Summary

The author learned through wrestling that expressing emotions, including crying, is a natural and acceptable part of being human, regardless of gender norms.

Abstract

The article recounts the author's personal journey in wrestling, which began with a humiliating defeat in the 7th grade. Over the subsequent 12 years, wrestling and martial arts became a crucible for learning not just resilience and hard work but also emotional intelligence. The author confronted societal expectations of masculinity, which often discourage men from showing vulnerability. Through the intense emotional experiences of victory and defeat, the author learned that emotions are indicators of sensation and not a measure of weakness. The sport taught the importance of managing emotions and the mind, leading to a realization that true strength comes from embracing and controlling one's emotions, rather than suppressing them. The author reflects on a pivotal moment witnessing a friend's heartfelt cry after a significant loss, which challenged the author's own preconceived notions about crying and masculinity. The narrative emphasizes that emotional masculinity is about overcoming pain and fear, and that the stoicism learned through wrestling is not about removing emotions but about not letting them dictate behavior.

Opinions

The author believes that wrestling provided a unique environment to learn about emotional vulnerability and the acceptability of crying for everyone, including men.
The author challenges the concept of "toxic masculinity," suggesting that those who enforce rigid emotional standards are acting out of fear rather than malice.
Wrestling is seen as a metaphor for life's struggles, teaching the author that it's okay to fail, to cry, and to get back up, emphasizing perseverance as a key life lesson.
The author argues that the strongest individuals

How Wrestling Taught Me That It’s Okay to Cry

The most important life lesson from a life on the mat.

Me, in blue, terrified on a wrestling mat. Photo by my Dad circa 2009.

I’ve always been insanely competitive.

The first time I wrestled a competitive match in 7th grade, I was thrown on my head, held down, and pinned in 30 seconds.

I was crushed, literally, and mentally.

What just happened to me? How could this happen to me?

The humiliation made its way through my mind and body as the referee raised my opponent’s hand. I walked off the mat and sat on the bench. I had no idea what happened.

I sat on the bench fighting back tears. I’d always hated losing, but I didn’t want to look weak.

Over the course of the next 12 years of my life, wrestling and martial arts have taught me that it’s okay to cry. Even if you’re a man.

Here’s how:

Sports and Masculinity

There may be no crying in baseball, but for me, there was a lot of crying in wrestling.

As a kid, no one told me that it was okay for men to cry, feel weak, or be vulnerable. Wrestling forced me into situations where I felt weak and vulnerable every single day.

Few situations make you feel weak and vulnerable like getting lifted and thrown to the mat in front of your parents and friends (and girlfriend) while wearing a hand-me-down onesie you got from your PE teacher.

Wrestling taught me how to work hard and press through struggle, but more importantly, it taught me how to manage my mind and my emotions. I’ve always been an emotional guy, but before time on the mat, I was out of control.

Getting comfortable being uncomfortable is the name of the game. If you can’t deal with a little embarrassment, you won’t last.

I didn’t grow up in a household where men cried or expressed emotions, so this was a huge lesson for me. Wrestling didn’t “fix” me, but it opened my eyes to what my emotions meant. They were indications of sensation, not a defining characteristic of my being.

When I cried as a kid, I just felt ashamed. It made me feel weak, inferior, and confused. It was a sign I had to give up my “man card”. Wrestling taught me that no matter how tough or strong I became, my emotions were always going to be there. That’s why I needed to learn to control my mind.

If you don’t control your mind, it will control you.

When I was a junior in high school, I watched a close friend who was a senior lose the last match of his wrestling career. I remember the dejected feeling of watching the time run out, ending his final match.

Afterward, I remember him sobbing profusely in the bleachers in his wrestling singlet. I didn’t know what to do. I was paralyzed. No one taught me how to comfort a crying friend. It’s not a lesson in “How to Be a Man 101”.

All I knew was that he had every reason to cry. His dream of being a state champion had died. I’d seen the years of training, dieting, and hard work that he’d put into the sport, and now just like that, it was all over.

Though I myself felt weak when I cried, I didn’t think he was weak for it. I caught myself being a hypocrite. It didn’t change the way I thought about crying, but it made me think.

Emotional Masculinity in Wrestling

People have strong opinions about “toxic masculinity”.

Many see it as either a political buzzword, while others see it as a set of behaviors created to tell men how to and how not to behave. Telling men to “not be a little b*tch” is either seen as a joke or as a reason they are unable to accurately express themselves.

Ultimately, people who are teaching others to deny and restrict their emotions do this because they are afraid. They don’t have an agenda to promote a culture of toxic toughness or statue-like stoicism, but they’re quite afraid.

They’re afraid of what will happen if they act out against the culture that tells them not to feel anything, but they’re not evil men with an agenda to enforce pain on future generations of men.

When I look closer at the toxic side of masculinity, it makes me sad, not angry. All I see is pain and fear.

That’s why wrestling was so important to me: the sport is all about overcoming pain and fear.

On Lex Fridman’s podcast recently, world-famous wrestler Dan Gable spoke about when his sister was murdered. He said that he still cries about it and that sometimes, it’s Mountain Dew and country music that sets him off. He also said that he’s an emotional guy.

Listening to a figure of strength, toughness, and masculinity like Dan Gable talk like this was a moment of vulnerability that can only be seen from a man who’s truly comfortable with himself.

It was inspiring.

All of us (not just men) are taught to avoid our difficult emotions because they make us weak. We’re told to avoid internal struggle, yet simultaneously the people that society perceives as the strongest are perceived as strong because of what they’ve overcome in their minds.

I’ve had hundreds of grappling matches in my life. I’ve lost a lot of them. I no longer involuntarily cry after my losses, but that doesn’t mean I have no emotion invested in sports anymore.

When I won my jiu-jitsu world title in 2019, I cried on the mat. No one saw me as weak for that.

Me, crying and smiling on a mat, circa 2019. Photo by GrappleTV

I overcame doubts that had been drilled into my subconscious for years. For a moment, I felt bliss. It was pretty heavy, so I cried. A little bit on the mat, and a bit more later when it sunk in.

Sports invoke some of the strongest human emotions in an incredibly condensed setting. You’ll experience adversity, loss, criticism, and triumph, and it might all happen in a 15-minute span. One second you’re on top of the world, the next you’re lying on the floor covered in blood.

Emotional masculinity is taught through emotional moments. The stoicism learned in wrestling and martial arts is not about trying to remove your emotions, it’s about learning to not let them dictate your behavior.

Wrestling taught me to take my bumps and bruises, get up, and keep moving forward. It taught me that it’s okay to get thrown around in my first wrestling match and it’s okay to cry about it. Just get back up, and keep moving forward.

Wrestling taught me lessons that life never could because, in wrestling, I was allowed to fail, lose, get beat up, and try again.

2 months after I lost my first wrestling match, I had a rematch with the same opponent.

I won that match, and it culminated in the dysfunctional picture that you saw at the top of the article.

Whatever you do in life, don’t quit. It’s worth the tears.