Professional Wrestling Heals Us

Sami Zayn hugs Roman Reigns

I’ve recently come out of a depression.

I didn’t even know I was depressed until, around September of last year, I started feeling better about work, life, and art. I experienced the mental equivalent of clouds parting after a storm, and a warm beam of sunlight cutting through the dark. The juxtaposition of mindsets was so palpable that I realized, “Oh, I was depressed!”

That depression lasted for about two years and it manifested as a kind of dull, throbbing ache, a sense that something was about to go wrong at any moment. At my day job I struggled to decide what task to undertake next. I didn’t have a schedule (big mistake when you have bipolar!) and I would wander, aimlessly in my mind from one potential tragedy to the next. At home I was better, but I wasn’t really enjoying my life either.

To enjoy life seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

How did I deal with this depression?

Fortunately, I have a psychiatrist and a therapist who I meet regularly. With my therapist I talk a lot about the practicalities of life: am I eating right? am I getting enough sleep? am I staying in gratitude? And with my psychiatrist I talk about meds and the nature of my mental illness. Having their insight and calm, reliable presences has been life-changing. They’ve guided me through the ups and downs of bipolar with great compassion, and helped me rediscover what it’s like to be comfortable in my own skin.

Apart from doctors, friends, family, and my community, professional wrestling helped me out of this dark time. Not only could I rely on various wrestling shows to be on throughout the week, offering me a stable routine, I could rely on pro-wrestling to keep my mind sharp.

Professional wrestling, like any other art, lends itself well to critical analysis. So much care and consideration goes into the execution of individual moves let alone entire matches. Wrestlers are trained professionals who are equal parts athlete, actor, and stunt-person. What they do, the stories they tell, is worthy of examination.

I write this not just because I believe pro-wrestling deserves a deeper degree of analysis than it receives, but because pro-wrestling, like any art, has healing properties. It can cure a bad mood, aid with loneliness, and inspire in the face of crushing adversity.

Watching professional wrestling has become more complex as I age.

When I was a teenager I watched purely because I enjoyed it and wanted to see what would happen to my favorite wrestlers. It was like any other TV show. I had no idea about newsletters or dirt sheets back then. Now, I watch for a variety of reasons and I can change my purpose depending upon my mood.

Let’s say I’m feeling a bit strained mentally and I’d like to “switch my brain off” - my day was stressful for some reason and I’m not particularly in the mood to be analytical.

I’ll turn on Raw, Dynamite, or Smack Down but leave the notepad on the bedside table. I’ll watch purely to escape. I’ve found Dynamite to be the happiest to oblige in that regard with its blend of unscripted promos, vignettes, and lengthy, excellent matches. There’s rarely a lull in Dynamite and the crowd is reliably passionate throughout a show. On a particularly good episode it feels like you’re at a party. Raw and (especially) Smack Down contain good moments if not entirely good times.

When I want to be engaged in a mentally rigorous fashion, I take notes during matches. These notes are often just a list of matches with some details about moves or expressions executed by the wrestlers. When I podcast or write about these shows, I refer to my notes for reminders of what I was thinking and feeling.

I’m convinced that thinking about pro-wrestling in this way and keeping these notes has helped my mind heal over the past two years. Without even realizing it, I kept myself focused on something I love. That degree of focus on something positive for that amount of time meant I wasn’t ruminating on intrusive thoughts or worrying about some deadline. Pro-wrestling was an escape from the depression, but it also gave me tools to navigate it.

Some might consider this cerebral way of experiencing pro-wrestling the exact opposite of the way one is meant to enjoy the medium. On the contrary, when I analyze professional wrestling I’m feeding my consciousness with thoughts and feelings I wouldn’t have otherwise, enriching the experience. This is why I’ve always taken issue with people “in the business” who argue fans should “just be fans” and they’d be a lot happier. Clearly, being analytical about professional wrestling makes people happy. In some cases, like mine, it makes depression more bearable. I would never begrudge a fan their way of experiencing this art. Art does not discriminate - it just exists to be consumed and enlighten. It’s up to the individual audience member to decide how they consume it.

The person who argues against analytical fans or critics likely doesn’t want to admit pro-wrestling is an art. One must first understand that pro-wrestling is an art to then understand it is worthy of criticism (“criticism” in the sense of critical thinking/critical theory, which is different than simply saying something is “bad”). If one believes pro-wrestling is “entertainment” that encourages one to switch their brain off permanently then the allegorical power of a pro-wrestling match has completely gone over their head.

Don’t trust anyone who advocates for you not using your brain. Their argument is likely founded in jealousy, and they might not be as capable of analyzing and understanding pro-wrestling as you. To see their medium enjoyed in a way that’s unfamiliar makes them feel like an outsider. Also, some people just can’t stand criticism, so when they perceive it directed at themselves or something they love, even in the slightest, they become rigid and defensive.

This is not to suggest pro-wrestling critics (often erroneously called “pro-wrestling journalists”) aren’t responsible for their “takes”. It’s very easy to lead fans astray with opinions masquerading as “breaking news” and reports from “sources” masquerading as facts. If one chooses to engage with any art in a serious way they’d better be sure to treat it, and its audience, with respect. Having good takes isn’t enough. One must be willing to delve a little deeper, mine the depths of pro-wrestling visuals, devices, and words to offer something rich and nourishing to readers & listeners. That’s what pro-wrestling needs if it’s ever going to be seen as anything other than a sideshow carnival; respect. Respect from the fans, the bookers and show runners, legends and retired wrestlers, and wrestlers currently working.

“Shutting up and enjoying it” is not respecting the medium, and it’s underestimating the power of professional wrestling. Pro-wrestling is a rich form of storytelling, a combination of acrobatics, dance, martial arts, and theatre. It yearns to be appreciated on a deeper level. If fans just switch their brains off completely they’ll miss out. They’ll also be less likely to spot and call out injustices perpetrated on wrestlers or fans. An engaged, vibrant fanbase makes art more alive, not less. The audience can push an art to evolve, to become more equitable, more technologically advanced, and even more thoughtful.

If one does not respect professional wrestling, then those healing aspects of the art go unnoticed. Unlike film or prestige TV, it’s not taken for granted that wrestling is an art. If it were, we’d have better experiences of it, overall, and an even better appreciation for what it gives us.

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 for free 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!