How Am I Going to Be Charlotte Flair Today?

I have this memory…… It’s about 27 years ago. It’s late at night and I’m with my brother Reid. We’re in North Carolina, in the house where we grew up, and we’re up past our bedtime. Some nights — including tonight — that means Reid sneaking into my bedroom and us watching TV. We watch Buffy, Dawson’s Creek, all the best shows, on this tiny silver TV that our mom lets me have. We watch for hours, even after we’re tired. I’m 12, Reid’s 10, and it’s like we’re at that age where it almost feels “important” to stay up late. Haha. Like it’s this one thing we control. 

Now I’m 39, and I find myself thinking about that a lot lately — control. The stuff that we control in our lives. The stuff that we don’t.

So much is going to happen to me and Reid over those next several years ... and our 12- and 10- year old selves have no idea. I’ll go to college on a volleyball scholarship, but it won’t work out. Reid will get into boarding school, but it will be full of pressures he’s not ready to handle. We’ll drift apart a bit after our parents divorce. We’ll find our way to each other again. We’ll both have our struggles — for different reasons, and down different paths. 

I’ll start to wrestle.

Reid will die.

Sometimes I wish we could have stayed up forever that night…….. just stayed in my bedroom, watching TV, and it never becomes morning. 

I know that’s not how it works, though.

I know that life moves forward, no matter where you look back.

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I have this memory…… It’s about 24 years ago. I’m in my freshman year of high school, and I’m trying out for varsity volleyball. We’re running the mile. 

I’m going pretty slow. 

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not slow. At all. I’m, like, insanely fast. But I’m making sure I don’t go full speed. The “cool” seniors on the team are jogging, and I don’t want to seem uncool. I really want them to like me. So I kind of slow myself down, closer to their pace. And that’s when I hear it.

“GET. YOUR. ASS. MOVIN’.”

It’s my dad, watching from the sidelines. He is not happy with me. 

“ASHLEY. ASHLEY. GET. IT. MOVIN’. LOOK AT ME. MOVE!!!!”

Now he’s literally running along the fence with us, screaming his way around the outside of the track, blonde hair whipping everywhere.

“ASHLEY!!!!! F***ING!!!!!! MOVE!!!!!!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!”

He’s so pissed.

I’m so embarrassed.

But ... I did start running faster.

And that story is my dad in a nutshell, I guess. He’s Ric Flair — “The Nature Boy.” The greatest wrestler of all time, if you ask most people. He will never blend in (in a good way). He will never blend in (in a bad way). He knows one style and one style only (his own). He can be frustrating, annoying, overbearing, overwhelming, and if I gave you a hundred more adjectives I still wouldn’t quite get there. But he believes in me.

He’s always believed in me. 

And he’s the one person who never, ever gave up on my potential to be great.

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I have this memory…….. It’s about 13 years ago. I just got to FCW — like, literally. I left North Carolina on Friday with my dogs. I packed up a U-Haul (half of a leather couch, plus the pearl-white bed I slept in until I got “big girl” furniture in sixth grade). I drove down to Tampa. And now it’s 8 a.m. that next Monday, and I’m reporting to class.

Norman Smiley, one of the head trainers, greets me as I walk in the door. He goes, “Hi. You need to fill out this paperwork.” It’s normal onboarding stuff: why are you here, how’d you get started, what’s your background, questions like that. No problem.

But then one of the questions is: “Do you know a wrestler in the business?”

In my head I’m thinking, Don’t be an idiot. Just say “Ric Flair.”

DON’T be an idiot. Just SAY “Ric Flair.”

Don’t!!!!! 
Be an idiot!!!!!
Just say!!!!!
“Ric Flair”!!!!!!!

I write my answer and — oh, God. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I was trying to do. Maybe I wanted to seem casual?? Or self-deprecating?? But I put down: “My pops.” (Ashley!!! What the f***. Soooo cringe.) Then I finished the paperwork and handed it back over. 

A few minutes later, Norman comes up to me. And in THE least impressed voice, he says: “Yeah … No one knows who ‘my pops’ is. You need to put a name.” 

