The Black Belt I Thought I Lost 10 Years Ago

At the very bottom of one of my birthday bags from my mom was something that made me literally gasp.

My first degree black belt from Taekwondo.

With my name embroidered on it and the Korean letters underneath.

“OH MY GOD. WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?!”

My mom looked at me like this was no big deal.

“Oh, I’ve had it. It was in the closet.”

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?

I had been convinced for more than ten years that this thing was gone.

At some point, moving back to Arizona from Portland with an old boyfriend, I thought I had accidentally left it in some random cardboard box that disappeared into the abyss.

I’d looked for it at my childhood home. I’d searched through things over the years. Eventually, I accepted that it was gone.

Apparently, my mother had it the entire freaking time.

Moms. 😂

But as I stood there holding it, something happened that I wasn’t expecting.

I remembered how much that belt once meant to me.

I earned a first-degree black belt.

Which, now that I’m saying that again, sounds pretty badass.

Maybe I need to get back into Taekwondo.

But I digress.

At the time, that belt was tangible proof of something I’d accomplished. I could hold it in my hands and say, “I did this.”

And maybe it’s my Taurus Moon and Taurus Rising talking, but there’s something about having the actual physical object that makes an accomplishment feel REAL.

I earned this.

I achieved this.

Here is the proof.

Except for more than a decade, I didn’t have the proof.

And I was still me.

That’s what hit me.

Sometimes we attach so much meaning to an object, title, accomplishment or status because somewhere underneath it, we’ve asked that thing to tell us something about ourselves.

I’m successful because I have this.

I’m worthy because I accomplished that.

I’m lovable because someone chose me.

I’m secure because there’s a certain number in my bank account.

My relationship is real because there’s a ring on my finger or because someone finally changed their Facebook status.

And listen, I like beautiful things. I like celebrating accomplishments. If someone wants to hand me an award, a gorgeous ring or a large check, I’m not going to throw it back at them in the name of spiritual enlightenment.

I will happily receive it. Thank you very much.

But there is a difference between enjoying something and needing it to tell you who you are.

Maybe that’s why getting my black belt back now felt so different.

I don’t identify as a Taekwondo person anymore.

I don’t walk around thinking, “Hi, I’m Diana. First-degree black belt.”

I had almost completely forgotten that part of myself.

And somehow, because I didn’t need the belt anymore, receiving it felt incredibly sweet.

I could hold it without asking it to hold my identity.

And I started thinking about how often we do the opposite in relationships.

We want the relationship to progress because we genuinely love someone and desire deeper commitment. That’s beautiful.

But sometimes there’s another layer underneath it.

We want the label.

We want the ring.

We want the Instagram post.

We want the public acknowledgment that says, “See? This is real. I was chosen.”

And when those things don’t happen on our preferred timeline, we can start questioning everything.

Where is this going?

Why hasn’t he said this yet?

What does this mean?

Shouldn’t we be further along by now?

Suddenly the status of the relationship is determining the status of our self-worth.

What if you didn’t need it to?

What if you could deeply desire the relationship, the commitment, the money, the accomplishment or whatever else is calling to your heart while staying rooted in who you are?

You don’t have to pretend you don’t want something in order to be unattached to it.

You can want it.

You can enjoy it when it arrives.

You can be disappointed when something doesn’t happen the way you hoped.

And underneath all of that, you can still know:

I am me with it, and I am me without it.

There’s something incredibly peaceful about that.

Because then the relationship doesn’t have to prove you’re lovable.

The money doesn’t have to prove you’re successful.

The accomplishment doesn’t have to prove you’re worthy.

And the black belt doesn’t have to prove you’re a badass.

Although, for the record, I’m keeping mine.

I waited ten freaking years to get it back.

With Love,

Diana

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