The Psychology Behind Strong Dojo Culture

To Stay or Drift Away

Typically, we don't lose people because kihon gets too hard. Or because they take one too many kote to the ribs. 

Sure, training can wear people down. Sometimes a body gives out before the spirit does. But when students drift without needing to - still healthy, still loving kendo - it’s almost never about the keiko itself. It’s about something else. Something quieter. 

Somewhere along the way, the dojo stops feeling like a place they belong.

Of course, life can simply have 'other plans'. Jobs change. Families need more. Bodies finally say "enough." That's real. No amount of good culture can stop the tide when life decides it’s time.

But what about the ones who could have stayed? The ones still burning to train, but slowly slipping away?

That bit might be on us. Because that’s the part we can shape: the slow, stubborn building of a club environment that people want to return to, even when every muscle is sore and winter has its claws out.

The good news is that building a club culture that people want to remain a part of doesn't have to be a mystery. It’s been studied, tested, and proven across every field where human motivation matters: sport, education, even military teams.

And according to scholars, it comes down to three basic needs:

• Autonomy: "I have some say in what happens to me here."

• Competence: "I can feel myself improving."

• Connection: "I matter to the people around me, and they matter to me."

That’s Self-Determination Theory (Deci & Ryan, 2012). And whether you’ve heard the term before or not, you’ve likely already felt it...in the clubs that hum, and the ones that don’t.

In this post, I’m going to connect that research to something that matters most to us as coaches: dojo culture. Because theory is nice, but culture is what shows up in the messy, sweaty, never-quite-goes-to-plan world of keiko. It’s what holds our clubs together, especially when everything else gets hard. 

(Maybe put the kettle on, there's a bit in this one ☕) 

1. Autonomy - When Ownership Beats Obedience

Autonomy, at its core, means giving our people the chance to feel like they're steering their own ship, not just being told where to go. Because when we feel like passengers, we tend to stop caring so much about the destination. 

I get it though: "they don't know where to go...they're only [beginners/kids/etc]." But autonomy doesn’t mean chaos. It doesn’t mean letting everyone vote on what kirikaeshi looks like this week. Or what Spotify playlist to run during suburi. It means creating small, deliberate spaces where our students feel like they have a real hand in shaping their own development and their own training environment. Spaces where their choices matter, not just their compliance.

And when students don’t feel that? Well, in my observations, keiko starts feeling flat. The seniors coast. The juniors mimic without understanding. Motivation sags. And the club's collective spirit drains. Not because people are weak, but because (as the research has proven) people are wired to want a role in their own progress.

In simple terms, autonomy matters because it taps into ownership. And this sense of ownership is what keeps people chasing improvement long after the novelty of getting into bogu wears off. 

So how do you build ownership without surrendering structure?

Well, you don't need to hand over the lesson plan. You just need to offer choices that feel real enough to matter. For instance, let juniors choose whether today’s focus is footwork or seme. (There's plenty of time to do both in the greater scheme of things.) Or, frame drills as “Here’s the problem/scenario, now find what works,” (rather than “Here’s the script, now just follow it.”)

At the end of the day, even tiny choices like this can shift people's mindsets. Because rather than simply executing moves, we are providing opportunities to practice strategising, adapting, and reflecting on their own. That's when they're in the fight, not waiting for us to tell them what happened.

And the ripple effects are bigger than they seem. According to research stemming from Deci and Ryan's seminal work, students who feel ownership over their development:

• Notice their mistakes faster because they were already looking for them.

• Push themselves harder because they chose the challenge.

• Engage more deeply because the outcome feels personal, not assigned.

Of course, some club leaders hear “autonomy” and immediately picture chaos. The dojo has always been a place where sensei-knows-best, and loosening that grip can feel like inviting trouble. The fear is that if we let students have too much say, half the group will be improvising drills, the basics will start slipping through the cracks, and Brian will be pitching “extreme suburi” with a shinai taped to each hand.

But autonomy isn’t about losing control, and ownership doesn't mean anarchy. This is about framing control differently. You build the frame, and they find their path inside it. You decide the parameters, and they decide how to wrestle with them. And the truth is, the more autonomy students feel inside that structure, the more fiercely they’ll commit to it. Because it’s no longer just your dojo they train at. (Or your sessions that they survive.) Rather, it’s their dojo. And they’re building themselves into it.

2. Competence - When Tiny Wins Matter More Than Big Ones

Competence is essentially about giving our students a sense that their effort is leading somewhere (even if the finish line is still a long way off). 

It’s a bit like planting a seed under heavy soil. You water it. You tend it. You hope.
And for the longest time, it looks like nothing’s happening...until one day, almost without warning, something pops through the surface.

The thing is, students are often improving long before they can feel it (or see it) themselves. Think of those small, gritty moments in keiko we might be missing. Moments like: 

• when a junior member holds their posture together through the last stretch of kirikaeshi.
• an intermediate member attacks with tame instead of panic.
• a tired senior member picks seme over retreat without even thinking about it.