You need to put a name. I feel like my whole life, people have been telling me that in one way or another. And I think what was hard for me to get across back then, especially in those early days of developmental, is that even once I started wrestling, “being a Flair” wasn’t my goal. It wasn’t my dream. That was Reid’s dream … he was the one following in our dad’s footsteps. Me?? I was just following in Reid’s footsteps. I just wanted to be there for him. I knew it wasn’t easy — not only feeling like he had to live up to being Ric Flair’s son, but also feeling like he had to live up to the lifestyle that comes with it: the money, the partying, the drugs. It was a feeling that began for Reid as a teenager, and then got worse for him as an adult. As a wrestler.

So that’s why I got into wrestling at first.

Because my little brother needed me, and he asked me to do it.

And even though it IS my dream, now, and I’m dreaming for both of us….... I think I’ll always have a complicated relationship with the name “Flair.” I think that for the rest of my wrestling career, and probably for the rest of my life, I’ll wake up in the morning and I’ll ask the same question:

How am I going to be Charlotte Flair today?

Most days I have the answer. Some days I don’t.

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I have this memory…… It’s about 12 years ago. I get a phone call from Reid — he’s back home in North Carolina. He’s having a really hard time, and he’s begging me to come see him. I tell him I will. 

I will, I will!!! I WILL!!!!

I won’t. I never end up coming home. I never end up seeing Reid. Not because I didn’t love him so much … God, I did. And not because I didn’t want so badly to help him get sober … I would have literally done anything to help him fight that battle. The truth is, I didn’t go home to Reid for a reason that’s so specific, and so silly……… a reason that for the rest of my life I’ll always feel guilty about: I was just too busy wrestling, and I was having too much fun. 

Honestly, that’s it. I was just so incredibly focused on NXT at that point, so driven to get better, so excited for this new beginning of mine, and for this new LIFE I had a chance at, that I didn’t want to go back home and….. I don’t even know. Ruin it, somehow?? Break the spell?? So I put it off a little. Then I put it off a little more.

And then I ran out of time. 

Maybe this will sound strange, but in a way it feels harder to talk about Reid’s death now than ever. And I think that’s because I keep getting older, I keep experiencing things, I keep living — and the more I keep doing all of that, the more aware I am of how Reid isn’t doing the same. The more aware I am of how I’m 39, going on 40…….. while he’s 25, and always will be. It’s like he’s Peter Pan, you know? Like he’s more of my baby brother with each passing year.

And there’s a lot of tough emotions that come with that — emotions that are impossible for me to separate from what my wrestling career has grown into. But what I think I’ve realized, over time, is that honoring the memory of a loved one isn’t about having the experiences they never got.

It’s about loving the person they actually were.

And Reid — he was the best, you know?? He was my guy. And when I think about the version of him that I want to keep with me … it’s not even the big stuff I think about. It’s all the little stuff. 

Like, I remember I came home from college for the first time, and I’d gained the “freshman 15” (or more like 40) — and all these people were calling me “Cheeks.” And somehow Reid turned it into a positive thing. He’d be like, “Nah….. You look GREAT, Cheeks.” And then that’s how I felt. Or I remember we were all hanging out in a hotel room one night, the weekend of the Four Horsemen’s Hall of Fame induction — and Reid was not doing well with his addiction at the time. But even from the darkest places he was in, where he couldn’t find the strength to take care of himself, he would still find the strength to try to take care of me. And that whole night, while the rest of the people there were partying and talking about themselves and about the Horsemen … the only thing Reid wanted to talk about was: I was dating someone who “isn’t good enough” for me, who he thought was “bad news.”

That’s who Reid was to me — and that’s how I remember him: as this sweet, funny, fearless guy, who wasn’t afraid of his own shadow. 

As the baby boy who only ever wanted everyone else to be happy. 

As the only person in my life who’s ever known me, fully, and loved me anyway.

