In Taekwon-Do, we are taught that a good student must be willing to sacrifice for their art and instructor. It’s a statement that appears in the Taekwon-Do Encyclopedia—one that speaks to the dedication, perseverance, and discipline required to excel in martial arts. And to an extent, I agree. Progress in Taekwon-Do requires sacrifice: time spent training, pushing through discomfort, refining techniques over and over again until they become second nature.
But over the years, I’ve seen how this idea can be twisted. I’ve seen how the expectation of sacrifice can be used to justify practices that cause more harm than good.
I still see it now.
I’ve watched juniors forced to endure hours in a sauna, their bodies dehydrated and exhausted, just to make weight for competition. I’ve seen students train through serious injuries because they were told that good students don’t make excuses. I’ve witnessed talented martial artists break under the weight of relentless criticism, made to believe that their struggles weren’t the result of bad coaching, but their own failure to be dedicated enough.
And I’ve seen students groomed into silence. Encouraged to be obedient, conditioned to never question authority, made to believe that true loyalty means accepting whatever is asked of them—even when it crosses a line. Abuse, whether physical, emotional, or sexual, often hides behind the language of discipline and respect.
We are told to serve one master, that loyalty to our instructor is paramount. But what if that one masteris abusing you? What if the person you are told to trust above all others is the one exploiting that trust?
When Dedication Becomes Control
At first, it seems like simple encouragement: train harder, push your limits, prove your commitment. And in the right hands, that’s a good thing. A great instructor knows how to challenge students without harming them. But in the wrong hands, that expectation turns into something far more dangerous.
Students stop questioning their training because questioning is seen as disrespectful. They ignore their own wellbeing because good students make sacrifices. They stay silent, endure mistreatment, and suppress their doubts because they are made to feel that their loyalty is more important than their health.
And that’s when loyalty becomes a cage.
The Role of a Good Instructor
I’ve been in this world long enough to know the difference between pushing someone to be better and pushing them to breaking point. A good instructor earns respect through guidance, knowledge, and integrity—not through fear or manipulation. They push their students, but never at the cost of their wellbeing.
Yet, I still see instructors who do.
They hide behind tradition, saying “this is how it’s always been done.” They twist words like dedicationand respect until they mean submission. They make students believe that leaving is a betrayal, that speaking up is a sign of weakness, that their authority should never be questioned. Some even create environments where students are afraid to say no, to set boundaries, to recognise when something isn’t right.
But a student’s loyalty should never come at the cost of their health, happiness, or safety.
Walking Away Is Not Weakness
I’ve seen too many students stay in damaging environments because they believed they had to. I’ve seen them defend instructors who belittled them, harmed them, convinced them they were nothing without their school. And I’ve seen the weight lift off their shoulders when they finally walked away.
Because the truth is, a good instructor never asks for blind sacrifice. A good instructor never makes you feel like your value is tied to how much you can endure. A good instructor respects you as a person first, a martial artist second.
If you ever find yourself in a space where you’re told that your suffering is proof of your dedication, ask yourself: Who is really benefiting from this?
A great martial artist knows when to fight. But they also know when to walk away.
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