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. That’s human. 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.

1. Autonomy: Why Ownership Beats Obedience

Autonomy, at its core, is about giving students a real sense that their choices and efforts shape their journey—not just following instructions. If our students feel like passengers, they stop caring where the destination.

But autonomy doesn’t mean chaos. It doesn’t mean letting everyone vote on what kirikaeshi looks like this week. Or what playlist to run during suburi. It means creating small, deliberate spaces where students feel like they have a real hand in shaping their development. Spaces where their choices matter, not just their compliance.

And when students don’t feel that? Keiko starts feeling flat. Seniors coast. Juniors mimic without understanding. Motivation sags. Spirit drains.

Not because people are weak. But because people are wired to want a role in their own progress.

And so, autonomy matters because it taps into ownership. And this sense of ownership is what keeps people chasing improvement long after the novelty 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.
Frame drills as “Here’s the structure, now find what works,” not “Here’s the script, just follow it.”
Let seniors pick which advanced drill sharpens what they actually need right now.

Even tiny choices like this can shift the mindset. Suddenly students aren’t just executing moves. They’re strategising, adapting, and reflecting on their own. 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. It’s about framing control differently. You build the frame, and they find their path inside it. You decide the parameters. They decide how to wrestle with them.

Ownership doesn't mean anarchy.

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.

Coaching tip to build Autonomy:

Offer freedom with purpose.

Let students choose between two drills.
Ask what they want to focus on this month.
Let seniors pick the theme for the last round of jigeiko.

It’s not chaos. It’s buy-in. And buy-in is what turns a student into a contributor.

2. Competence: Why Tiny Wins Matter More Than Big Ones

Competence, at its core, is about giving students a real 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:

A junior holds their posture together through the last stretch of kirikaeshi.
A senior attacks with tame instead of panic.
A tired student picks seme over retreat without even thinking about it.

But if nobody sees them, or worse, if nobody helps students 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 tournament, or survive a brutal keiko, most of their training life gets lived in silence...and 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.

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 to a senior: “Good seme choice, you didn’t panic.” A reflection moment after keiko: “What felt sharper today than last week?”

And this matters more than we sometimes realise. 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.

Of course, 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—that resilience is forged through silence and struggle alone. And 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.)

Competence isn’t just built through repetition. It’s built through recognition: small, timely signals that say, “Keep going. It’s working. You might not see it yet, but it’s already starting to grow.”

Even when the soil still looks flat.
Even when the surface hasn’t cracked. Yet.

Coaching tip to build Competence

Don’t wait for gradings.

That beginner who held kamae the whole drill? Notice it.
That moment someone chose seme instead of hesitation? Say something.
That tired, quiet kid who didn’t quit during kakarigeiko? Name it.

Progress lives in the shadows. Shine a light there.

3. Connection: The Net That Holds It All Together

Connection is the net underneath everything. 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 became 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 you, back when you didn’t even have the words for what you 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.

But here’s the catch: 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.

Coaching tip to build Connection:

Students don’t just learn from teachers. They learn from each other.

That means after drills, instead of moving on, give them a moment to reflect together.
Ask, “What did you notice?” Let juniors and seniors partner. Let beginners describe what they saw.
It’s slower. Messier. But it flips students from passengers to participants.
And nothing builds connection like realising someone else was paying attention to your keiko.

Bonus tip...Stories carry more than technique. They carry history.
Share the ugly ones too:

The time you bombed a grading.
The keiko that broke you.
The moment someone helped you when you didn’t even know you needed it.

Stories remind students that the path isn’t straight, and they’re not walking it alone.

Final Thoughts

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 yes, building that kind of culture takes time. It doesn’t happen in one session...or one blog post. But it’s work worth doing.

In the meantime, if you want one less thing to worry about while you focus on the bigger picture, I’ve put together a free 7-day course to help with the training side of things. Sessions that engage people, stretch them, and reinforce the culture you’re trying to build.

Because culture takes time. But smarter design? That starts here.