Pt 3: What’s Your Line?

Wing Tsun teaches us that without understanding your boundaries, standards, and thresholds, there can be no true personal freedom.

In the previous post, we explored your stance—the position you hold, the values you live by, and the spark that drives you. This second part turns to the space around that stance. If your stance is your rooted position, then your line is how you move within and protect that space. And that, to me, is just as essential.

Because the question is not just: Where do you stand? It is also: Where is your line?
What are your non-negotiables—the points beyond which you will not be pushed?

This becomes vital both physically and spiritually if we are to live a harmonious, fulfilled life. And the truth is: that harmony doesn’t come by accident. It comes from discernment. From knowing what matters to you, what you will allow—and what you won’t.

People have different values, different priorities, and different temperaments. That’s to be expected. But if you don’t know where you stand in relation to others, you’ll be easily pulled, pushed, silenced or open to manipulation. Knowing your line allows you to navigate potential conflict with calmness. It helps you know when to ignore, when to divert, and when to stand your ground.

The clearest example of this is in self-defence. If someone believes it's acceptable to inflict harm on you, at what point, and to what degree, are you willing to protect yourself?

These are not hypothetical questions. They are deeply emotional and deeply human. When I teach self-defence, including in our Foundations of Wing Tsun course, I ask my students to consider these questions carefully. Not out of fear, but out of wisdom. It's far better to reflect on your responses before you’re tested—than to be forced to discover them in the moment. This reflects a core Wing Tsun principle:
“Prepare for the worst but create the best.”

And to be clear—this doesn’t mean your line has to include using force. For some people, their stance is one of complete non-violence. They may identify as pacifists, and that is a deeply personal and, in many ways, courageous path. But even then, the question still remains: What is your line?

Would you intervene if someone was about to physically take advantage of you?
What if a child was about to be harmed in front of you?
What if someone threatened a loved one, or attempted to kidnap you?

These are painful, uncomfortable questions. I take no pleasure in asking them. But I see it as part of my duty—because only by exploring these possibilities can you truly understand your own position. You can then fully own your stance—not as an abstract idea, but as a lived, embodied choice.

And when you do that—when you’ve looked at your values, your beliefs, your limits, and truly tested them—there’s a sense of peace that follows. A groundedness. You know who you are. You’ve asked the questions, you've made the choices, and you’ve made peace with them.

If your path is one that would never involve physical force, under any circumstance, then your training takes a different but equally valid shape. You may choose to become highly skilled in awareness, in diplomacy and negotiation. In risk management. In developing a sharp intuition, and an even sharper understanding of human nature. You may train yourself to be deeply attuned to subtle shifts in energy, voice, and intention. You may work on strengthening your personal presence—because the more embodied you are, the more people instinctively feel your boundaries before they test them.

Once again, it all comes back to this:

Understanding your position.
Owning your choice.
And refining your movement through life with clarity.

So what does this mean for everyday life?
It means learning to live without the fear of not knowing. It means removing the anxiety of indecision. It means being grounded—not in stubbornness and ego, but in self-awareness.

In fact, this is precisely why the Shaolin Temple developed its martial traditions in the first place. They sought enlightenment—but they understood that spiritual connection is not possible when you are constantly being violated, taken advantage of, subjugated, or killed. You cannot be at one with yourself, or with the universe, if your basic safety is continually under threat.

Wing Tsun emerged from this insight. It is a 1,500-year-old tradition rooted in the understanding that physical sovereignty is the ground upon which spiritual freedom is built. And, as I’m sure you’ll agree, far from being outdated, this principle is just as relevant today as it was then.

Over the years, I’ve had students tell me they would never use physical force under any circumstance. And I respect that—it’s an honourable stance. But what’s fascinating is that, through honest reflection, many came to realise they did have a line. It wasn’t always obvious or immediate, but it was there. For some, it was a home invasion. For others, the prospect of kidnapping or sexual violation. The threshold varied—but the line existed.

And once that line was seen and acknowledged, something changed. The fear of the unknown began to dissolve. What was once a grey area filled with anxiety became something defined and able to be prepared and trained for. It was like seeing a wright lifted from their shoulders.

Because here’s the truth: you can never fully know what another person will do. But you can absolutely know where you are. And that makes all the difference.

So much of fear, tension, and internal stress comes from ambiguity. From not knowing what we would do. But when we take the time to explore these questions—to examine our thresholds, our values, our non-negotiables—we reduce that ambiguity. We gain clarity. We move from indecision to resolve. From internal conflict to internal coherence.

And from that place, you can live more freely. You are no longer haunted by a feeling of uncertainty. You know your line. You’ve chosen it. And you are ready to live in alignment with it.

Because in Wing Tsun, as in life, if you stand for nothing, then everything becomes acceptable. And when everything is acceptable, chaos tends to follow.

This is where the “middle way” of Wing Tsun is so often misunderstood. It is not neutrality. It is not passive tolerance. It is not the belief that anything goes. The middle way requires strength. It requires boundaries. It asks you to listen deeply and then say with clarity: “This far, no further.”

What you feel when you meet a true martial artist is not conformity. It’s clarity. It’s conviction without aggression, discipline without dogma, and power without oppression. And perhaps above all, it is a quiet but resolute understanding of where their line is drawn—and why.

So I leave you with these questions. Perhaps let them sit with you—in your training, your relationships, your moments of stillness before writing them down:

What do you truly stand for?
Where is your line?
And what is it within you that longs to be expressed, protected, and lived?

If you’re looking for a place to explore these questions—not just physically, but philosophically and spiritually—then come train with us in Bromley, South East London. We train more than the body. We train the whole person.

Because to be a martial artist is not to fight. It is to live—fully, consciously, and in harmony with yourself and the world around you.

Sifu