But if nobody sees them, or worse, if nobody helps the student see them, those fragile breakthroughs get buried under the endless noise of what 'still needs fixing'.
If the only time students hear they’re making progress is when they pass a grading, win a few matches in the inter-club taikai, or survive one of Brian's (increasingly problematic) 'fatal beatings,' most of their training life is experienced in silence...and its that silence wears people down.

So, the notion of competence isn’t about chasing trophies. It’s about feeling, deep down, that their 'work is working,' and that something is shifting, even when it still looks messy on the surface.

Thankfully it doesn’t take grand speeches to build that feeling. Sometimes it’s as simple as a quiet nod when a beginner’s footwork holds under pressure. A short comment: “Good seme choice, you didn’t panic.” A reflection moment after keiko: “What felt sharper today than last week?”

The key point here is this: Ryan and Deci's research tells us that a sense of competence, the belief that “I’m improving,” is critical to keeping people motivated over the long haul. When students feel their progress is invisible or irrelevant, motivation doesn’t collapse all at once. It dies quietly in the background. But when someone notices the struggle before the surface cracks, when students hear “you’re close” or “that adjustment mattered,” it fuels them to keep pushing.

Side note - its possible that some (budo) coaches worry that too much positive feedback will soften their students. There’s still a strong belief among some of our colleagues that real toughness comes from surviving long stretches without praise, and that resilience is forged through silence and struggle alone. 

Sure, resilience matters.
But resilience isn’t the same as isolation. Hard keiko doesn’t mean silent keiko. You can push someone to their limits and still let them know the effort, and their progress, is real. (And often, it’s the ones grinding the hardest, the ones hiding doubt under stubborn faces, who need it most.)

3. Connection - The Net That Holds It All Together

When it comes to a strong dojo culture, connection is the net underneath everything. Simply put: when it’s there, people fall into it. When it’s gone, people fall away.

Not because they weren't up to the challenge. Not because they weren’t serious. But because, eventually, the weight of training without belonging can become too much to carry alone. And let’s be honest, connection is probably what brought most of them through the door in the first place. Just like it did for us, back when we didn’t even have the words for what we were chasing. 

But the thing is, connection isn’t built through speeches, or even through perfect keiko. It’s built in moments so small you’ll miss them if you’re only watching technique:

• The sempai who fixes a 'tenugui-tail' without saying a word.

• The senior who checks in after keiko: “Rough night?”

• The quiet laugh after both of you whiff the same opening, twice in a row.

It’s in the rituals that happen when no one’s watching. The Saturday morning shinai repair sessions. The shared stretch. The staying around after training, just to talk about kendo.

When people feel connected, they show up differently. They push harder, and they tend to stay longer. Without connection, a well-run dojo starts to feel like a transaction: Show up. Train. Leave. With connection, even a small, under-funded, cracked-floor club can feel like home.

And here’s the rub: when connection fades, it doesn’t collapse in one loud moment.
It unravels quietly, and at the edges. The post-keiko chats get shorter. The jokes get rarer.
Then one night, someone just doesn’t come.

And when you ask where they’ve been, the answer is vague. 
"Busy with work." "Taking a short break."

But what they don’t say is this:
“It stopped feeling like 'my thing'.”
“No one noticed I was slipping.”
“It didn’t feel like anyone would miss me if I didn’t come back.”

According to the Self-Determination Theory research, connection is one of our core psychological needs. Not a nice-to-have. Not an optional extra. Its a fundamental human need. We don’t just want to belong, we’re wired for it.

Towards a Stronger Club Culture 

You can’t always stop people from leaving. But you can shape the kind of culture they’d want to stay for. Autonomy. Competence. Connection. They’re not bonuses. They’re the whole deal when it comes to a club culture that is fueled by a deep, and intrinsic motivation to stick at kendo. 

And yeah, building that kind of culture takes time. It doesn’t happen in one session… or one blog post. But it’s absolutely worth chipping away at.

In my experience, strong club cultures ebb and flow. They shift with the people, the seasons, and all the other pressures that come with volunteer life. But when these three elements—autonomy, competence, and connection—are consistent, when they underpin your club’s values, that sense of culture always finds its way back.

But here’s a twist for you: Even the strongest culture can only take someone so far if they don’t believe they can grow. 

And that’s where we’re headed next - into the brain science of what really fuels long-term development. Spoiler: it’s not just about fixing flaws. Click here to read about The Science of Growth and why coaching the person (not just the technique) gets better results.

Further Reading

Deci, E. L., & Ryan, R. M. (2012). Self-Determination Theory. In P. A. M. Van Lange, A. W. Kruglanski, & E. T. Higgins (Eds.), Handbook of Theories of Social Psychology (pp. 416-437, Vol. 1). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.