I’m sure most of you know the feeling, even if you’ve never named it: impostor syndrome. That restless knot in your gut that says, Any minute now, they’ll realize I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s that quiet dread that your success, your skills, your rank—whatever you’ve worked for—might be built on sand.
Most people brush up against this feeling in their work. That promotion that looked shiny on paper but feels heavy on your shoulders. The job title that doesn’t match the voice in your head at 3 a.m.
For me, it’s always shown up the same way: right after a belt promotion. From the very first yellow belt that made my young heart race, to the stiff black belt that felt like it belonged on someone else’s waist, to every dan that followed, and—most recently—my purple belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
Same question, every time: Am I worthy?
Martial Arts and the Myth of Arrival
If you’ve stuck around a dojo long enough to see the same four walls through a dozen belt colours, you know exactly what I mean. Most martial artists carry a quiet, constant discontent. A readiness to pick apart our own technique, doubt our worth, and measure ourselves against an impossible idea of “ready.”
And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Because here’s the truth no one likes to say out loud: there’s no such thing as “arriving.” You don’t tie on a new belt and magically become the perfect version of yourself. The new rank isn’t a finish line—it’s a signpost that says: You’ve survived this far. Now here’s where it really gets interesting.
So maybe that self-doubt is just part of the contract. It’s the voice that keeps us honest. Keeps us hungry. Keeps us drilling the same arm bar for the thousandth time when the easier choice would be to coast.
Do You Trust Them?
Here’s the part we don’t like to admit. That voice—Am I worthy?—it isn’t just about you. It’s about who tied that belt around your waist.
At the end of the day, you pay for someone to teach you, watch you, push you—and judge when you’re ready to level up. They see the holes in your game that you’re blind to. They see the things you do right when you’re too busy obsessing over everything you do wrong.
If you trust your instructor, then trust the belt they gave you. If you don’t trust them—then you’re probably in the wrong dojo. It’s that simple.
Every time we second-guess our rank, we’re also second-guessing the person who handed it to us. And maybe that’s the part we should wrestle with harder than the question in our own heads.
What Your Doubt Means to Everyone Else
And then there’s everyone watching. The white belt you just drilled takedowns with. The kid staring up at your new belt, wondering how many years they’ll have to grind to get there too. The training partner who sees you as proof that all those hours on the mat actually lead somewhere.
A little humility is a good thing. Nobody likes the loudmouth blue belt who thinks they’re untouchable. But there’s a fine line between humility and disrespecting the path that got you here. If you keep brushing it off—I don’t deserve this, I’m not ready, they’re just being nice to me—you’re not just trashing your own work. You’re cheapening the process for everyone who wants to stand where you’re standing.
So wear it with the humility it demands—but also with the backbone to match. The belt is not a gold star. It’s a mirror. Live up to it.
So, Is It Useful?
Is this low hum of impostor syndrome useful? Sometimes. It’s the thing that keeps us drilling basics when ego tells us we’re too advanced. It’s the voice that says, Try again, when the lazy part of us says, Good enough.
But like any tool, it cuts both ways. Let it keep you sharp—don’t let it dull your spirit.
When you stand there, tying on that new belt with sweaty hands and that whisper in your ear—Am I worthy?—remember this: you probably wouldn’t feel that way if you weren’t the kind of person who cares enough to earn it again tomorrow.
That doubt is not your enemy. It’s the promise that you’ll keep showing up. Keep testing yourself. Keep stepping onto the mat to be proven wrong, proven right, proven human—again and again.
So let the whisper come. Let it circle you like a ghost. Then take a breath, bow in and roll anyway.
Because the only thing worse than being exposed… is never stepping up to be tested at all.
The Martial Arts Muse 