Second Nature

by Ric Flair

  I never felt sicker and more conflicted in my life. I was torn. Should I get mad at my brother? Should I end my marriage? Who was at fault? Who should I be upset with?

  I knew that my husband still used, but he made it seem like it was under this guise of “recreation” and “every once in a while.” Since Reider didn’t like Riki, I didn’t think my brother would spend a lot of time with him. I wished I were strong enough to kick Riki to the curb and to do what was right for my little brother. I learned later that I was an enabler who suffered from crippling codependency. It was a never-ending, sick cycle that I couldn’t make complete sense of or escape from. All I could do was get angry at them. My brother moved out.

  I prayed for Reider. I prayed that he’d find the courage and control that I knew he had to get better again. I prayed that he would strengthen his resolve and return to the path I knew he—along with our family—wanted him to remain on.

  At that moment, I immersed myself deeper in my work. I spent more time at the studio helping my clients. They became an outlet for me. I asked them things like, “What should I do? How do I handle this? What’s best?” They probably saw a young woman who was lost, in a toxic relationship, too young to be dealing with that kind of trauma and adversity. They were right.

  The situation with my brother continued to weigh on me. Every day, another piece of my heart broke over what had happened. What had I done? Where would he go? What was going to happen? I knew Riki wasn’t good for me. Why did I keep this going? I should’ve known better than to have Reider live with us. I really thought that if my brother was on this path, it would put him on the road he dreamed of. And because he wanted his own place, it was better than his living with either of my parents. My sense of sorrow and conflict consumed me. I felt like I couldn’t escape the adage “Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.” I think about that girl now. I didn’t know if I was going to make it. I didn’t know how much more I could endure.

  While my life behind closed doors kept deteriorating further, my professional life at Ciarla was thriving. Heading into the holidays, I told Riki I wanted us to move out of his mother’s home and get our own place. Through Ciarla, I met the owner of a large security company in Charlotte, and told him that my husband graduated from UNC–Chapel Hill and was looking for work.

  By the beginning of 2011, Riki was a full-time employee of my client’s security company, and a top salesperson selling alarm systems. We both had steady incomes and rented a house in Charlotte. I was proud that I was supporting myself, that Riki was doing well at work, and that we did this all on our own. The more successful I became at Ciarla, the more clients I wanted to take on. I worked fifty to sixty hours a week, seven days a week. My calendar was happily covered in ink. My first appointment was at 5:00 a.m. I would take my last session as late as the studio stayed open, usually around 10:00 p.m. To the outsider, I was ambitious, driven, and passionate about empowering my clients through physical fitness—and I was. But there was another reason.

  I was running every day. I was running from what happened with my brother. I was running from the reality of a marriage I shouldn’t have been in. My work was so rewarding that it helped me disconnect from my personal life. I saw smiles on people’s faces. I felt I made a difference in their lives, but there was something going on with my husband that could no longer be ignored.

  Riki was fired from his job. At that moment, it was clear that his use of substances was beyond recreational and that it was consuming him. That should have served as another wake-up call.

  I remember sitting in the office at Ciarla Fitness. My fingers frantically typed on the keyboard as I searched for rehab centers. I found one in Jacksonville, Florida. I called my dad and asked him to help me financially. Despite his personal feelings about Riki, my dad didn’t hesitate to help. I assured Riki that I was going to wait for him and be there every step of the way.

  While Riki was in treatment, I developed anxiety. No matter how much I worked, the days dragged. I couldn’t sleep at night. A woman at the studio checked on me every day, because she said I lost all the color in my skin. I drove to work every morning for my 5:00 a.m. appointment. I felt I had nothing left. I was hopeless and confused. A part of me was relieved that Riki was gone. The other part of me wanted to believe he was going to change and that this would be the turning point I desperately needed. I was grateful for my dad’s help, but that also meant the issue was now out in the open and that he’d check on things, like any parent would. At one point, he was helping my brother and my husband while trying to take care of himself during his marriage to Jackie. We all believed it was a mistake for him to be with her.

  My other concern about Riki was financial. Would he be able to find another job when he got home? Would I have to continue to support us both? What would life be like when he came home? We would have to make changes: our social circle, attending family functions and events, going out to dinner—everything would need to be adjusted. I took off from work to go to family week at the rehab facility in Jacksonville. This wasn’t my first time going to see someone in rehab.

  I pulled into the facility, and even though it was against the rules, Riki ran to the car. I smiled through the window and saw him later in the day. That afternoon, we had the “family recall session.” This gave me the opportunity to express how so many things in our relationship had hurt me. Even though I verbalized my pain, I think because so much had happened, at this point, I was just numb.

  I went home and waited for Riki to successfully complete treatment. This was the midpoint to his supposed road to recovery. He spent the following months in weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. This was also an anxiety-filled process for me. I learned that part of the AA treatment is to reach out to people you’ve wronged and attempt to make amends with them. I was skeptical about his ability to accomplish this and whether or not he was making a genuine effort to get better.

