For the past few months, I’ve been watching Monday Night Raw, AEW Dynamite, and Friday Night SmackDown every week. It’s been fun, and reminiscent of the early days of my pro-wrestling fandom where I watched each show totally devoted. Establishing this routine has made it easier to get through the work-week. Each day, I remind myself that wrestling awaits and it helps the next handful of hours pass a little quicker. It also helps to have breaks from it on Tuesday and Thursday.

My favorite of the bunch is Dynamite.

It’s the most inventive and naturalistic, featuring a fantastic cast of colorful characters. There’s the super serious sort like Jon Moxley and Hangman Adam Page and the hilarious sort like Orange Cassidy and The Best Friends. Unlike WWE-television, Dynamite has an actually funny sense of humor - that is to say comedy in AEW is genuinely amusing.

SmackDown comes in a close second because it’s the home of The Tribal Chief and the best story in all of wrestling; The Bloodline saga. I care about the relationships between Sami Zayn, Jey Uso, and Roman Reigns more than I’ve cared about any wrestler-relationships in maybe a decade. Every word spoken, every gesture is pregnant with meaning and possibility. SmackDown also occasionally has an excellent match, like the recent Gunther vs Ricochet, reminding viewers WWE knows how to do wrestling when it wants to.

Recently The Bloodline has been appearing on Raw, bringing life and exuberance with them.

And that’s why Raw is my least favorite of the three, it mostly feels like a party after the people have cleared out and all that’s left are plastic cups and streamers on the floor.

Credit to Triple H, he’s tried to bring some energy to the proceedings by starting a few episodes in the middle of a brawl. And in recent weeks he’s shined a spotlight on women’s wrestling with some lengthy, excellent matches, the latest by Candice LeRae and Io Sky.

More importantly than the quality of any of these shows is that they’re reliably on.

What do I mean by that?

Surely, a critic such as myself would rather these shows be good than merely exist.

Yes, I’d rather they be good than bad, but that’s no longer essential for me.

You see, I’m a person before I’m a critic, and the person in me just needs these shows to be there, like a reliable friend or family member who checks in on you. Raw, Dynamite, and SmackDown have become that reliable friend or family member over the past few months, texting or calling just to say, “How you doing?” every time the clock strikes eight o’clock on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. While I’m also lucky enough to have actual friends and family who do the same, when you have a mental illness there can be no shortage of allies helping you through your day.

I have bipolar I, formerly known as manic-depressive disorder.

What does that actually mean, though?

Put simply, it means I have a mind that works differently than most. Positive thoughts have an uncanny ability to become negative thoughts. If I allow it, my mind will spiral in a ruminative nightmare, often accompanied by thoughts of self-harm or suicide. Intrusive thoughts, grim fantasies involving ‘what if’ scenarios connected to one’s environment, haunt me. While in a manic or depressive episode, I would have vivid fantasies about God and the Devil controlling my life. I was unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy. In the early onset of Mania, for example, I believed I was living in a virtual reality simulation and everyone was conspiring against me, among other highly specific, frightening scenarios.

I take meds daily, an antidepressant, Effexor, and the antipsychotics Zyprexa and Lithium, to help with this disorder and ensure I don’t have another episode. I have a therapist and a psychologist who I meet with regularly to chart my progress and voice any issues I’m having.

Prior to knowing I had it, bipolar was shrouded in mystery. I thought it just meant “crazy”, wild fluctuations in a person’s mood such that they weren’t able to function. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to have bipolar and still lead a relatively “normal” life so long as it’s treated. I lived with it, for years, without knowing until I had my psychotic breakdown (one of the prerequisites to being diagnosed bipolar I). It’s a subtle illness, lurking in the background until it decides to leap into the spotlight and dominate your life.

After two years and five months since being diagnosed, I’m finally starting to feel “normal” again.

It feels like waking from a particularly long dream within a dream. It’s not quite so hard to go to work every day. Suicidal ideations have plummeted to the point where I think, “Oh wow, I haven’t had those thoughts at all today”. My mood is stable, neither manic nor depressed. My fears of antidepressants turning me into a numb zombie have subsided, as well as a lot of my preconceived notions about mental illness and how to treat it.

