~ Written by Jenny S.

I was 41 years old when I first stepped foot in a gun range. I had never touched a gun before, and unbeknownst to me, had developed a phobia of firearms. I couldn't even say the word "gun" without crying. Of course, this made sense, being as though I come from a largely anti-gun community, and spent years building a career in an anti-gun industry. I had only ever heard messages about guns being used to terrorize, cause serious injury, or even death. In my mind, guns were definitely bad. But like many others before me, I had an experience that shook me to my core, and left me feeling an intense sense of vulnerability. While I recognized it was time to take responsibility for my own safety and protection, guns were not exactly where I thought I'd begin. My husband, ever the source of support, came home one day with pamphlets and flyers showcasing a number of classes offered at our local range, many of which were geared toward women. I was so turned off by the idea of guns that I didn't even want to touch the flyers, let alone read them. I shut down the conversation, and quickly stashed the flyers away in a drawer, vowing to "look at them later." Understanding that in reality, those flyers would likely never again see the light of day, my husband boldly registered us both for a basic pistol class. At first, I was upset. I didn't feel ready to take this step. I envisioned taking a few classes at a martial arts studio. Or stashing a can of pepper spray in my purse. I was also angry that we were even having to discuss our protection at all, and grieving for the sense of security I once felt. I was already feeling so scared, but for me, learning about guns seemed like we were skipping ahead, and escalating to a level I was simply not comfortable with. I was decidedly not a gun person, and was positive I never would be. I did, however, take comfort in knowing that at least my husband would be going with me, so I wouldn't be there alone.

As the date of our class approached, I started panicking about what I would encounter at the range. My imagination went wild with unsavory assumptions based mostly on movies and stories others had shared with me through the years. I conjured visions of a dirty, dank place, staffed by hooligans and dangerous extremists. I worried I would get "little lady"-ed, and not be taken seriously. I thought that if "guns are bad," then anyone in the building must be bad, too, and I worried about what my friends and family would think of me, if they knew I was there. Not for nothing, but at no point had anyone ever mentioned anything to me about taking classes at a range. I didn't even know that was an option before all this.

As my fears grew bigger and wilder, so did my curiosity. I wondered about what exactly a classroom at a gun range looks like, and who would be teaching me. Would it be Yosemite Sam or John Wick? I wondered about the other students, and if they'd be handling guns near me. Was it safe to be learning with other novices? Would I get hurt? Would my fears be taken seriously?

My curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to go on a "recon mission." I talked myself into walking through the doors of my local range alone, so I could see it with my own two eyes, and answer my questions with real data. I nervously approached the front counter, doing my best to ignore the great wall of guns, and explained to the sales associate that I was hoping to check out the facilities in anticipation of my first class. He graciously paged one of the instructors, who took me on a tour of the classroom space. I was relieved to see that the classroom at the range looked…like a classroom. It had tables, chairs, a white board, and some teaching aids. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. At one point, two other instructors joined us for a chat in the classroom hallway, and I was surprised to see that one of them was a woman. Sensing my discomfort, the three instructors led the conversation, and did their best to put me at ease. I was happy to let them speak, as my nerves had locked my voice all the way down in the pit of my stomach. Still, I managed to squeak out a few questions, and I was proud of myself for not bursting into tears, despite my eyes and shaky voice threatening to betray me.

The instructors shared with me a little bit about their background with firearms, and talked me through what I should expect at my first class, answering all of my questions. With that, my recon mission was complete. On my drive home, I remember reflecting on all the ways in which my assumptions about the range and the people I'd see there were silly and prejudiced. I had never felt so relieved to be proven wrong. And while it's generally uncomfortable to learn you were wrong about something, at this moment, I sincerely wondered where else I had missed the mark.

Walking through the doors of the range for the first time was the bravest choice I've made in my entire defensive journey, because I didn't yet have any idea what I would see or how my life would change because of it. I didn't know that I would walk into a clean, well-maintained facility, filled with supportive, friendly, and knowledgeable employees who were passionate about the work they do and eager to share information. I didn't know that I would find a culture throughout the building that values and prioritizes safety and education above anything else. I didn't know that my first class there would undo a lifetime of firmly held beliefs based on feelings and myths, and combat them with real facts and data. I didn't know that what I learned in that class would eventually lead me to overcoming my gun phobia. I didn't know that the instructors there are some of the industry's greatest, who value endless learning and growth, including their own, and meet each individual student at the level that fits them best. I didn't know that I would go on to take countless classes on various subjects, continuously leveling up my knowledge and skill with each one. I didn't know that in strengthening my skills, I'd also develop a sense of self worth, and a core belief that I am someone worth protecting. I didn't know that I would soon become a resource for other women, and those nervous about entering the world of self defense, or that I would instill in them the belief that they are worth protecting, too. I didn't know that in doing so, I would empower them to take responsibility for their own safety and protection.

I wish I knew the ways in which my life and mindset would change. How the people I met there would push me to new limits, and encourage me to reach goals, on and off the range, that I never imagined for myself. I wish I knew I would find not only support, but belonging and purpose. That I would help build a community of like-minded women, who inspire me to keep learning and growing into a better and more confident version of myself.

Because if I had known all of these things before walking into the range for the first time…I would have done it a lot sooner.