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I have this memory…… It’s about nine years ago. It’s WrestleMania 32, in 2016, at a sold-out AT&T Stadium in Dallas. It’s me vs. Becky vs. Mercedes in a triple-threat match.

To crown the first-ever WWE women’s champion. 

I feel like this weird thing happens when you look back on history, where in retrospect stuff feels inevitable — when it actually really f***ing wasn’t. And that’s kind of what I think happens now with 32, and the way people remember our match. It’s part of WWE history. It’s so iconic. So it’s like, OF COURSE we killed it. OF COURSE we stole the show, and outwrestled every man on that card. OF COURSE it was the first of many women’s classics at WrestleMania.

Except……. NOT of course????? 

No, for real: We could have just sucked!!! I really do wonder that sometimes: What if we’d had a bad match that night? Who knows when — who knows IF! — the women would have been given another shot. Like, maybe everything would be different now. And it’s so funny, because if I told you “we knew” how high the stakes were in that moment, obviously I’d be lying. We were way too young, way too excited, and WAY too nervous to be thinking outside of ourselves. But at the same time … I swear: Deep down, on some level, some part of us knew.

I remember before we went out there for our entrances, in those last few seconds when we were in Gorilla together, the three of us locked arms in this little huddle. And I don’t even really think we said anything to each other. Not out loud, anyway. We just sort of looked at each other….. me to Becky, Becky to Mercedes, Mercedes back to me…… and we smiled. And it was like: Who knows.

Then probably a half hour later, we looked at each other and smiled again.

But this time it was: We did it.

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I have this memory…….. It’s about seven years ago. It’s Survivor Series, in Los Angeles, in 2018. And it’s Go Time.

Actually — let me back up for a minute. 

I love my job. I love all the different things that are a part of my job. I love the TVs, the house shows, the road, the camaraderie, the stuff we do outside the ring, the events where we get to interact with our fans … and I love how on any given day, our job could be about any different combination of those things.

But sometimes??? It’s not about any of those things.

Sometimes, honestly…... it’s just f***ing Go Time.

Sometimes it’s just time to hit the damn music, ring the damn bell and say: No one can touch me tonight. No one in the world can do what I do.

And when I look back on my career so far, and on my favorite matches, the match with Ronda at Survivor Series really stands out. Not just because of what it was — The Baddest vs. The Queen, an actual dream match — but because of what it wasn’t. Like, that one stands out to me because of what it didn’t have. Titles on the line? Nope, nothing. Hype? Not at all, zero hype. Great story? Long build? Time to prepare? None of that. 

What we had was three days. 

Three days before Survivor Series, we found out that the match they’d booked Ronda in couldn’t happen — so she needed a replacement opponent. And if you know the wrestling business, then you know that one of the unwritten rules is: If there’s a match you sold a show on, and you’re not able to deliver it, you have to pull out all the stops to make it up to that crowd. You have to give them “the next best option.” WWE decided I was that option. 

And in one sense, it was a huge honor. It was the company saying, “You’re our ace.” It was them saying, “You’re the card we know we can play whenever we’re dealt a bad hand.”

But let’s be real…..… I also had a massive chip on my shoulder about it. Because in my mind, I’m nobody’s “next best option” — I’m nobody’s next best anything. And that’s what I started telling myself to get psyched up. I was like: Charlotte Flair is the BACKUP plan?! OK, well: Not in that ring she’s not. I carried that chip on my shoulder for three whole days.

Then they hit the damn music, and rang the damn bell.

And Ronda and I went to work.

I’ve had a lot of great matches in my career……. and I think if you asked most people to pick the moment when I “arrived,” they’d pick a match from much earlier. But to me, that Ronda match in L.A. is the one. Because I think that’s the first moment in my career where I really, finally felt undeniable. Where I felt like I got to do what I do best, without any of the other bulls***. You know when you watch someone like a Patrick Mahomes or a Josh Allen play quarterback — and when they’re in the two-minute drill, it’s like they just flip on this switch and play FREE???

