Trauma and Trust:
Breaking the Cycle on the Mat
A recent encounter on the mat almost made me share a part of my book with my students. I hadn’t planned to reveal this chapter yet. But the timing was too clear to ignore. The message is too important to hold back any longer. It’s a raw, honest look at what happens when trauma, distrust, and fear collide inside a person who steps onto the training floor.
It’s about how motion and emotion disconnect and how the journey back to trust and presence begins. This is a sneak peek from my upcoming book, where self-defense becomes more than fighting; it becomes healing, reclaiming, and transformation.
A new student showed up to class that day. She was visibly frazzled, disconnected not just physically but somewhere deeper, disembodied. Her movements lacked flow and intention. When I guided her through the drills, she oscillated between two extremes that seemed impossible to reconcile.
At times, she was super aggressive, almost frantic. Her strikes were wild, uncoordinated like someone desperate to hurt, but not sure how or if she actually could. Yet beneath that storm, I sensed something else. She would have felt horrible if she actually hurt her partner. I am convinced she did not believe, deep down, that she could hurt anyone physically.
Then, without warning, she would switch. Suddenly sloppy, disconnected, hands dropping, movements half-finished, eyes darting away from contact. It was as if she was withdrawing from herself and the room. A shell closing down. Motion without meaning.
I stopped her and said simply: “Stay connected. Trust your partner.” She looked at me with a shy, embarrassed smile and said, “I don’t trust anyone. Not for any reason.”
Her partner – a calm, kind woman – reassured her quietly, “I won’t hit you. I won’t hurt you.” The student shook her head and insisted she did not trust her.
I have seen this before. It is not the first time on that mat. Over the years, I have helped many others shed that skin, this armor of distrust and fear, and find a better way of being. A stronger, clearer, happier version of themselves. I know the way there. I know the destination. She does not. Not yet.
She will not let me drive. Not yet. First, she has to build trust. She will test me. Many times. Little by little, the ice will melt. She will allow herself to reveal the sides she now only sees as vulnerable, weak, or dangerous.
This is the work. This is the fight beyond technique. Beyond strikes and footwork. The fight to reclaim connection with others and, most importantly, with herself.
So I decided to try something different. I asked her permission to hold her arm in a gentle but firm grip. I knew the moment I took it she was uncomfortable. I asked, “Are you comfortable with this?” She said no.
I asked, “Then why don’t you say something? Why try to pull away silently instead of telling me to stop?”
She looked down and whispered, “Because no one ever listens. What I say doesn’t make a difference.”
I pressed her, “Say it anyway. Say ‘stop.’ Let’s see what happens.”
With hesitation, she said it. I let go immediately.
That moment was a small victory. It was a crack in the wall she built around herself. She admitted she was always on super high alert, never relaxed, never letting her guard down. Again, I asked her to trust her partner, this woman who was there, ready and willing to help.
She shook her head firmly. “I can’t.”
Her partner smiled gently and said, “Hit me. I don’t mind. I won’t hit back.”
She was shy, reluctant, not wanting to strike, clearly doubting that the offer was genuine.
She told me, “All my therapists say the same thing. ‘You have to trust me if you want help.’ But I never do.”
I thought of her like someone stuck in a dark hole, scared and alone. When someone throws down a rope, she looks at it and sees a snake. So she refuses the help. Refuses to climb out. Refuses to breathe the air above.
This is the truth many carry. Trauma rewires the brain and body so deeply that safety becomes an impossible concept. Trust is a luxury some cannot afford to imagine. They stay frozen in a cycle of isolation, pain, and self-protection.
I will not talk to her about her issues. Words alone will not unlock what her body already knows but will not show freely. Instead, I will read her body language, her micro-movements, her tension and release, as she speaks it silently on the mat. I will offer guidance, not solutions. I will hand her the weights, but she will have to lift them, do the reps if she wants to get better.
Because real change is not handed over in words, it is earned in motion. It is claimed by those willing to show up, breathe through the discomfort, and keep moving forward even when trust feels like the hardest fight.
This is the crossroads where self-defense meets the human spirit, where movement becomes medicine, where the fight is not just about surviving an attack but reclaiming the simple, brutal truth that you deserve safety, connection, and peace.
The disconnect between motion and emotion is the root of so much pain. When the body moves but the heart and mind do not follow, trauma speaks loudest. Distrust becomes default. The fight or flight response becomes chronic hypervigilance. The soul feels trapped behind a wall built from past hurts and betrayals.
But this wall is not permanent. It can be dismantled with patience, repetition, and the steady building of trust. Not blind trust, but earned trust tested in small doses, proven by action. It is the same trust we practice on the mat. We train to connect with partners in a way that teaches safety under pressure. We learn to read and respond to nonverbal cues, to hold space and respect boundaries.
This student’s journey is not unique. It is the path I have witnessed again and again. The shedding of an old skin. The slow, painful rise toward presence and resilience. Toward becoming more than what fear and trauma once defined.
I do not promise a fast road. There is no quick fix. But I offer the map and the compass. I know the landmarks. The hard climbs and the rare, breathtaking views.
Her story is still being written. She will stumble. She will test. She will doubt. And she will, eventually, begin to breathe deeper, stand taller, and trust more.
Because beneath the fear, beneath the distrust, there is a part of her that longs to be free. To move fully and freely. To connect. To be safe. To be whole.
This is why we train. Not just to fight others, but to fight for ourselves. To reclaim what was lost. To learn that trust is not a weakness but a weapon. That motion leads to emotion. That courage is found in showing up, even when the world tells you to hide.
This moment, this student, this struggle, is a glimpse of what happens when self-defense becomes self-reclamation, when the mat becomes a place of healing as much as training.
And this is only the beginning.
Do something amazing.
Tsahi Shemesh
Founder & CEO
Krav Maga Experts
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