Gustavo, a lifelong martial artist and grappling enthusiast, shares a deeply personal journey through various combat sports, ultimately finding himself in grappling. His message is twofold: first, the self-awareness and conflict management skills he developed on the mat transformed him and kept him grounded for life. Second, he learned the hard way that trust on the mat has to come with caution, because placing your body in the wrong hands can come with an immense price.
How It All Started
Like many people in combat sports, I’ve always been a fan of athletics. I played basketball for over a decade, from primary school through my senior year of high school. I started lifting weights as a teenager and never really stopped. But despite all that, I never found deep personal satisfaction in those sports. My results were mixed, mostly because I lacked basic knowledge and discipline around nutrition. I never truly felt like I belonged in the world of traditional team sports—I did them more out of habit and availability than genuine connection. And if I’m honest, I never really got in shape doing them.
Something deeper was pulling me toward martial training: a need to feel safe.
I grew up in an environment where safety wasn’t always a given. One of my uncles struggled with depression and was a borderline alcoholic for years. My family didn’t handle conflict well—There were more instances of verbal aggression than I would have liked, and physical absence defined my relationship with my father until I was around 11. That atmosphere left me anxious and triggered patterns of emotional binge eating—something I still wrestle with.
Looking back, I’d say that mix of fear, loneliness, and suppressed anger became the engine for what I now recognise as inner aggression.
After finishing university, I moved to a new city. I was out of shape, disconnected from physical activity, and felt like I’d lost myself. That changed when I reconnected with a friend from law school—let’s call him Loui—who happened to live next door.
Loui had recently survived a near-fatal stabbing at a concert. He’d been attacked from behind and left with several wounds in his back. Somehow, he survived. That experience changed him completely and sent him down his own path of rebuilding. He’d begun training with a former Colombian special forces operative—let’s call him Andrew—who was teaching him basic military combatives and strength training. Loui invited me to join them, and I did. Immediately, something clicked.
For the first time, I had a constructive outlet for everything that had been locked inside—aggression, anxiety, insecurity. I dropped weight, built muscle faster than I ever had, and experienced a level of mental clarity I’d never known. I began to feel like a force of nature—focused, self-governed, finally at home in my own skin.
And that was just the beginning.
Finding Grappling
Eventually, I realised I enjoyed martial training more than weightlifting. I branched out—took some boxing lessons, which I loved, then enrolled in Krav Maga. My instructor there was a former kickboxing champion. I learned a lot, especially about myself and staying calm under pressure. But something was missing. When I received my first-degree belt, it felt like an ending, not a new chapter. The lack of live sparring and pressure testing made me question whether anything I was learning would hold up in real-life conflict. So I moved on, but many of the principles—situational awareness, avoidance of unnecessary confrontation—still stay with me today.
Next, I joined an MMA gym. I threw myself into Muay Thai and boxing, training intensely for months. I progressed quickly—technically sharp and able to hold my own against trained fighters. Then came the moment that changed everything: one day, after Muay Thai class, some friends invited me to stay for Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I was sceptical but agreed. I don’t remember anything from that first class—except the blue belt who submitted me multiple times in seconds. He was half my size. I’m 6’1″ and was around 191 lbs at the time, and he just ran through me.
That moment humbled me. It intrigued me. And more than anything, it pulled me into grappling.
I bought a cheap gi the following week—one that came with a white belt I didn’t even know how to tie. For about a year, I trained casually, picking up the basics and earning a couple of stripes. After my second stripe, I was all in. BJJ became my primary focus.
When Everything Changed
Unfortunately, the most profound shifts in my relationship with grappling have come through injury.
There was the concussion from a failed Judo throw. A broken hand from boxing. A near-meniscus tear while training in Germany. But the most transformative event happened in Spain.
About a year ago, the head instructor showed me a variation of the bow-and-arrow choke that incorporated a spinal twist. I wasn’t grasping the mechanics, so he offered to demonstrate. He applied the move quickly. I tapped as fast as I could, but the damage was already done. Two herniated discs in my lower back. Followed by hip bursitis and gluteal deterioration that caused chronic pain—daily intensity hovering around 6 or 7 out of 10.
I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t sleep. I had to stop working. I gained a lot of weight from the immobility. Depression and anxiety returned with a vengeance. My nervous system essentially collapsed. More times than I can admit, I seriously thought about ending it all for good.
It was the darkest period of my life.
And yet—I still love the sport. I still recommend grappling and striking to people. BJJ and MMA made me better in almost every dimension of life. But the injury forced me to confront the fragility of our bodies and recalibrate my priorities: health, family, community, and stability come first.
I don’t know if I’ll ever train the way I once did. I don’t even know if I’ll ever roll again. The cost is too high, and I no longer trust every room with my body. But I do know this: if I ever step back onto the mats, I’ll move differently. I’ll leave the moment something feels unsafe. I’ll be less of a tornado and more of a wave—steady, deliberate, reshaping the rock one strike at a time.
This injury marked the most significant transformation in my martial arts journey—and I’m still in it. I’m still recovering, physically and emotionally. I still haven’t gotten my life fully back.
What I Learned
A teacher once told me: “Once a martial artist, you’re a martial artist on and off the mats.” That stuck with me.
Training made me more confident, more resilient, and—maybe paradoxically—more compassionate. Knowing how to handle yourself in a physical confrontation has a quieting effect. You no longer feel the need to prove anything.
Beyond the physical transformation—muscle, mobility, cardiovascular health—grappling reshaped my problem-solving skills. Every roll is a puzzle under pressure. Sometimes you’re the hammer. Sometimes you’re the nail. But you’re always adapting, analysing, adjusting. That mental agility follows you off the mats.
Grappling also changed my relationship with risk and learning. I now take more calculated risks and engage new challenges with the mindset that consistency beats perfection. On the mats, you learn that if you give your best consistently, you’ll usually progress. And if not—it’s a learning moment, not a failure.
Long-term, I can’t imagine going back to a sedentary life. Even if I never roll again, I know I won’t let myself drift into neglect or numbness. Martial arts have hardcoded a kind of awareness in me—about how I eat, how I move, how I relate to others. It gave me back my body. And through it, my mind.
That’s the legacy of martial arts for me—not just physical transformation, but a lasting integration of mind, body, and spirit.
If You’re On The Fence
If you’re a pro reading this, you’re probably playing 4D chess—this may not apply to you. But for the average practitioner: remember, this journey is yours. Don’t let anyone else define what a “serious” martial artist looks like.
Don’t feel like rolling today? Don’t roll. Don’t want to compete? You don’t have to. Don’t vibe with your gym? Find one that fits your values.
And always—consistency beats intensity.
We’re not machines. Life throws a lot at us—mental stress, emotional fatigue, physical wear. We’re not meant to run full throttle all the time. The best martial artists I know train for the long haul. Think of the cheetah: it can explode to 60 mph—but only for up to half a minute. Then it rests. So should we.
Grappling is addictive, especially when you’re young and your body can take the punishment. But time humbles everyone. Build for longevity. Master the fundamentals. Respect your body. Prioritise recovery and mobility.
And finally—enjoy the ride. If you’ve trained with heart and integrity, the mental and emotional growth will stay with you—even if you never set foot on the mats again.
Author’s bio
Gustavo is a dedicated mixed martial artist, UFC die-hard fan, and bettor. He takes care of and MMAWhisperer.com while he’s taking a break from his Muay Thai, Boxing, or BJJ training.
