Why I Never Got My Black Belt

For five years, I studied Shotokan karate. My sensei was an incredibly strong German woman who sported a blond ponytail and could take you with a sharp word or a single roundhouse kick. But step outside of her karate uniform and second-degree black belt, and she was warm, funny, and approachable. We became friends and would sometimes talk about her business.

“When do you tend to lose students?” I asked one day.

“Either within the first six months after they start,” she said, “or when they are brown belts.”

Brown belt is the last step before black belt. And earning a black belt in karate is a big deal. It means you have achieved a level of mastery over the Shotokan basics. It is a badge of honor and, though it doesn’t mean your training is “complete,” it is a tremendous accomplishment.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” I said. “People quit right before they’ve earned their black belt?” I was incredulous. The years and years of hard work it takes to earn a brown belt, and then, with the ultimate prize in sight, people walk away? That’s when they quit? It made no sense to me.

Until I achieved my brown belt. And then quit.

Now, I had all kinds of excuses. There was a new sensei teaching some of the classes whom I didn’t click with. I was busy with work and kids and I didn’t have time to go to class three days a week. I was bored and wanted to try something different. Maybe I just didn’t want it badly enough.

Or maybe there was something deeper and more insidious at work.

In The Big Leap: Conquer Your Hidden Fear and Take Life to the Next Level, author Gay Hendricks theorizes that we all face what he calls an “upper limit problem.” He believes that each of us has a level of success that feels comfortable and that when we reach that upper limit, we will self-sabotage to stay there without even realizing we are doing it. I know, that seems crazy, right? We get close to a goal, or we finally begin to make progress and then we lose momentum. We backslide. We give up. We regain five pounds, turn in a project late, or take our foot off the gas at work.

Many of us have a tendency to slow down before the finish line or quit right before we reach the next level, even though that is precisely the moment when we need to speed up, double down, and raise the intensity. Why do we sometimes get so close and then take our foot off of the gas? Why am I struggling so much to complete the edits to my new book?

Each of us has an identity comprised of what we show the world and what we tell ourselves. Most of us have become comfortable with that identity. Even if we want to change it, improve it, or “level up,” changing our status quo conflicts with that identity and on some deep and likely unconscious level, there is part of us that is afraid—or at the very least reluctant—to bring about real change that might change that identity.

Okay, it is also hard. The work needed to progress from brown belt to black is hard. It takes time, commitment, and work.

Back then, I slowed down on the path from brown belt to black. Today, I can feel echoes of that same resistance as I push to finish my book.

This book has been a long, meaningful project. Fifty-five thousand words. Dozens of stories. A framework I believe in with my whole heart. And now that I’m so close to the finish line, it feels harder than ever to keep going. Not because the work is harder—though it is—but because the stakes feel higher. Finishing means letting the book out into the world. Finishing means stepping into a new chapter of my own. Finishing means claiming that next belt.

And so the resistance shows up, dressed up as fatigue, distraction, “I’ll get to it tomorrow,” or “Maybe it needs more time.”

But I know this pattern. I have lived it. And this time, I’m not quitting at brown belt.

The last mile is always the hardest. Not because we’re weak or lazy, but because we’re standing at the edge of something that will require a slightly bigger version of ourselves. Because our identity has to shift to make room for the person who crosses that line. Because completing something meaningful demands that final burst of energy many of us never quite give ourselves permission to use.

So I’m recommitting. Page by page. Edit by edit. Even on the days when it feels like I’m pushing a boulder uphill.

If you’re standing at your own threshold and tempted to ease up, I get it. But maybe this is the moment to hold on a little tighter. To recognize the fear for what it is. To see the resistance as a sign that you’re where you need to be.

Maybe this is your brown belt moment.