  What I should’ve anticipated during Riki’s path to clean and sober living was that there would be one person he never attempted to make amends with: me. Throughout this whole ordeal and to intensify the situation, no one in his family took any interest in what was going on or offered any assistance. None of them visited him in rehab. I was on my own. His mother was good to me. I know she loved me, but in the end, I was not her child. After the wedding, I tried telling her about Riki’s substance abuse and anger problems. I was ignored. Even at this point, when he left Charlotte to go to a rehab facility in Florida, she was still in denial. Nothing was going to get in the way of her children’s happiness. Even if Riki succumbed to substance abuse and everyone knew that he became violent when he got angry, she blatantly ignored whatever she didn’t want to see. I became Riki’s mother and caretaker. Everything fell on my shoulders.

  Another client of mine at Ciarla had an executive position with a big inventory supply company in Charlotte. Once again, Riki’s degree from UNC and his ability to present himself well during the interview process helped him secure a job. The potential for growth in this job was limitless.

  I was so troubled at this point that we even spoke about starting a family. I thought the joy of having a baby would make things better between us. Riki wanted to have a child. After being unsuccessful at conceiving for a few months, Riki became hostile. He blamed me for being “too skinny” and “overexercising.” What I should’ve said was that I didn’t know that working in a veterinary clinic for six months cleaning animal waste gave him a medical background in fertility and the human reproductive system. At his insistence, I went to the doctor. My doctors found that everything with me was normal.

  While Riki ignored my countless suggestions that he see a doctor, once my physician suggested he make an appointment, he agreed. After all Riki’s insults and baseless claims, it turned out that he had a blockage that prevented him from reproducing. Surgery was the only remedy.

  Given Riki’s past difficulty with substances, I was concerned about the postsurgery medication. I i
nsisted on non-narcotic prescriptions. This sparked a major argument, and before I knew it, we were back at square one. My husband, who recently completed rehab and was doing well at the second job I got for him, told me I was crazy and controlling, all because I was concerned about prescription pain medication. The days were unbearable.

  Every night after work, I’d fall asleep watching TV. Like clockwork, the minute I sat down, I passed out. Riki became annoyed at that and said he didn’t understand why I was always tired. One particular night, Riki shared the news with me that he was getting a new tattoo. I was shocked that he felt this was a priority. I didn’t spend any money beyond what was needed, and he had just started to earn an income. He already had a sketch of the tattoo. I had no idea where the design came from. Riki argued that we had nothing in common and that he was unhappy. This was a recurring theme in our narrative.

  I paid closer attention to his behavior. It was odd. Riki started listening to different music and watching different TV shows, and he even started using different language when he spoke. He also made it a point to bring home a dessert made for him from a random coworker. Nothing added up, except that I had seen this movie before.

  Finally, I found a picture in his phone of a girl he worked with that dated back to New Year’s. She sent him a selfie. I didn’t know how much more I could handle.

  I showed him the picture. We got into an argument in the living room, and I saw a level of rage I hadn’t seen in Riki’s eyes in a long time. It was like a monster had been dormant, and that night it reemerged from a cold, dark place somewhere inside him. It escalated. Riki charged at me. I was on the hardwood floor, on my back beside the fireplace. Riki started swinging at me. I kept blocking the punches. He kept swinging. One got past me. Riki punched me right in the head. Everything stopped. I had never been hit like that before. The pain was excruciating. I stayed on the floor. When I got up, Riki was gone. I didn’t know where he went. I called one of my childhood friends’ moms and told her I needed her right away. I panicked. I was hyperventilating, and I threw up. At that moment, I was completely overwhelmed.

  I drove to her house. I couldn’t wipe the tears away from my eyes fast enough. I felt the pain on top of my head getting worse. When I got there, she tried to calm me down and begged me to go to the hospital. After an hour, she convinced me and drove me to the emergency room. My head became lopsided. She insisted on staying with me. The ER staff immediately took me for tests. I can’t remember which ones. I remember the tech helped me lie on the bed. I almost went deaf to voices around me.

  The results came back negative, meaning everything was fine. I remember the doctor questioning me. I didn’t tell the truth. I said I hit my head on the fireplace. I was scared about what would happen if anyone found out what really occurred. My friend’s mom told me I was in a safe place. I told the nurse what happened. I didn’t press charges. For some reason, I was concerned about Riki’s well-being. My illness had reached its most damaging point. It was like I was an ice sculpture and this relationship continued to chip away at who I was. I began to lose the will to live.

  My friend’s mom repeatedly begged me to call the police. I could tell by the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice that she was frightened for me. I didn’t call them. I stayed up all night in her guest room. What would happen if my parents found out about this? Was this rock bottom? Somehow, it wasn’t.

  I did the best thing I have ever done. I went to the church I had been going to and saw a woman who offered free counseling. I opened up to her, and she explained the kind of situation I had been experiencing for so many years. She educated me about my emotions and explained that Riki was my drug. I was codependent. I lived through his behavior and emotions. I’ll never be able to describe how she helped me over the course of those few, one-hour sessions. I wish I could let her know how much of an impact she had on my life.

