Ronda Rousey’s transcendence as a mixed martial arts superstar survived the loss of her aura. That’s evidenced by the public reaction generated by UFC president Dana White when he revealed what many of us who follow the sport closely had assumed: that she was done fighting.
The pronouncement was picked up by major outlets like TMZ, the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post. You could read about it whether you were in Italy, Australia or Kazakhstan.
“She’s going to ride off into the sunset and start living her life outside of fighting,” White said.
In a surprise, most of the reaction has been muted. At least so far. There have been a few belittlers. ESPN’s Bomani Jones, for instance, tweeted, “I wouldn’t blame Rousey for quitting, but I’ll probably clown her mercilessly if she does. Well-earned, too.”
Even this was a kind of layered criticism, likely rooted in Rousey’s often unsportsmanlike behavior. Refusing to shake hands with vanquished opponents, creating fictional feuds, bullying ring card girls, shunning media obligations—Rousey has given critics plenty of ammunition to fire back at her.
Every great fighter has a specific way of pushing themselves to the limit; for Rousey, she had to constantly put herself on the edge, even if it meant any little stumble would sent her crashing to the jagged rocks below.
There was no safety net for her, which makes her precisely the kind of daredevil we usually cheer in MMA. Still, that wasn’t always the case. Rousey’s defeats were mostly met with laughter and mocking, as was her public admission that her first loss was so difficult, the thought of suicide flashed through her mind, however briefly.
Rousey’s legacy has been discussed and debated ad infinitum, with most acknowledging her important role in lifting women’s MMA along with her. Her competitive spirit, however, has been another story.
Ever since she lost the first time in a crushing knockout to Holly Holm, Rousey has been viewed in a different prism. She was not only memed for the loss but also ridiculed for her reaction to it, which was something close to a disappearing act.
This kind of ongoing backlash suggests that she owes something more than what she offered in the cage, which is entirely wrong.
She didn’t owe anyone an explanation after losing to Holm or Amanda Nunes, and she doesn’t even owe us a goodbye if she’s done. She’s given enough.
It’s easy to forget that, behind the attitude, there’s a real person in there that has been through some stuff.
Rousey nearly died at birth. She could hardly speak for the first six years of her life. Her father committed suicide when she was eight years old. She suffered through an eating disorder and struggled with substance abuse. She was homeless for a time.
She’s been been through some stuff. Heavy and deep.
Losing a fight or two doesn’t seem as though it should be nearly as weighty as all the troubles that came before, but her reaction only serves to show how much she truly and deeply cared about winning and about being the best.
Failing seemed to devastate her in a way it’s hard to imagine. She went from one of the most quoted athletes on the planet to nearly invisible. She spoke of being betrayed by fans and media in a way that made it seem as if the insecurities that often drive championship work ethics had never really gone away.
And perhaps they may have remained behind, hidden in the dark spaces of her mind during good times only to leak out when everything went so terribly, publicly wrong.
The reaction against her also suggests her feelings are somehow invalid.
Rousey’s experience is about as singular as it gets. Her life arc has been filed with episodes that most ordinary people couldn’t begin to understand, from running away from home for two years to becoming the most famous female combat sports athlete the world has ever seen.
The money she has earned—and make no mistake, she’s earned every cent of it—might salve some wounds, but a bank balance can never make a person whole.
There’s a reason Rousey has talked about running off to some remote location and never being seen again, and it’s that she’s tired of living a life of public judgment. Of course, the debates about her legacy and history will go on but without her as a willing participant.
She came, she saw, she conquered and then she watched her empire crumble before her eyes. That’s no easy story to swallow for a main character, yet there are those who’ve publicly defined her as a coward for declining to see if she can write a better ending.
In time, those detractors will look back on her with more tempered thoughts. In time, her raw feelings will be smoothed. Given all she has overcome in life, she’s already proven the naysayers wrong anyway. And silently slipping away without hearing the condemnation? That’s one last slip of the middle finger on her way out the back door, which is frankly, more than she owed anybody.
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