Endings are better than beginnings.
I grew up in a very dysfunctional household. My father is a gambler and my mother is an alcoholic. Both committed adultery many times over. As the oldest of five, my siblings and I grew up hungry, abused and often homeless. I grew up wearing clothes that came out of the trunk of someone's car because a box "fell off a truck". When money was scarce, my father would bring home either a 40 ounce of Budweiser, vodka and orange juice or a green jug of wine in order to get my mother drunk. This turned into them having sex ending with her agreeing to give him her engagement ring. The ring would then be pawned so that he could have money to go to the Meadowlands in the hopes of betting on the right horse. If successful, we might have food or a home for a little while longer.
Then there was the abuse. Not only did they abuse each other with hands, fists, words (or lack there of) and/or objects, but us kids also suffered their wrath. Two of my most vivid memories came towards the end of their marriage. It was either 1991 or 1992, I woke up in the middle of the night to my drunk mother punching the crap out of me. Why...I don't know. The other memory came on Christmas night 1992 when my mother returned home from having spent time with a married man. My father busted open the bathroom door as my mother was sitting on the toliet. A lot of angry words were exchanged ending with my mother leaving the house after my father threw a lazy boy chair at her as she sat on the throne.
Because of their addictions, they were emotionally and physically absent parents. We were often left home alone. I'm talking me being 5, 6, 7, 8 years old being left home alone to take care of my younger siblings. I did my best. I grew up very fast and was more of an appropriate adult than the adults in my life. One of the things we did when we were left home alone was watch t.v. Besides cartoons, we always watched WWF. We grew up on Hulk Hogan, George "The Animal" Steele, Macho Man, Miss Elizabeth, The Hart Foundation, etc. I will be 45 years old in March 2022 and when I share my story, I often tell people that I was babysat by wrestlers. WWF, and now WWE, was a part of my childhood that made feel happy and safe.
I got to go to a live event once in my whole life. I was somewhere between 9 and 12 years old. We had floor seats at the Meadowlands. I was so happy because I was going to see one of my favorite wrestlers at the time - Mr. Perfect. I didn't care about the people in front of us constantly standing up blocking my view of the ring. I patiently waited for Mr. Perfect's music and I was going to see him no matter how many adults I needed to knock down like bowling pins. But it kind of never happened. My father got tired of the people in front of us and said we were moving to seats higher up. I started to cry. I cried and cried to the point that my father showed me the back of his hand and told me to "shut up or I'll give you some to cry about". I cried louder. In my young mind I was hoping Mr. Perfect would hear me and save me. He never did.
From the time I was 12 until the age of 16, I called the state on my parents. I knew we weren't safe and tried to get me and my siblings out of there to no avail. I finally left home at the age of 16. I couldn't take it anymore. I knew that I did my best to care and protect my siblings. For my own safety, I knew that I had to get far away from their dysfunction and addictions. It pained me to leave my siblings behind. The youngest was five years old.
School was also a safe space for me. I was always in the gifted and talented programs - academically and artistically. I continued to do well but stopped going to school when I became pregnant at the age of 17. I had my son in May 1995, got my GED in September 1995 and started college in January 1996. I majored in early childhood education. That continued until I began pregnant with my second child in 1997. Soon after I got a lifetime restraining order against an abusive boyfriend and left college 10 credits shy of my degree. At the age of 22, I left the state of New Jersey as a single mom of a one and four year old and moved to New England. I struggled and I worked for the next 5 years until I married. I married a man with addictions. During the marriage, I became a stay at home, homeschooling mom of five. We are now divorced.
Also during the marriage, I started to advocate for victims and survivors of domestic violence, sexual assault and stalking with a local non-profit agency. I was a supervisor of the 24 hour crisis hotline and member of the task force. Despite my upbringing, I grew up to be an empathetic human. I educated myself so that I could advocate for others. I felt that no one ever advocated for me and my siblings. But I remember when I left home at 16 saying to myself "It ends with me". I was the voice and strength for others during some of the darkest times of their life. I saw many of the ancillary effects of what abuse and addiction can do to suffering individuals and those around them. Some became abusers and addicts while others became advocates. I was one who became the latter.
I vulnerably share some of the painful parts of my life to offer you some encouragement. Endings are better than beginnings. So many times during my life, I wish that I had people to help me and there were none. What there always was was wrestling. My safe and happy place. The faces and characters have changed but my love of the sport never did. Today, at 44 years old, I still faithfully watch. I was a consistent member of the ThunderDome and I later started a blog about wrestling. My blog, for the most part, is just for me. I talk about it with co-workers and members of my church. My colleagues know that if I take the day off it is because there is a pay-per-view happening. When I come back to work, they all ask how the pay-per-view was or throw a verbal "WOOOO" or "U Can't See Me" my way as their acknowledgement of love and support for me and what makes me happy. When I go to church, I wear one of my wrestling tees I call my "church" shirts. I will wear Edge's "Earn Your Scars" or Drew McIntyre's "Scottish Warrior". But my favorite of the all is your "Immune to Fear" tank top.
Much of the world is now aware that you have been let go from your WWE contract after declining a rehab offer. Until I hear something from your mouth, I truly do not know what is going on with you or inside you. Here's what I do know. You've gotten through this before and you can do it again. You have the support that I never did. You have the love and support of your family. By media accounts, you have the support of the WWE. You have the support of other wrestlers. And you better believe that you have the support of your fans.
I do not want you to die like many of the wrestlers of my childhood. Take a breath, gather yourself and accept the offer of help. You have a future to look forward to. I want to hear that pop when your music once again is blasting in stadiums. I want to hear you give a speech when you're inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame as your wife and children look on with pure joy. Endings are better than beginnings.
