By Kyle Laws – Trauma survivor. And yes, I’m thriving.

I didn’t start boxing because I wanted to fight.

I started because I wanted to feel something again.

Or maybe to stop feeling so much.

Honestly, I don’t remember the exact moment I put on gloves for the first time. But I do remember this:

I couldn’t sleep.

My body always felt like it was buzzing — like something bad was about to happen.

People kept telling me to “just calm down” or “try meditation.”

But sitting still made it worse. My thoughts would race. My chest would tighten. I’d feel like I was going to explode.

So I picked up boxing. Not because I wanted to beat anything — but because I wanted to stop feeling beaten by everything.

It Gave Me Back My Body

For a long time, I didn’t even feel like I had a body.

I walked around like a ghost. Smiling when I was supposed to. Laughing at the right times. Saying, “I’m good” when someone asked.

But inside? Numb. Heavy. Disconnected.

Boxing changed that. The first time I hit the heavy bag, I felt my body wake up. My fists stung. My lungs burned. My legs shook. I was here. Not in the past. Not floating above myself. Just right here.

A typical boxing session outside with my trainer.

It was the first time I felt like I owned my body again — like it was mine, not just something carrying my pain around.

It Let Me Feel Anger — Without Shame

I used to think anger was bad. That feeling rage meant I was dangerous. So I stuffed it down.

But the anger didn’t go away. It just twisted into anxiety. Panic. Shame.

Boxing gave me a safe place to let it out. No one judged me for hitting hard. In fact, they cheered me on. Every jab was like saying,

“This happened to me, and I’m still standing.”

“You didn’t break me.”

“I deserve to take up space.”

It Calms Me Down (Eventually)

People think boxing is wild and aggressive. But honestly, it’s helped me calm down.

When I train, my brain gets quiet. I’m focused on footwork, breathing, rhythm. I’m not in the past. I’m not waiting for something bad to happen. I’m just… present.

And after? The storm inside me settles. I sleep better. I think clearer. I don’t snap at people for no reason.

That’s healing. Even if it’s just for a day.

But Here’s the Truth: Boxing Didn’t “Fix” Me

Let me be real with you.

Boxing helped. A lot. But it didn’t heal everything.

It didn’t make the nightmares stop.

It didn’t teach me how to trust people again.

It didn’t help me cry when I needed to, or say “I need help” without feeling weak.

Because trauma isn’t just rage. It’s grief. It’s fear. It’s frozen places inside you that need more than punches to thaw.

You can hit the bag all day, but if you’re still carrying shame, or hiding from your story, your healing will hit a wall.

That’s what happened to me.

This Is What Healing Looks Like Now

I already did the talk therapy. Years of it.

And I’m not knocking it — it helped me understand myself, unpack my story, and see that my thoughts aren’t always facts. I learned how to step back, observe, and not believe every scary thing that ran through my head.

But at some point, I outgrew it.

Now, I mix it up with stuff that gets me out of my head and into my body.

I walk more. I move when I’m feeling stuck. I go outside. I talk to people. I go out even when I’d rather shut down. I try to stay connected — to music, to movement, to the world around me.

I still box — or at least, I will again. Three weeks ago, I had a concussion. And that changed everything.

I didn’t want to stop. But I had to. Because your brain only gets one shot at healing. Pushing too soon could mean serious damage — second-impact syndrome, long-term memory loss, even emotional issues down the line. So I’m on pause. No sparring. No head movement drills. Not even the heavy bag.

Right now, healing means giving my nervous system a real break. It means letting my brain rest, letting my body recover — even if the itch to train is still there.

I’ve learned that sometimes strength looks like backing off, not pushing through. Sometimes, movement has to wait — so stillness can do its job.

Some days, I still need to feel strong again — even if I woke up feeling broken. But now, I know strength includes patience. It includes protecting the progress I’ve made.

And when I’m ready, I’ll get back in the ring — smarter, safer, and stronger.

Honoring the Survivor in Me

I’m a trauma survivor. And yes — I’m thriving.

But let’s be clear: thriving doesn’t mean I never struggle. It doesn’t mean I’m “over it.” It means I keep choosing life. I keep showing up. I keep fighting — not just in the ring, but in the everyday stuff: staying open, being real, feeling joy without waiting for it to disappear.

I honor the part of me that got through the worst. And I honor the part of me that’s learning how to live beyond survival.

If You’re Carrying Something Heavy…

Maybe you’ve tried the talking. The breathing. The being-still. And it didn’t work.

Maybe your body’s still stuck in “fight or flight” mode, like mine was.

Maybe boxing — or running, or dancing, or lifting — is your way back home to yourself.

That’s valid. That’s real.

Just know this: movement helps the pain move. But healing? Healing comes when we learn to listen to our bodies — not just use them.

Final Thought

I box because I love it.

I box because it saved me more than once.

But I don’t box instead of healing. I box with my healing.

And if you’re out there, swinging at ghosts you can’t name — I see you.

You’re not alone.

You’re not broken.

You’re just figuring out how to fight for your life — in a world that never taught you how.

Keep swinging.

And when you’re ready, let someone hold the pads while you figure out what the fight was really about.

Why I Box: It’s Not Just About Throwing Punches