Trigger Warning: This blog includes mention of domestic violence, intimate partner violence, choking and near-death experience.

Fighting Like a Girl 

I may not be the most skilled martial artist or the instructor with the most knowledge or highest rank, but I am a survivor. I’ve faced moments where my life seemed to flash before my eyes, and I’ve known the terrifying feeling of being in danger from someone who should have been my protector. I’ve hidden bruises, told stories to cover up the truth, and fought to maintain the illusion of normalcy. I’ve wrestled with doubts, questioning if I could ever defend myself against someone much stronger than me. But more than anything, I know what it means to fight like a girl—to fight with everything you have, to fight for your survival.

Ma’am Sarra’s Story

The night began as a pleasant evening of drinking at home with my at-the-time partner and some friends, enjoying conversation and wine. What I didn’t know is hours later an argument would begin resulting in me fighting for my life. An argument so meaningless, neither could remember the root problem but it was enough to send him into a fiery rage. 

I ran up the stairs, trying to avoid the confrontation like I was taught after years of training, slamming the door of the master bedroom behind me, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Seconds later, the door explodes open, him shouting nothingness. He punched the door frame, bending it with ease, then turned to the dresser and struck the top with his fists. A crack formed in the surface of the new dresser, marking it with a sharp, noticeable flaw. I began to beg and plead, saying anything to make him happy and calm him down. But instead, his anger grows, and his eyes darken into black.

He pushes me, causing me to fly to the other side of the room, 6 feet back. I tuck in my head as I’m falling, hoping to minimize my injuries as I crash into the hardwood flooring. I hear my body thud as I hit the floor. Upon landing, I want to rest from being so sore from smashing into the ground, but there’s no time because he’s already lunging towards me. I get up as quickly as I can, frantically running across the room and over the bed, hoping I can get out of the bedroom quickly enough to find my car keys and leave. 

Except, I’m not fast enough. Before I know it, he’s on top of me, mounted and choking me with both arms. I plead and cry, screaming his name, hoping he will stop and come out of his drunken and blacked-out rage, or maybe a neighbour will hear me and come to my rescue. I smack and punch him in the face, progressively getting harder, worrying about using excessive force if the cops are called, and he manipulates them against me. But my strikes are rendered less; he seems unfazed, and his grip tightens around my neck. 

An overwhelming amount of fear fills my body, and I see my life flash before my eyes. Reality sets in, my boyfriend, with a 70-pound weight advantage, is on top of me, causing restriction to my airway and has no intention to stop. It’s clear this is no longer an argument, this is an emergency, a life-or-death situation. 

In an instant, a rush of cold adrenaline flooded my veins, my heart pounding louder, my senses began to sharpen as the fight-or-flight instinct surged through me. Time slowed, and I felt the primal urge to protect myself, even if it meant hurting the one I loved. A sense of calmness settled over me, and in that instant, I knew exactly what needed to be done. My body moved on its own, guided by muscle memory, no thought required—just pure instinct. Before my mind could catch up, I was already in motion of Wa Ki #7: an arm bar followed by a bridge combination. Thanks to years of training, I manage to throw him off and quickly regain control of the situation.

After the assault, I was overwhelmed with shame and guilt. I had seen the warning signs—he admitted to having anger issues but stopped attending therapy, and his mother even asked me, after I expressed how upset I was with her son following a previous argument, if he had ever hit me. Despite all of this, I stayed in the relationship, and in my mind, that meant I was the one at fault.

Speaking Out

When I opened up to others about my experience, I was met with some support from loved ones, but I was also shocked by how a few people dismissed what I had been through. I was asked what my part was in it all, being suggested things like, “maybe if you weren’t so clingy.” One person even compared my clinically diagnosed PTSD to roughhousing on the playground as a child. Another person laughed and said they felt sorry for the guy because of my extensive martial arts training. It was disheartening and hurtful, and it made me incredibly guarded about who I trust with such personal and painful information. Sadly, it’s no wonder so many victims of assault and abuse choose not to report their experiences, because when you’re met with such dismissal and minimization, it can feel like there’s nowhere safe to turn.

My trauma had a profound impact on my mental health, leading to frequent panic attacks, distressing flashbacks, and eventually a formal diagnosis. The journey through this has been incredibly challenging, but after years of continuous therapy, I’m in a much better place now. I’ve learned to recognize my comfort zones and train within them, which has been crucial for my healing. I’ve come to understand the importance of setting boundaries, so I now only engage in training vulnerable positions such as chokes and mounted opponents in more private settings and with partners I trust deeply—those I’ve known for years. This approach has given me the space I need to heal and grow while prioritizing my mental well-being.

A Survivor and an Advocate 

As a lifelong advocate for women’s rights, I have always believed in the essential right of all women to have universal access to self-defence. My own near-death experience only deepened my passion to support those facing gender-based violence, strengthening my commitment to ensuring that every woman has the tools, resources, and knowledge needed to protect herself.

As an instructor and club owner, I am dedicated to making sure all students understand:

• Your trauma is not your fault, and it does not define you.
• We provide a safe environment where you can develop both confidence and tactical skills.
• We listen to your story with compassion and without judgment.
• We stand as a voice for those who cannot advocate for themselves.
• We connect survivors of gender-based violence with community resources and support programs.

I may not be the most qualified, but I know what it means to fight like a girl. 

Strangulation by an intimate partner is a severe form of domestic violence with alarming statistics:

• Prevalence: A systematic review found that between 3% and 9.7% of women have experienced non-fatal strangulation by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
  en.wikipedia.org
  
• Risk of Homicide: Victims of non-fatal strangulation are over 750% more likely to be killed by their offender within the next year.
  kob.com
  
• Health Impact: Strangulation can lead to severe physical and psychological outcomes, including brain injuries, with only 5–69% of victims seeking healthcare.
  pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
  

These statistics underscore the critical need for awareness and intervention to prevent intimate partner strangulation.

If you are a victim of domestic violence, you are not alone. There are many resources available to help you. 

• For help getting connected to community, social, health-related and government services in your local area, contact 211
• Assaulted women’s helpline (24/7 toll-free multilingual services)Call: 1-866-863-0511 
• YWCA Genevra House: 705-674-2210
• Sudbury and Area Victim Services: 705-522-6970
• iHEAL APP

Having a support system makes all of the difference. Remember, you don’t have to go through this alone.