It was 1995 and I had been watching wrestling for about three years. I had been to a few house shows, but I got super excited when the WWF announced that the King of the Ring would be here in Philly. It would be the first PPV I would get to see and I was thrilled. I was a fan of the King of the Ring tournament. While it had been in existence for years, it had only been added to the “Big Four” events of year as a PPV in 1993.
The first two PPV tournaments had been fantastic. In 93, Bret Hart had just gotten off his first WWF Championship run and won after beating Bam Bam Bigalow in a final that still remains a classic. It stands the test of time as a great match. The next year, his brother, Owen would win the tournament and declare himself “The King of Harts.” He would use that win to propel himself further in WWF and in his feud with Bret, adding to his legend.
So, after two excellent events, it seemed like the 1995 event would be much the same and based on the way the others has been booked, Shawn Michaels looked to be obvious winner. When I say this, I don’t mean to discredit or disrespect the other competitors in the field, which included former WWF Champions Undertaker and Yokozuna. Despite any setbacks, Michaels’ career had been taking an upwards trajectory, as the former Intercontinental Champion, had won the Royal Rumble that year and it seemed as if it was only a matter of time before he would be champion himself.
So that expectation in mind, I walked into the CoreStates Center bedazzled crown on my head and Shawn Michaels sign in hand. The show started off fine, but then Michaels came out and tried on the crown…and it didn’t fit. I figured it was just to tease the crowd or something. It couldn’t mean he wasn’t going to win, right? Only 15 minutes later, after his match with Kama Mustafa went to a time limit draw did I realize it was not a tease and he wasn’t going to win. When the bell rang, all the excitement I had for the PPV drained out of my body. The rest of the show was fine, but to be honest, I can barely remember it. The sparkle of the experience was dulled, leaving me disappointed. To date, many critics consider it one of the worst WWF/WWE PPV’s of all time.
When I first met David five years later, I was in love. He was ten years older than me, incredibly intelligent with a nice job in computers, and in every situation, he acted with an air of authority and power. Add in crystal blue eyes and a charming disposition, and I was hooked. He was attentive and warm, and seemingly supportive and interested in me.
We were friends first, had a bunch of things in common, and enjoyed spending time together. I moved in with him shortly after we met, into a wonderful little four bedroom cozy Cape Cod with a wooded backyard. We were engaged in June 2000 and married the next May in a lovely outdoor service. Everything seemed wonderful, just like I expected love and marriage would be.
But it was an illusion I created in my own head.
When a foundation isn’t secure, the cracks will soon start to show. My love was nothing more than a man, albeit a very extraordinary man, with his own abusive past and demons. David could be controlling, manipulative, cruel, and narcissistic at times. He knew what buttons to push, what insults would hurt me most, and what to do to make me feel worthless and invalidated. In return, I responded and acted every bit the victim, a suffering, powerless wife.
Communication between us crumbled as we fought more and more. The constant arguments solved nothing between us and left us feeling hurt, angry, and bitter. The happy days when we enjoyed and loved each other were gone. The divide between our hearts grew and spread wider and wider, becoming a gorge too big for either of us to cross.
We coped in our own ways. He found comfort in the arms and charms of another woman, while I became depressed, anxious, and confused. I thought this was supposed to be love everlasting, right? I wondered why our marriage, which felt so right at the start, now felt wrong and empty.
I blamed David entirely when we divorced five years later. But in truth, I was partially to blame for our marriage problems as well. I had unrealistic romantic notions of love and expectations as to who my ex-husband was or should have been. When faced with the reality of who we were and the truth that love is hard work, I held on to my illusions tighter, not wanting to be disappointed. I didn’t want to lose the sparkle, the flush of love. Maybe if I had let go them, the marriage could have been saved.
I’ve learned that disappointment and expectation are brothers-in-arms, a tag team that can cause devastation and destruction in their wake. They are a seemingly innocuous duo, as it’s only natural to want and hope life to goes well and our relationships grow in love. It’s normal to expect and want that everything will work out smoothly and for the best. That’s what I wanted and hoped for, but when my expectations became my only reality, without allowing for any other possibility, I ran into disappointment. I was forced to make a choice – allow myself to get stuck in the fantasy, drug down by the disillusionment, or move forward, lesson learned, with new eyes and an open heart?
Writing Femme 