  I continued to focus on building my business as a personal trainer. I reached a point where my projected income could have reached close to six figures. Riki also did well at work. It seemed like a good time to look into buying a house of our own. Or so I thought.

  Riki got fired from his job. From what I was told, he allegedly used the company car for personal trips during paid business hours. His mileage and gas, based on work-related appointments, did not add up correctly. I didn’t know all the facts.

  I wasn’t sure about what to do financially, and I didn’t know how much more of this marriage I could take. Just as we were in the process of buying a home, dealing with calls from so many different people, and trying to keep things together … well, it wasn’t easy. I knew that once again the pressure to keep everything afloat at home would fall on me. When the phone rang for what seemed to be the hundredth time, and it was my dad, I was really happy to hear his voice. When he told me the reason for his call, I was overjoyed. This interruption in the nightmarish life I was leading was like a gift from heaven.

  For the last two years, my dad was under contract to a wrestling company called TNA. My brother David worked there in 2003 and did a story line on TV with Dusty Rhodes. I knew my dad still kept in touch with his friends from WWE, but he did not work with them, so when he told me he was being inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame again I was suprised. One, because he was under contract to another company, and two, he was being inducted for his work in a group that revolutionized wrestling but did so during his time in the NWA and WCW: the Four Horsemen.

  He said that WrestleMania was going to be in Miami, Florida. He also told me that Reider and I were going with him. I was so proud of my dad. To be the first Superstar inducted while he was still active on the WWE roster in 2008 was such an honor for him and our family. This time, to be the only two-time WWE Hall of Fame inductee seemed fitting for someone who had dedicated his life to this profession. It was four years since his first induction and three years since I was at a WWE Hall of Fame ceremony. This trip represented so many things for our family. It also represented the first time in several years that I’d be going on a trip without Riki. It would just be Reider and my dad, like the old days. I couldn’t wait to get there.

  * * *

  The atmosphere at the American Airlines Arena served as a reminder of the excitement of WrestleMania weekend and the prestige of the WWE Hall of Fame.

  When Reider and I saw Dusty take the stage, we knew the Horsemen’s induction speech was going to be one to remember. My brother watched intently. When Dusty proclaimed that “the Four Horsemen rode that lightning bolt in the business called professional wrestling,” my brother smiled ear to ear. When the Dream mentioned that my dad’s induction marked the first time a legend had been inducted twice into the WWE Hall of Fame, and that “Ric Flair is a national treasure,” my eyes began to tear. I thought back to being a little girl and walking around WCW’s offices in Atlanta with my dad and seeing Dusty in the hallway.

  Reider and I beamed with pride when our dad took the Hall of Fame stage. That feeling only intensified, because Dad shared that stage with Uncle Arn. They received a standing ovation.

  Even though I was a little embarrassed when my dad asked Reider and me to stand up twice during his induction speech, I knew it was because he loved us very much and was so proud of us. By the end of the ceremony, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time.

  My dad and brother were going to dinner with a WWE talent executive named John Laurinaitis. I was joining them, and it couldn’t have come at a better time—I was starving! John had known my dad and our family for more than twenty-five years. The purpose of the dinner was to talk about how my brother could earn a WWE tryout.

  At the restaurant, Reider told John about his training, and he talked about wanting to work on more independent shows outside of the Carolinas. I was at the table but not part of the conversation. I could tell that my brother was listening intently to what was being said. John told Reider that he needed to gain more experience so that WWE could see more of his work. After that, they’d take a
look at everything and talk about returning for a tryout.

  Then John looked at me and said, “So why aren’t you doing this?”

  At first, I thought he was talking to someone else. When I realized that was directed at me, I didn’t know what to say. I thought he was joking or that he just wanted to be polite and bring me into the conversation. As he continued to talk, I thought, Me?

  John knew my background in athletics and that I’d played volleyball during college, but I didn’t expect him to extend an offer for me to go to WWE’s FCW training facility in Tampa, Florida. I felt it took a vivid imagination to see me as a WWE Diva. I remember walking past Michelle McCool in the makeup chair backstage at WrestleMania XXIV. She was also an NCAA athlete. But when I saw Michelle getting ready for the show, it was like I saw a movie star preparing to walk the red carpet.

  John continued to describe the training program, while Reider said, “C’mon, we could do this together.”

  My dad looked at me and said, “I know you can do this, but you can’t half ass it.”3

  I didn’t know what to do. I never thought of wrestling as a career. Move to Tampa? I was in the process of buying a home in Charlotte. What about my clients? I’d built this personal training business and was making great money. Then I thought—in a different way—about what this could mean.

  I knew that if I didn’t do something with my life—and soon—I’d lose the little I had left. I knew I couldn’t keep this marriage with Riki going much longer. I just wouldn’t make it. I didn’t know what I would do once I got to Tampa. Would I try to become a member of the ring crew, a ring announcer, a backstage interviewer, a commentator?