Wrestling Saved My Life

What’s going on everyone? It’s the most underrated wrestling content creator in the game, returning to the blog world because, why not?

Before we get into the why’s and how’s of how wrestling saved my life, I want to get serious with you all real quick.

Mental health is no joke. Growing up, I was told that men don’t cry and aren’t supposed to show their emotions, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. We all go through mental health struggles at some point in our lives. It’s not healthy to keep your feelings bottled up. Call a help line if you need it, reach out to me or anyone in this community if you need someone to talk to. Because your life matters.

Now let’s get into the meat and potatoes. As some of you may know, I didn’t become a fan of professional wrestling until I was 17 years old. Most people get introduced at a much younger age, but for some reason I was a late bloomer. My brother Ryan was watching Monday Night Raw one day in 2011 and I saw John Cena on screen. I knew of Cena, so I decided to stick around and see what WWE had to offer. Long story short, I purchased the 2011 Money in the Bank PPV with a few friends and the rest is history.

In my younger years, I spent a lot of my free time with friends and family—playing sports outside all day or just chilling with the boys. Staying busy was my normal. Sports were (and still are) a huge part of my life and served as my main source of entertainment for nearly two decades. But after I graduated college, moved out of my parents’ place, and dove into the real world, my outlook on life changed.

The transition hit harder than I expected. Suddenly the structure was gone—no more classes, no more team practices, no more built-in social circle. I was working a 9-5 that paid the bills but left me feeling empty. Weekends that used to be filled with hanging out with friends, playing sports, or road trips with the boys turned into long stretches of scrolling on my phone, wondering what the point of it all was. I started dealing with heavy anxiety and what I now recognize as depression. Some days it was hard to even get out of bed. I felt disconnected—from my friends who were all on different paths, from my family who I didn’t want to burden, and mostly from myself. The guy who used to light up a room was just… going through the motions.

That’s when my love for wrestling really reached a whole new level. I started looking at wrestling through the business side of things. Working with a local independent wrestling company (Warrior Wrestling) truly motivated me to try and make this my career.

The larger-than-life characters, the storytelling, the athleticism—it was sports entertainment at its finest, but it also felt like modern-day theater. More than that, it gave me something consistent to look forward to every week. For a few hours, I wasn’t thinking about my dead-end feelings or the uncertainty of adulthood.

The real turning point came when I started the Main Event Network. I began following other creators, building real relationships, and eventually creating what you see today. Suddenly I wasn’t alone in my condo anymore. I was arguing about match ratings with people from different countries, celebrating surprise returns with strangers who felt like friends, and bonding over our shared love for this wild, beautiful art form. Wrestling gave me a new tribe when my old one had drifted.

It also taught me lessons I desperately needed. Watching guys like Edge overcome injuries, Kofi Kingston main event WrestleMania after years of being “just a tag guy,” or Becky Lynch rewriting the script on what a top star looks like—it all reinforced that comebacks are real. That persistence matters. That even when the story is written against you, you can still flip the script. Those themes bled into my real life. I started hitting the gym again with purpose—not just for looks but for my mental health. I took risks with my content creation even when the voice in my head said nobody would care. I opened up more to people instead of bottling everything up.

Professional wrestling didn’t magically fix my problems overnight. Therapy, exercise, leaning on real-life support, and time all played their parts. But wrestling was the spark. It reminded me that life, like a good match, has highs and lows, heels and faces, and that the best stories include struggle before the triumph. It gave me an outlet, a purpose, and a community when I needed them most.

To this day, when things get heavy, I can always count on wrestling to pull me back. Whether it’s a banger match or a heartfelt promo, wrestling brings me joy in a way very few things do.

If you’re reading this and you’re struggling right now—especially if you’re a dude who was raised like me to “tough it out”—know that it’s okay to not be okay. Find your outlet. For me it was pro wrestling. For you it might be music, gaming, art, sports, whatever. Just don’t stay silent and don’t stay isolated.

Wrestling saved my life. Not in some corny, exaggerated way. In the realest way possible—by giving me light on the darkest days and showing me I still had fight left in me.

Take care of yourself friends, and happy Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month.