Breaking Boards, Breaking Barriers by Jordyn

Breaking Boards, Breaking Barriers by Jordyn - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

I dropped to the mat and bowed until my forehead nearly brushed the floor. Then I looked up and bowed to the most important person in the room, my mom. We did not speak. We held a long, tearful hug that said what words could not. We both knew what it meant. We had earned this together.

That day, I became a second-degree black belt.

Every time I tell someone I’m a martial artist, they assume I do Taekwondo. When I correct them, saying “I do Tang Soo Do,” pronounced Ta-ahh-ng Soo Do, they always pronounce it “T-ayy-ng Soo Do” instead. Oftentimes, they’re still confused, so I just say, “the stuff you see in Cobra Kai.” But honestly, it’s much more than the dramatized art on TV. There is a rich history behind it that very few know about. One of the most important traditions is the Keunjeol, a deep, formal bow in Korean culture showing the highest respect. I performed the Keunjeol, and to understand why that bow meant so much, I need to go back to the day of my second-degree test.

I had trained for more than five years. I drilled my board break hundreds of times. I knew the stance, the rhythm, the strike. I could see the sequence in my sleep. I stepped forward, ready, and the grandmaster said, “Double front kick.”

No explanation. No warning.

I had never tried that break. I stood there, only a first degree, trying my best to fight the uncertainty in my mind. Could I really do this?

Then I heard my mom’s voice in my head. Her advice has carried me through more moments than I can count. “Three, two, one, go. Don’t hesitate. Don’t overthink. Just do it.”
So, I took a breath, jumped, and kicked. The boards split clean down the middle. The room erupted. In that instant, I did more than break wood. I broke through fear and doubt. That board represented every invisible wall I had faced, and I shattered it.

Martial arts has taught me much more than how to fight. I learned how to lead, teach, and reset when life crowds my mind. My studio has become more than a place to train. It is my second home. I have laughed there, stumbled there, and built a family that pushes me to be my best. The lessons I learned inspired me to help others feel the same sense of confidence and belonging. Over time, I became the youngest Kyo Sa Nim (lead instructor) in the Georgia Tang Soo Do Association. I focused on empowering women and showing them that they, too, can be leaders, role models, and possess the strength they admire in others.

However, my deepest strength has always come from my mother. Since my parents’ divorce, she has done everything for me. She taught me what it means to move through the world as a strong Black woman in a place that does not always value our worth. She reminds me that I can do hard things, I deserve to be seen, and my voice matters. That final hug after my test was not only a celebration, it recognized the quiet fights we had already won.

I carry these lessons into my future. I plan to study forensic pathology, a field where Black women remain underrepresented. I will need to push harder to be heard and seen. Nevertheless, I am not afraid of barriers. I know how to break through.

That test marked a new understanding of myself. I am stronger than my fear and louder than my doubt. I break boards and I break barriers. When I set my mind to something, I do it. Not because it feels easy. Because I have trained for it, I believe in it, and I carry within me the strength of every lesson, every fall, and every rise.