That’s how I felt against Ronda at Survivor Series. It was like for 15 minutes we were in the two-minute drill. There was no time to prepare for it, no time to think through it. But also no time to get in my own head about it. For one match, I just got to be a world-class athlete, thrown into a high-pressure moment, asked to go out there and execute. I just got to flip on that switch, go off instinct and play free. I felt like no one in the world could touch me that night.

When I’m Charlotte Flair, nothing can.

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I have this memory. It’s about four years ago..…. I just worked my first show in a while: the Raw after WrestleMania 37, after being out six weeks from COVID. 

It’s extremely hard to live healthy on the road — so while I was off, I did something I’d wanted to do for a long time: I got in the best shape of my life. I lost like 25 pounds. I got leaner, and more toned. I felt so great. I’ve always been pretty self-conscious about my appearance, but I seriously was SO proud of the effort I’d put in, and the results I’d achieved. And I remember feeling really good about how I’d looked at that night’s show.

Then I checked my phone after. 

I literally had thousands of notifications on Twitter — most of it, people speculating about what kind of plastic surgery I’d gotten.

OK. What the f*** happened to Charlotte Flair?!
Holy s*** her whole body is fake.
You KNOW she got work done……
She looks like her DAD in a WIG.

I’ve dealt with stuff like that my whole career … but I try not to take it personally. On some level, I get it: I’m (relatively) famous, and I make a very good living from work that involves showing off my body. I get that certain things just come with that territory. And I’d never expect anyone to put “feeling sorry for Charlotte Flair” high on their priority list. But it really is wild, how like……. OK, I’ll put it like this: People are getting smarter and smarter when it comes to understanding the wrestling business. Everyone “knows everything” now, not just about what’s on-screen but what’s off-screen as well. And yet, the smarter that people get about wrestling?? The easier they seem to forget the basic concepts.

Like the concept that I’m not Charlotte Flair.

Charlotte Flair … She’s the QUEEN!!! She’s the villain. She’s supremely confident, and she never gets rattled. She thrives on you booing her — thrives on you hating her. She’s blonde, 5'10", athletic as hell. Wins constantly. A FOURTEEN-TIME world champ. I mean, she showed up to a WrestleMania one year in a robe with freaking peacock feathers on it. Literally who does that??

Oh and one other thing: She’s a bad f***ing bitch.

But I’m not her. 

Not always, anyway. I know that a lot of people want me to be her. I know that sometimes even I want me to be her. But I’m not. When that camera turns off, I’m just Ashley Fliehr. And unlike Charlotte, Ashley is not always supremely confident. And sometimes she does get rattled. 

And she doesn’t win constantly.

Actually….. I lose pretty often. I’ve spent a lot of my life losing. And if I’m being really real — I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling like a loser. I’ve lost at just about everything there is to lose at: I’ve flaked on promises. I’ve cut and run from challenges. I’ve quit on dreams. I’ve had my childhood home foreclosed on. I’ve alienated friends. I’ve disappointed family. I’ve given up on myself. I’ve lost people I love. And yeah, let’s just get it out of the way: I’ve gotten divorced three times.

And I know that none of that makes me unique…. and I know that nothing in a million years will make me “normal,” or relatable, or sympathetic.

But I’m still human.

And I think in those times when people have seen me appear rattled by the booing, those are just the times when I’ve felt like — at least for a moment — the boos aren’t for Charlotte. They’re for Ashley. They’re for me. They’re because of the way I look. Or because of the energy I’m giving off as a woman. Or because of real trauma I’ve gone through in real life. So when it got mentioned in Chicago that I have an “0–3 record at marriages” … yeah, it rocked me legit. I’m not too proud to tell you that. I don’t need everyone thinking I’m playing 5-D chess all of the time. My reaction to that line was as genuine as it gets. Because — and maybe this makes me naive — in my head?? Charlotte hasn’t been divorced. So I wasn’t expecting it to come up in that promo….. and then all of a sudden I had an entire arena cheering as I got mocked for something that was (and frankly still is) devastating to me.

