Is the constant and incremental practice of a discipline an ally to our growth and well-being? Or is it exactly the opposite?

It depends.

To try to outline an answer, we need to look at how our system works.

Pleasure and reward

Our system is so well-designed that it releases dopamine when it perceives positive events. The activation of reward mechanisms drives us -for instance- towards healthy eating, self-care, and sexuality within a stable relationship.

Think about how we started our journey of practice. Some entered the Dojo out of boredom during their free time, others because they felt dissatisfied, wanted physical activity to feel good, sought self-defense skills, or felt lonely and wanted to meet new people.

At the beginning of everything, there is a kind of emotional regulation. Our inner world sends us signals -emotional ones- to which we respond with our actions and thoughts. Feeling insecure? Enroll in the tough-guy course at the gym down the street.

Once we step into the Dojo, we go through an initial phase where curiosity takes center stage. Everything is new, often even confused. As soon as our system recognizes the decision to practice as something positive, the neural reward mechanism begins to flood us with dopamine.

We feel good. We’re happy. We talk to everyone about what we’re doing. It’s the Honeymoon phase with the practice.

The reward system pushes us to establish a consistent habit. After all, we eat with pleasure because it’s necessary to live. Similarly, propagating the species involves other things that aren’t particularly unpleasant either.

Falling into addiction

And here we come to a crossroads.

A very fine line separates a discipline that benefits the human being from a destructive addiction.

All addictions are, in fact, deeply rooted habits born from evidently flawed emotional regulation, driving individuals to seek relief from states of discomfort through increasingly frequent dopamine shots. A reward system that, for ever-smaller doses of pleasure, is fueled by massive amounts of substances or sensory stimuli.

The phenomenon of addiction is so vast that it’s visible to everyone. It doesn’t only take the tragic forms of drug addiction, alcoholism, or gambling. It’s a phenomenon that can creep silently-from excessive work attachment to various forms of sexual disarray, and through the countless small and large obsessions that punctuate existence.

A phenomenon that, instead of resolving emotional states, exacerbates them, amplifying anxiety, inadequacy, and depressive states.

A series of choices that socially isolate the individual, who no longer feels stimulated, nor experiences pleasure or meaning in other areas. After all, how could they? Our nervous system, to cope with the dopamine influx, somehow downregulates its receptors. Music that once brought pleasure no longer interests us. Friends and family lose their appeal. Former interests are abandoned.

Budo-addicted?

Does this also happen with a martial discipline?

It could. And it probably happens more often than we think.

It’s something that provides a relatively immediate reward. It creates a “society within a society,” where one can remap his/her perception of self differently from how they’re seen outside the Dojo, in their everyday life. Apart from injuries, the body rediscovers movements it didn’t even think it could perform and, in the medium term, experiences a sense of well-being. The average practitioner arrives on the mat tired and leaves energized. It’s a common experience.

There are countless objective elements that show that the reward circuit is heavily activated by practicing a martial discipline.

And they explain why practitioners generally increase the doses they administer to themselves.

So, are we budo-addicts? Or are we the reincarnation of the purest warrior monks?

We believe it’s necessary to reflect on our daily lives and assess the changes that habits on the tatami have brought to our existence.

Are we at peace? Are we happy with what we do? Do our relationships shrink or flourish? Are we managing our commitments, or are we reducing them, retreating into the Dojo as if it were a parallel world?

We all know people who, after years of practice, seem burned out. We all have friends who, well before an test, fall into a true state of obsession. We all know practitioners who would train morning and evening on Christmas and Easter.

Luckily, we all know people who, after a lifetime of practice, seem like a serene fire always burning. People who radiate those values and that serenity in the various aspects of life that we apparently all seek (also) in practice.

What’s the secret?

Monitoring the risk of addiction certainly helps, but equipping ourselves with some tools is essential.

We believe the first tool is to counter social isolation, one of the most evident signs of habit-driven addiction. Stepping out of our circle and attending seminars allows the practitioner to remain within the habit while reconsidering it from different perspectives.

A Dojo or group that doesn’t promote moments of internal and external interaction is unlikely to be a suitable place for the holistic development of a person.

The second tool is to educate the reward mechanism. The technical program is a good ally at the start because it incrementally doses significant frustration. New and complex techniques take time, as does the possibility of passing exams with dignity.

Sooner or later, however, the practitioners reach a point where they have a technical repertoire that allows them to manage most situations decently. It’s a bit like having a decent command of English allows you to handle most situations abroad.

At this stage, boredom, complacency, and lack of stimuli become explosive. As students, we may step back into what we already know because it was hard-earned.

New challenges

In such cases, the main ally is intelligently administering new challenges.

It’s not intelligent to train excessively or halt a student’s progress arbitrarily -testing their endurance (but why?) or acting like a mere pusher.

Instead, it’s healthier to work with practice partners increasingly honestly to refine attitudinal, physical, and technical shortcomings within feasible limits. When a technique performed automatically becomes fluid because it faces no constructive opposition, there is no room for growth.

The modulation of the reward mechanism is further refined by forcing ourselves to cultivate interests outside of practice. Monitoring the quality of our engagement in daily activities and relationships is crucial. When the “thermometer” indicates a decline, it’s likely necessary to counterbalance the intensity of practice with equivalent commitment elsewhere.

Ultimately, what gives us pleasure? A habit we can no longer rationalize, or the awareness of having a space to process our experiences and present the best version of ourselves?

We are convinced that, in a relationship -whether with a partner or a discipline- the Honeymoon phase can be an endless process. Far broader than those initial ten days when, if we could, we’d even sleep in our gi.

It’s not an easy process, but it’s straightforward: it’s “simply” about having the courage to ask ourselves the questions above. To look in the mirror and decide to take charge of our lives and practice responsibly.

Rediscovering the reasons each time, occasionally voluntarily reducing the “doses” and allowing abstinence to reveal the real reasons behind a habit. This gives us the time to purify and understand, for example, whether we rely on a pusher or a trusted friend for our growth needs -on someone who feeds our potential addiction or someone who supports our organic growth.

Disclaimer: picture by Pixabay