending more time abroad than at home, and my routine became a chaotic mess. Then came a full-on relocation to another country, which meant restarting my life from scratch. Muay Thai was, understandably, not at the top of my to-do list.

But eventually, I started settling in, picking up my old hobbies, and one day, martial arts made a comeback. This time, I joined a group class. And that is when things felt… different. Not because the coaches weren’t great or the gym wasn’t welcoming. No, I managed to ruin it for myself with a big, fat case of imposter syndrome.

The people at this gym were hardcore — training multiple times a week, some even fighting professionally. And then there was me: the girl who had done a handful of private sessions on holiday. I suddenly felt like I had no right to be there. I had no big athletic goals, no dreams of stepping into the ring — I just wanted to have a good time. But instead, I felt like a complete fraud.

I spent the entire class counting down the minutes until I could escape the dojo and never return. What I didn’t expect was the support I got — not just from the trainer, but from the other students, especially the women. Turns out, no one was judging me (except me). They had all been beginners once, too. The martial arts community turned out to be surprisingly friendly and welcoming, so I left the gym feeling… good. Not humiliated. Not like a failure. Just good.

A few weeks later, I was back in Thailand and decided to give Muay Thai another go. I found the same kru I had trained with before and booked sessions every other day for three weeks. And it was just as fun as the first time.

What really struck me was that no one cared whether I was training for a professional fight or just messing around for the experience. The community was the same — full of energy, support, and zero judgement. The longer I trained, the more confident I felt. Not just because my skills improved (though, thankfully, they did), but because my attitude changed. I was still doing it purely for fun, but I no longer felt bad about it.

After all, if my coach — who has been fighting in the ring since he was five and literally makes a living out of Muay Thai — keeps saying that the most important thing is to have fun, who am I to argue?