Which isn’t the end of the world. I moved past it — I always do. But when I reflect on my time in WWE … honestly, that stuff hits me harder than any bump I’ve taken. Like, it’s tough enough to play a queen on your BEST day, you know?? On your worst day, it’s even tougher. And on those days when you’re feeling insecure, or anxious, or weak, or ugly, or — yes — heartbroken?

It’s almost impossible.

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I have this memory…… It’s about two years ago. I’d just lost to Rhea at WrestleMania 39, in one of my favorite matches of my career.

The cameras caught me smiling afterwards — and what you were seeing there was a lot of pride. Yeah, I was a bloody mess. I’d just gotten the s*** beat out of me, and I’d lost my world title. But I also felt like something special happened in that ring. One, I think we put on the best women’s match in WrestleMania history. (Fight me.) And two, I think our match was a “torch-passing” in a way that actually felt meaningful. And I like to think that a big reason why it felt so meaningful, is that it wasn’t just anyone in that ring telling Rhea, “You want this torch??? Come f***ing take it.” It was Charlotte Flair. 

And what’s funny is, after the match, I was talking with a friend of mine about everything: how it went, how I was feeling physically, and how I was feeling mentally as I tried to figure out what’s next. And as my friend and I were talking….. out of nowhere….. I kind of blurted something out. 

I said: “I’m just now getting good.” 

It’s a thought that had been on my mind for a while — but I’d never quite said it out loud. I almost felt like I wasn’t allowed to say it out loud. 

Honestly??? I almost feel like I’m STILL not allowed to say it out loud. 

And I guess I mean it in two different ways.

One, in a cocky way. Straight up. “I’m just now getting good,” as in: To me, I haven’t even peaked yet. Maybe it’s because I started late … I don’t know. But for all I’ve managed to accomplish in this business, I’ve had to learn it on the fly a lot more than people think. And there are so many moments I’ll look back on — great moments — where I’ll think to myself: Jeez … If I had known then what I know now? I would have done this, this, and this so differently. In my head, there are all these aspects of my career that could have been even better.

And then as far as the second way I mean it......... 

Honestly, this is more vulnerable than I usually am — but I’m going to tell you a secret.

I’m old.

Not really, of course. I’m 39. But as a female wrestler who’s pushing 40, I promise you: there are people in this industry who already consider me old. Nevermind that I’m literally younger than Cody, who is considered the face of the company, and Roman, who is probably our biggest star. Nevermind that CM Punk, who I’m seven years younger than, main-evented Night 1 of Mania … and John Cena, who I’m nine years younger than, main-evented Night 2. Nevermind that we live in an era when athletes are extending their primes for longer than ever. For men — and I say this with so much respect for the guys I just mentioned — there’s no such thing as “aging out.” For WOMEN, though?? The rules are just different. For women, as depressing as it sounds, I think a lot of people still only know ONE way to value them: as young and disposable.

And I think you see that in the women’s stories that are allowed to be told.

So when I say “I’m just now getting good”...... I guess part of it is bittersweet. Because I think the next big step for female wrestlers — it isn’t the same amount of TV segments, or main events, or titles or money or opportunities as men. The next big step is the same amount of years as men. It’s women getting to be Cody, or Roman, or Seth, or Randy, or Punk, or Cena, or AJ, or Rey: guys who get to work through their 40s, hopefully even their 50s, and it does not matter. They’re killing it. No one cares about it — no one even talks about it. It just is.

And that’s what I really want, you know??? More than anything.

I want to PLAY out my career … not AGE out of it.

I want the story when I’m going for my last world title to be “the grizzled vet, chasing glory” … not “she’s old and she’s obsessed.”

I want to be able to say, as a woman, that I want more —

And what I want more of.

I want more time.

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I have this memory……… It’s about a month ago. I’m talking to John Cena. A couple of months earlier, he won his 17th world title, breaking my dad’s all-time record. And this is really our first time getting to chat since it happened. John and I are peers now, but he knows how much I’ve looked up to him. (It’s crazy to think back on, but my first-ever promo in FCW was actually about John.) I’m just such a fan of his — for what he’s meant to our industry, and for the way he’s set the standard in WWE for so long. And honestly, for how he’s always treated my dad with respect. 