Through it all I’ve searched for anchors to keep me tethered to reality. Ironically enough, one of the strongest anchors has been the fake sport, professional wrestling. As I reflect upon the past two and a half years, it becomes clear to me that pro-wrestling has been beneficial to my mental health. The simple consistency and structure of knowing where I’ll be three days out of the week at the exact same time is hugely helpful. I don’t have to wonder what I’ll be doing, but there’s still some flexibility if I decide to take the night off from wrestling and watch reality television with my wife instead.

Professional wrestling is also a great source of endorphins. Every close two-count is an ecstatic shock to the system, flooding my mind with pleasant feelings. Every wrestling match follows a cathartic arc, two physically engaged combats beating each other’s bodies until one relents. A smarter person than I could go into detail about the neurological goings-on in the human body and mind at The Moment of Pop - all I can do is write that wrestling makes me feel good. Watching wrestlers gracefully take flight through or over the top rope makes me smile, every time. Listening to wrestlers like MJF and Ricky Starks verbally spar gets my heart pumping.

Being a pro-wrestling fan is a full body experience that simultaneously benefits the mind.

Being a pro-wrestling fan today isn’t only about watching television and premium live events, though. It’s also about community. I’ve built friendships with fellow fans and colleagues (yes, I have pro-wrestling analyst colleagues, isn’t that wild?), people whose views I’ve come to respect and rely upon. I exchange messages with them about our thoughts, feelings, and hopes, pro-wrestling always at the center of our discussions. It’s thanks to them that I don’t watch pro-wrestling in isolation - a terribly lonely experience.

One can also get a sense of the larger pro-wrestling community by attending live events. When I went to WrestleMania with my friend Rob, I felt connected to everyone in our section. We successfully stopped a wave during Roman Reigns vs Drew McIntyre. One fan was cosplaying as Samoa Joe and every time he bounced up and down the aisle we chanted, “Joe! Joe! Joe!” We sang Batista’s song, Becky Lynch’s song, everyone’s song! We cracked jokes during Triple H vs Batista. We teared up when Kofi hugged his children. It was a truly spectacular experience that made me feel one with thousands of people. Such an experience is life-affirming, pushing the dark thoughts out of the way and allowing light to shine through.

And that brings me to the last reason professional wrestling has been good for my mental health - the wrestlers themselves. These characters, these human beings have the ability to transform moods. Many pro-wrestlers imbue their characters with their own real-world struggles. Take Eddie Kingston of AEW who has spoken openly about his “mental crap” and being depressed in promos on national television. Seeing a character be so raw and real is inspiring, reminding the viewer that they’re not alone. Jon Moxley, also of AEW, went to in-patient care for alcoholism and came back with a renewed sense of purpose, encouraging everyone to fight their demons and know it’s possible to win.

Wrestlers live at least a portion of their lives openly for us and that can transform them into heroes. Yes, some of the heroes of our youth turn out to be problematic (at best) or downright vile people. But it’s possible to find wrestlers who are good people, people worthy of realistic admiration. That kind of bond is good for one’s mental health, because it can sustain you when times are tough, convince you that it’s worth carrying on.

But for all these reasons and more, pro-wrestling has been beneficial to my mental health, giving me structure at a time I needed it. That’s why it’s more important to me that these shows just exist rather than be great television - I just need the escape they provide. And there are always good times and bad. Right now, I believe we’re in a good time with professional wrestling. That’s why I’d recommend it to anyone who needs something to hang on to, particularly someone in their teens, who’s struggling. Life can be incredibly hard, but it’s that much harder when you’re convinced you’re alone.

My experience with wrestling has shown me, with powerful clarity, that I’m not alone and I never have to be.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this article check out some others. You should also subscribe to my podcast The Work Of Wrestling (available wherever you get your pods every Monday). If you’d like to support me subscribe to my Patreon and you’ll get two exclusive podcasts every month. If you’re in need of a new wrestling tee-shirt visit my store at Pro-Wrestling Tees. Thank you again. May the Moment of Pop be with you!

Just to be clear, pro-wrestling isn’t right for everyone. There is no one size fits all when it comes to mental health. The same aspects of the art that are great for me might be alienating or harmful to others. If you find yourself in dark moods as a result of pro-wrestling it’s time to take a break.

Professional Wrestling Is Good For My Mental Health

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