There was a time, early in my martial arts teaching career, when I believed that martial arts wasn’t for everyone. I didn’t say it out loud, of course. I didn’t have to. My attitude, my approach, my expectations did all the talking for me. I unknowingly carried this unspoken filter, like a gatekeeper who made students feel that if they weren’t tough enough, they didn’t belong on the mats.
I share this truth because I want to start with honesty. I was guilty of this.
Now, as I prepare to return to the mats in January 2025—both as a teacher and a student after two hip replacement surgeries—I’ve been given a rare gift: the chance to see martial arts from a beginner’s perspective again. To rediscover the art with new eyes, a body still healing, and a spirit as determined as ever.
This time, I’m walking back onto the mats with a clear message for anyone who’s ever doubted themselves:
“You are never too old, too bruised, too broken, and it’s never too late to do something you aspire to do.”
The Misconception That Holds People Back
The number one misconception about martial arts today is this: “It’s not for everyone.”
This idea exists because martial arts has landed in the hands of teachers and schools who—often unintentionally—filter the art through their own experience, their own limitations, and their own egos. They teach a version of martial arts that reflects only their way of doing things.
They’ll say, “Martial arts is for everyone,” but their actions show otherwise:
- They set physical expectations that aren’t realistic for all bodies.
- They shame students for struggling instead of celebrating their effort.
- They create environments of elitism where only the “strong” or “tough” survive.
The result? A student who walks in curious and hopeful often walks out feeling like they’re not good enough. Worse, they believe the problem lies within them.
I’m here to say it doesn’t.
Why My Return to the Mats Matters
My journey over the last ten years has been one of struggle, loss, and rediscovery. Ten years ago, I was at the peak of my athletic abilities, thriving as a martial artist and teacher. But slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, my hips began to fail me. Movements that once felt effortless became labored. Pain became a constant companion. Eventually, I couldn’t walk without discomfort, and even the simplest daily activities felt like monumental tasks.
As my physical abilities declined, so did my sense of identity and purpose. I fell into a deep depression. Who was I if I couldn’t do what I loved? The meaning I found in teaching, training, and inspiring others seemed to slip through my fingers. I felt useless, broken, and lost.
The last year was the hardest. My world shrank as my body failed me. I hit what I can only describe as rock bottom—the point where the quality of my life had diminished so much that I had to make a choice. Either accept a life of limitation or fight for the possibility of something better.
I chose to evolve.
Undergoing two hip replacement surgeries was not an easy decision, but it was necessary. It marked the beginning of a personal evolution—a process of transforming not just my body but my perspective on life, my purpose, and my relationship with martial arts. This journey has taught me lessons I never expected—about patience, vulnerability, and the importance of meeting yourself where you are, no matter how far you’ve fallen.
When I step back onto the mats in January 2025, I won’t just be returning as a teacher. I’ll be stepping onto those mats as a student again—relearning my base, rebuilding my strength, and reconnecting to the art that has shaped my life.
I won’t move like I used to—not yet. But that’s the point. Martial arts isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, doing your best, and discovering what you’re capable of, even when life knocks you down.
In fact, this return carries a message for anyone who’s ever doubted themselves:
“You are never too old, too bruised, too broken, and it’s never too late.”
Whether you’re stepping onto the mats for the first time or returning after years away, your journey is waiting. It’s not about where you start; it’s about showing up and moving forward.
The Teacher’s Responsibility
I’ve spent my life learning that there’s no such thing as a bad student. There are only good or bad teachers.
The student’s job is simple:
- Show up.
- Do their best.
- Be willing to learn.
That’s it. If they bring that to the mats, the rest is up to the teacher.
A good teacher doesn’t blame the student for struggling. A good teacher takes responsibility for how they present, organize, and communicate the material. It’s our job as instructors to make martial arts accessible to anyone who wants to learn—regardless of their age, fitness level, physical limitations, or background.
This is the kind of teacher I intend to be—one who earns the trust of every student who steps onto the mats.
A Message to the Curious, the Hesitant, and the “Maybe Someday” Crowd
If you’ve ever thought about trying martial arts but held yourself back because you thought you weren’t good enough, strong enough, or fit enough—this is for you:
Martial arts is for you.
It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, flexible or stiff, a seasoned athlete or someone who hasn’t exercised in years. What matters is your willingness to step onto the mats and try. That’s all it takes. The rest? That’s on us, the teachers.
In January, I’m stepping onto the mats again—recovering, rebuilding, and proving that martial arts truly is for everyone. I’ll be right there alongside you, showing that the greatest strength comes not from perfection, but from perseverance.
Because you are never too old, too bruised, too broken, and it’s never too late.
If you’ve ever dreamed of trying martial arts—if even the thought has crossed your mind—consider this your invitation.
I invite you to join me. Let’s rediscover what’s possible when we stop measuring ourselves against someone else’s standard. Let’s build confidence, connection, and strength—together.
Because martial arts isn’t about survival. It’s about transformation.
And that journey? It’s yours to take—no matter who you are.
Living Strong,
Peter Liciaga