Anyway, John and I were catching up. We talked a little about the journey he’s been on recently, with this current run and his retirement tour. And then we talked about the journey I’ve been on recently, with…………. everything. And he gave me this amazing piece of advice — something that sounded kind of surface-level when I first heard it, but now I understand that it’s actually really deep. He said, “Don’t just learn to accept the stuff that’s happened to you. Learn to own what’s happened to you.”

And I’ve been thinking about John’s advice a lot lately — especially as I’ve been reflecting on all the stuff that’s happened since my injury.

The irony is, things were going so well. Coming off the Rhea match at WrestleMania 39, I felt like I was really finding a groove. That might surprise people to hear, because I wasn’t part of any big storylines during that run. I didn’t win any big matches or titles. But I kind of just got to be … in the mix. I was a good guy, but I think for the first time I got to be a good guy in a way that wasn’t at the top of the card as this cloud hanging over everything. I’d tag with Bianca one night … then maybe I’d tag with Shotzi one night … then maybe I’d work singles with Iyo one night … It was refreshing for me. I was having fun.

And then there was my marriage. For the last three years, Manny had wrestled away from WWE — and us being in different companies had definitely put a strain on things. But now he was coming back. And just the fact that we’d be getting to work together, and not have to be apart all the time, I was so optimistic about it. I was filling up with these hopeful thoughts of our relationship getting stronger … of us having kids, and starting a family … maybe even all of us traveling on the road one day, and making towns together. It felt like the stars had finally aligned. 

Manny was set to debut at the Royal Rumble, in January of 2024. 

In December of 2023, I tore my knee.

I remember being back in the locker room after it happened — just totally f***ing shattered. I think I was in shock at first, but once the shock wore off I started having a full-on panic attack. I just kept thinking about all these ways that my life had maybe changed, forever, because of one bad landing on a backflip. And as hard as I tried to not be overwhelmed by that, I couldn’t find the strength to be anything else. It was an out-of-body experience. Like I was watching the s***ty part of a sports documentary happen to me in real time. 

Everyone was so supportive, which I absolutely don’t take for granted. The women in the locker room all came over to me instantly and put their arms around me. Randy, who I’ve known since I was a kid, showed up for me in a big way. And Hunter gave me the pep talk you hope your boss will give you after you feel like you’ve failed at your job. But truthfully … none of it helped. It just felt so unfair, you know? Like I’d worked my ass off, for so long, just to get to this exact moment — where it felt like everything for once might be snapping into place.

And then it turned out, instead everything was coming apart.

In February, I started my fertility journey. That’s a complicated topic…… and honestly it’s a topic that society doesn’t make very easy to talk about. But I’m going to try to be open about it here, as much as I can, because it’s not something I’m ashamed of. I’m not ashamed to say that I feel the pressure of being a female athlete who has 1) a biological clock (one I’m constantly reminded of), and 2) a “happy ending” in mind that involves love, and marriage, and a family of my own. I’m also not ashamed to say I went through four rounds (five tries) of fertility last year, with no luck. And I’m not ashamed to say that that process gutted me, and spiritually exhausted me. 

I think my rock bottom moment was probably sometime last summer, when I was flying around the country for second opinions (Chicago, San Francisco, New York, I went everywhere). Around this same time, I developed tendinitis in my knee from going too hard in my rehab, which of course set my rehab back more. And then also around this same time, I went from trying to save my marriage to facing the fact that I was getting a third divorce. And it’s like each thing just fed into the other. Like: I couldn’t do jumping exercises because of my fertility … but those are exactly the exercises I needed to rehab my knee. Or: It felt like the stress from my fertility had harmed my marriage … but then it felt like the stress from my divorce was now harming my fertility. It was like for an entire year, I just couldn’t win. I was trying so damn hard, at all these things — but it’s like the harder I tried, the worse everything got.

