Ego, Shadow, and Play: The Real Work of Jiu-Jitsu

“Leave your ego at the door.” It’s a phrase you’ll hear in almost every Jiu-Jitsu gym. But it’s often misunderstood, and even more often misused. What people usually mean is: don’t act arrogant, don’t bring entitlement, don’t chase validation. Fair enough. But ego isn’t the problem. Ego is what holds someone together when things get hard. It’s what helps them walk back onto the mat after being submitted ten times. You don’t need to kill the ego. You need to educate it.

Instructors who try to crush the ego often confuse dominance with depth. What they don’t realise is that for many students, ego is the last thing keeping them from falling apart. It holds together a sense of dignity, identity, and momentum. If you break it without care, you don’t create growth. You create avoidance. You send people underground. They don’t come back from that. Or they come back smaller.

Ego shows up through speed, strength, posture, body type, gender dynamics. A woman might feel she has to prove she belongs. A smaller man might push harder to avoid being dismissed. A bigger student might lean on strength because it’s the only thing they’ve ever been praised for. These aren’t flaws. They are survival strategies. The ego steps in to protect what’s at risk. The instructor’s role is to see that and help the student navigate through it. Not shame it. Not crush it.

Teaching kids forces you to understand this at a deeper level. Kids don’t care about your belt or your titles. They don’t respond to authority the same way adults do. They demand presence, clarity, and adaptability. You can’t fake your way through a kids’ class. You have to actually connect. That’s where your own ego gets tested. Teaching kids is some of the best ego training an instructor can do. Not because you’re in control, but because you’re not.

Carl Jung made a clear distinction between the persona and the self. The persona is the mask we wear to be accepted. The self is the total of who we are, including what we hide ¹. Most people mistake their persona for their identity. They think they’re the role they play. The tough guy. The technical one. The coach. The beginner. But when pressure hits, the mask cracks. And underneath that mask are fear, doubt, pride, and insecurity. The shadow.

The shadow is not the enemy. It’s just unseen. Fear, anxiety, jealousy, hesitation. These live in the shadow. If a student is never taught to face these parts, they’ll just train to protect a role. They’ll fight to hold their image together instead of becoming more complete. Every roll is a chance to meet the shadow. Every competition is a mirror. Fear and anxiety will always be there, especially when something matters. The goal isn’t to fight them. It’s to work with them.

Imagine walking into a comp. You’ve done the training. You’ve visualised the match. And then your old friends show up. Fear and anxiety. Don’t push them away. Let them stand next to you. Let fear sharpen your awareness. Let anxiety double-check your preparation. If you act like they don’t belong, they’ll shout. If you treat them like part of the team, they’ll settle. That’s integration. That’s self-awareness under pressure.

Erich Fromm explained this in terms of having versus being². Ego-identity is built on what you have. My belt. My strength. My record. My rank. But real identity isn’t a possession. It’s not what you hold onto. It’s what you express through action. It’s not “I have technique.” It’s “I am present, engaged, moving.” In the being mode, you’re not trying to prove you’re unbreakable. You’re reading, adjusting, letting go when needed. Tapping is part of this. It’s not failure. It’s responsiveness. It shows you’re alive in the moment. You’re not trapped by what you think you should be. Identity based in being is flexible, aware, and capable of growth because it isn’t protecting an image. It’s participating in reality.

You don’t start with a finished identity. You shape it. You move toward it through resistance, failure, and pressure. You build it by facing what challenges you and adapting without losing yourself. That takes will. Not the will to dominate. The will to stay open. The will to keep going in the face of uncertainty and fear. The will to face what you’d rather avoid and keep participating anyway.

In the documentaryStutz, psychiatrist Dr Phil Stutz describes the “Life Force Pyramid,” a model for resilience and mental health built on three foundations³.

Body. Movement, nutrition, sleep.
People. Relationships, connection, support.
Self. Inner work, reflection, growth.

Jiu-Jitsu works through all three. It’s physical, communal, and deeply personal. The mats are where many of us start rebuilding our life force. Moving again. Connecting again. Seeing ourselves more clearly. It’s a practice that doesn’t just train the body. It builds the whole person.

This is reflected in the symbol of our academy. The Blue Mountains Jiu Jitsu Academy logo is more than a design. It’s a map of our approach:

The base of the triangle represents Body. Physical strength, well-being, agility. The foundation.
The middle line represents Knowledge. Technique, strategy, the mental tools we use to learn and adapt.
The top line represents Art, Philosophy, and Self. Expression, purpose, and becoming.

The lines don’t fully connect. That’s intentional. They remind us that growth is never finished. BJJ is not a straight path. It’s exploration. The gaps are where oyun lives.

In Turkish, oyun means play, game, and performance⁴. But in Central Asian tradition, oyun also refers to the shaman. The one who plays between worlds. The one who shifts reality through presence and rhythm. Every student uses oyun, whether they realise it or not. Every feint, misdirection, or rhythmic transition is part of it. But most don’t value it. They think play is secondary to discipline. It’s not. Play is how the ego softens. It’s how learning becomes real.

And oyun is the gateway to flow. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi described flow as a state where time drops away, the self recedes, and full presence takes over⁵. You don’t think. You don’t pose. You don’t protect. You become active. You respond. That’s not control. That’s participation.

The ego doesn’t like flow. It wants predictability. It wants credit. But flow is what happens when you stop clinging and start engaging. When you stop proving and start becoming.

So no, don’t leave your ego at the door. Bring it in. Let it move. Let it learn. Let it drop the mask and come undone a little. Guide it. Shape it. Let it play. Let it roll. And in the process, let the person behind it become visible. Sharp. Vulnerable. Aware. Whole.

That’s the real work. That’s Jiu-Jitsu.

References:

Jung, C. G. (1966). Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (2nd ed.). Princeton University Press.
Fromm, E. (1968). The Revolution of Hope: Toward a Humanized Technology. Harper & Row.
Hill, J. (Director). (2022). Stutz [Film]. Netflix.
Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. Harper & Row.
And, M. (2004). Oyun ve Büyü: Türk Kültüründe Oyun ve Tiyatro [Play and Magic: The Concept of Theatre and Play in Turkish Culture]. Yapı Kredi Yayınları.