World Champion Mom of Five Triumphs Over Trauma

Share and Follow

After 17 years, less than 15 per cent of Closing the Gap targets are on track to be met. Karla Grant hosts this special NITV Insight, asking what’s working to improve First Nations peoples’ lives? Watch episode Closing the Gap on SBS On Demand.

Growing up on Barkindji Country, I was a proud Aboriginal girl with mixed heritage whose identity was constantly challenged.

My childhood was filled with paradoxes and intersections; connection and belonging in one breath, hardship in the next.

Throughout my life, I found solace and stability in the presence of my nan, Elders, aunties, uncles, and the nurturing embrace of our land, cultural heritage, and community-driven initiatives.

Swimming at the local swimming pool with my siblings and cousins, and spending time by the river on Country are some of my strongest childhood memories.

It was also from the water — a place of safety, guidance and Dreaming — where I first felt my ancestors call to me as a child.

Thus, when I encountered obstacles during my upbringing, I leaned on a guidance system that was both ancient and resilient, far surpassing the reach of colonial influences.

a woman with a braid and black glasses stands in front of a mural of the Aboriginal flag

Within her community, Shantelle is celebrated as the Barkindji Warrior. Source: SBS

During my time in high school, I once faced the grim prediction that I was more likely to encounter death or teenage pregnancy than to achieve my academic goals.

During my late teens, I faced deep challenges.

These years took a toll, and I found myself repeating Year 12 — learning that strength is sometimes choosing to begin again.

Life guided me to Brazilian jiu-jitsu when I was 19. It was at the intersection of martial arts, culture, and healing that I began to reclaim my power.

I lost my mum at just 20 years old and navigated complex family relationships that tested my spirit.

When my mind was unravelling, jiu-jitsu gave me discipline — helping me release the weight of the world through sweat, strategy, and flow.

The focus also helped me get back on track academically, and I went on to earn three university degrees.

I reconnected to my truth and to my ancestors. The mats became a ceremony of healing.

I didn’t want my children to inherit my pain; I wanted them to see transformation. Motherhood gave my training a direction.

Jiu-jitsu and culture gave me a way through, while education gave me a way forward.

a woman with long brown hair in a braid and in a black uniform trains in jiu-jitsu with a man in white on the ground

Shantelle has three world champion titles in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Source: SBS

Over the past two decades, I’ve stepped on and off the mats — and along the way, became the first Aboriginal woman to win three Brazilian jiu-jitsu world titles. Now, I’m walking the path toward becoming a black belt world champion.

But this journey has never been about mats or medals.

It’s about remembering who I am: a woman, a mother, and a First Nations warrior walking in her Dreaming, showing what’s possible beyond survival.

‘Trauma was never the birthplace of my story’

Every time I step onto the mats, it feels like stepping onto Country — or stepping onto a stage. It’s sacred ground.

Each time I bow and enter, I bring my ancestors, children and culture with me.

The mats hold my sweat and my song.

Winning world titles is the easy part. The real work has been taking responsibility for wounds I did not cause, but I needed to heal to break cycles and free the generations to come.

Shantelle Thompson

Winning world titles is the easy part. The real work has been taking responsibility for wounds I did not cause, but I needed to heal to break cycles and free the generations to come.

That same spirit guides my work as Aunty Shan through the Kiilalaana Foundation, which I founded to uplift the next generation of Indigenous women and youth.

Trauma was never the birthplace of my story; Dreaming was.

‘We are not statistics’

These achievements are milestones, not destinations. They are living proof of something deeper: that Aboriginal women carry power and potential that cannot be erased.

Aboriginal people are too often invited only to share our trauma — our stories dissected as case studies of pain or poverty. When that’s all the world sees, it becomes the story written about us, not by us.

Too many still define us through those narrow lenses — instead of through our voices, experiences, and truth.

We are not statistics. We are storytellers — creative, strong, and full of brilliance, humour, and heart.

On the mats, I fight. When I weave, I feel connected to Country and my grandmothers, and when I write, I listen. And when I speak my story, I reclaim my voice.

As First Nations people, our voices are our lineage. Sharing my story breaks the silence that tried to control us — it is how I heal and lead.

I’m open about my journey so others know they are not alone.

I’ve faced violence, battled with mental illness, and walked through hardship. I’ve also built organisations, stood on world championship podiums, and raised children who know who they are — not how the world would define them.

Our stories are not tragedies; they are truth-tellings of becoming. My story is not one of brokenness — it is one of fire.

And I refuse to reduce myself or my people to pain.