And I’m sure some people will read this and have jokes about it and that’s fine. I know how some people see me — and I know how mean they can be about what they think they know about my life. But I’m not writing this for those people….. this isn’t for my haters. Honestly, this isn’t even for my fans.

This is for myself. 

This is for the version of me that’s spent so much of my personal life needing to be liked, and so much of my romantic life wanting to be loved, and so much of my professional life trying to be hated…... that I think I’ve lost my own compass sometimes in the middle of all of that. So I guess I’m working on finding it again. And I think putting this out there — owning what’s happened to me — is a pretty good start.

Thank you Cena, as they say.

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I have this memory……. It’s about a month and a half ago. May 24th, 2025. That’s the day that WWE announced Evolution 2, our second-ever all women’s PLE. And they didn’t just schedule it for a random Sunday. They scheduled it for July 13th — 10 years to the day from my main-roster debut. I’m not usually a nostalgic person, but……. yeah. That one really got me. 

Standing there in that ring, in July of 2015 with Becky and Mercedes … It’s still crazy to think about. It felt like YESTERDAY that we were pulling “street team” duty — putting up fliers and posters all around Tampa, so we could have a house for our first FCW shows. And now we were getting introduced by Stephanie McMahon on Raw, and being talked about as part of WWE’s “women’s revolution”?!? We understood it wouldn’t be easy … but we also understood it had a chance to be special.

It’s been that and more. 

And I think the REASON this last decade of women’s wrestling has been so special to me … well, the answer won’t shock you: It’s all the amazing women I’ve worked with. 

Just to name a few……….…..

Paige. She’s NOT a BLONDE!! This WOMAN is CUSSING!! Lol. Paige was the first wrestler who I was truly enamored with. Not even kidding, I literally dressed as Paige for Halloween one year. And when I saw her wrestle Emma (at NXT Arrival in 2014), that was such a huge deal. That was the moment I realized, OK — wrestling isn’t something I want to do. It’s something I have to do.

Natalya. Our match for the NXT women’s title meant so much to me. Nattie is one of those wrestlers who has a ton of cred — and back then, I had the opposite of cred. I was inexperienced as hell. So she definitely could’ve “exposed” me if she wanted to … but she didn’t. Nattie was so generous as an opponent, and I’m pretty sure that seeing me in a ring with her is the first time the office started taking me seriously.

Nikki Bella. I always had these very mixed feelings about the term “Diva,” which probably stems from being told in developmental that I didn’t look “Diva enough” for the main roster. So I took that personally … I mean, how could I not??? … but it had nothing to do with Nikki, who I have a lot of admiration for, and who’s earned everything she’s gotten in WWE. Beating her to become the last-ever Divas champ was a big moment, and the more time that passes, the more I see how that match wasn’t about “style vs. substance” or any bulls*** like that. It was about progress — which Nikki and the Divas were an important part of.

Asuka. Such a MASTER. Oh my God. Anytime I’ve gotten to share a ring with Asuka, it’s been the definition of “iron sharpens iron.” Simply put: 34 is one of my favorite matches ever. And in that moment, on that night — men, women, I don’t care — I felt like I was going up against the best wrestler in the world. So it was a huge boost for me that I raised my game and hung with her.

Ronda. I don’t think Ronda gets enough credit for WWE putting women in the main event. A lot of things about the women’s revolution might be true, but this is definitely true: Ronda being a main-event draw in UFC changed everything. I know that for a fact. I think the U.S. women’s soccer team being a draw helped us. I think Serena Williams and other women’s tennis players being a draw helped us. But in terms of WWE looking at women as potentially WrestleMania level main-eventers, you can trust me on this 100%: There’s before Ronda Rousey….. and then there’s after. And I wish people would talk about that more, and give Ronda her due.

Bianca. We haven’t had our classic match yet, but I know it’s coming. More importantly, getting to watch Bianca and Mercedes main-event at 37, that’s probably my favorite women’s moment from the last 10 years that I wasn’t a part of. Not just because the match was incredible, but because it was incredible to have a WrestleMania main event between two Black women. Representation is one of those things that WWE can always get better at … and I hope that match really put on display why it matters. Like, as much as I love watching Bianca, what I love even more is watching young Black girls watch Bianca. It feels deeper than fandom. And I think a big reason for that is just how good it feels to watch something and be able to picture yourself in it.

Trish and Lita. I was actually in the crowd for Trish and Lita’s Raw main event, in North Carolina in 2004. I was mostly just there for my dad though … so I had no idea how historic their match was at the time. But I do now, and I’m so glad they’ve both come back and worked big shows over the last few years. Because as influential as Trish and Lita were 20 years ago? I think they’re being just as influential wrestling 20 years later — by showing it’s not just the men who are “special attractions.” Now there’s proof that women can come back as legends and draw.

Stephanie. I know that some people, for some reason, feel the need to downplay Stephanie’s role in the women’s revolution, and how instrumental she was to it. Those people are idiots. None of this happens without her.

And last but not least, obviously: The Four Horsewomen. The thing about the Horsewomen is — we never even did The Match. Me vs. Mercedes vs. Becky vs. Bayley, on the main roster, is still to this day probably the biggest-money women’s wrestling match that you could book. And I do think one day it’ll happen. But I also think the fact that it hasn’t happened, and yet we’re all still so intertwined with each other’s careers, it just speaks to the uniqueness of our impact, and our connection. It speaks to the way that, while there have always been cool stories to tell within the Horsewomen, the coolest story has always been the one of the Horsewomen.

We’ve definitely had our ups and downs over the years. I won’t pretend we’re best friends…… or that we’re all even friends at the moment. I won’t pretend there’s a 4HW group chat I’ll send this article to when it publishes. And thinking about it that way, it does make me sad sometimes. But I also think it’s part of life, you know? Especially at the highest levels of professional competition. And on a professional level?? The respect between the four of us is absolute — and the bonds we share are f***ing indestructible. There’s not another person alive who knows what we’ve been through as a group, or what it’s taken for us to all still be active, and to all still be at the top of our games, as women working in a business that’s still learning how to treat women.

I have a different, perfect chemistry with each of them — and if I wrote about them individually, I’d be writing forever. So instead I’ll just say this one thing, that is very meaningful for me, and that will always tie them together in my heart as a trio: I grew up in wrestling because of my dad … I got into wrestling because of my brother. But I fell in love with wrestling because of the Horsewomen. 

I fell in love with wrestling because I fell in love with Becky, Bayley and Mercedes as wrestlers.

And nothing will ever change that.

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I have this fantasy….... It’s a few years from now. It’s late at night, and I’m about to step onto my tour bus. I’m not a fancy person at all — I save most of my money. But I won’t lie, I splurged on the bus. It’s really nice. It was Ronda’s originally, and then she sold it to me when she left WWE. Having your own tour bus is kind of a status symbol in our business … and I have to admit: As a woman especially, I’m proud of it.

Anyway — it’s late. Tonight’s show just ended, and I worked the main event so I’m SO tired. But then I open the doors to the bus…….. and I see my kids. They’re only a year or two old, so they’re too young to know what their mom does for a living, or anything about it. They don’t know if she won the match or lost, or if it was five stars or no stars, or if she was a good guy or a bad guy, or what anyone said about her in the crowd, or on social media, or anywhere else. Really, the only things they know are that they love her and they’re excited to see her. Because she’s their mom.

Now ... of course ... I’m not so tired. And the kids are wide awake. So I let them crawl in bed with me and turn on the TV. We watch a show they like, maybe half an episode, until eventually they fall asleep and it’s just me and my thoughts. And for a moment, I swear: I’m back in North Carolina. 

I’m in my old room...... in that old house...... up past my bedtime with Reid. 

We talk, and talk, and I tell him everything. How I found myself. How I built this life. How I’m a Fliehr who became a FLAIR, which was always his dream. 

Then suddenly I’m on the bus again — it’s almost morning. 

I won’t be Charlotte for a few more hours.

I look out the window and there’s only road.