Incomparable

by Brie Bella

  Bryan also learned that just because I love nature doesn’t mean that I’m not scared of it. In the early days, I really had to pee as we were driving through the backwoods of Mississippi. Bryan kept offering to pull over, but I was too scared to go to the bathroom in the grass because of the bugs. So he pulled into a gas station and I peed … in the parking lot. Understandably, he thought it was really weird. It was weird. But man, I hate bugs.

  Bryan is really thoughtful. The Valentine’s Day after we started dating, he sent Nicole a gorgeous bouquet of roses with the note: “Because every woman deserves flowers on Valentine’s Day.” Meanwhile, he had sent me a vegan cupcake from the Red Velvet Café in Las Vegas that arrived smashed. It turns out he had sent me roses, too, but they got held up and arrived later that night. It was pretty hilarious to have spent all day dissecting his intent.

  Ultimately, I gave up New York for my relationship with Bryan. We toyed with the idea of finding a bigger apartment there in Dumbo or the Financial District, but Bryan just didn’t think he would be happy in a city where the natural world plays such a small role. I could understand that. Living apart wasn’t enough of a reason for me to keep holding on to my studio in Greenwich Village, but Vegas was a nonstarter for me, too. We ended up moving to San Diego, where we could at the very least be closer to my family.

  Bryan and I moved in together in May 2012, just weeks after Nicole and I ended up leaving WWE. We were too frustrated to stay—with the lack of equality, the lack of good storylines, the short matches. So we left, even though it meant that I would spend a majority of most weeks away from my boyfriend. While WWE asked for us back (we returned about eleven months later, with our Total Divas TV show), I wasn’t having the same luck bringing Bryan to submission around the whole “I love you” conversation. When you’re in love, it’s really hard to not say it all the time. I’m expressive, I’m unfiltered, I’m used to saying exactly what I think. But Bryan, just as he had declared at the very beginning, wouldn’t cough it up. I used to sing Skidamarink a-dink, a dink on repeat (“Skidamarink a-dink, a-dink, Skidamarink a-doo, I love you”), leaving out the “I love you’s” for him to fill in. When I passed the torch to him to fill in the blanks, he would just stick out his tongue.

  On September 25, 2013, on a hike in Big Sur, California, Bryan dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him. Perhaps more important, he told me he loved me. It’s funny, because even though it was irritating to have to wait—and I definitely had moments of wondering how I had managed to get involved with a man who couldn’t stomach three simple words—I got what he meant about love becoming a little cheap with overuse. When he finally said it, it was incredible, even though I knew he had loved me for a long time. He always made me feel cherished. He said it with his eyes, his actions, the way he looked at me, touched me, protected me, and nurtured me. On the flip side, I’ve been with many guys who said “I love you” all day long, but never made me feel like there was any intention behind their words. (Speaking of teaching each other how to say things, I have certainly expanded Bryan’s vocabulary, as he now regularly uses chick language like “So good,” and “amazing,” which he thinks are imprecise and hyperbolic.)

  We had had a couple of epic fights about the L-word over the course of our relationship—not so much about his refusal, but about the fact that he can be so rigid and unyielding. And about the fact that he has so many rules, whereas I’m a free spirit. With Bryan, it was a lot of “I don’t drink, I don’t say ‘I love you,’ I don’t … ,” which led me to the inevitable question: “Then what do you do?” I’ll spare you all the details, but there was one moment when we were dating where we didn’t use protection even though we always did, and I checked in with him after.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You always said after marriage, and I know you have rules about this.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s fine.”

  When we were done, he told me that he needed to go take a shower “and think about this.” Now, obviously, that made me feel really bad. I wanted to be cuddled, not feel like I had defiled him. After, when he came back into the room, he said: “I’m fine with the decision.” I’ll never forget his exact phrasing. What a wonderful weirdo.

  Bryan’s proposal was on camera, though he was so nervous he forgot to say most of what he had planned. He made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and we sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean while he told me twenty things he loved about me. I guess I had told him that I didn’t care where he proposed or when, but that the words were really important. That’s a lot of pressure! Of course, neither of us actually remember what came out of his mouth. He also told me that he had wanted to propose on the third floor of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, but this sweeping view of the ocean (which he likened to our love) would have to do. We were staying at “The Jewel in the Forest,” which is essentially a dome in the woods for hippies like us. It was the first time we ever went to the bathroom in front of each other because the toilet faced the bed—there might have been a few strings of beads for privacy. Bryan got to hear me poop while he looked me in the eyes. I loved that we reached a whole new level of intimacy at a moment when we had decided to cement our relationship. I was fine with the decision.

  We got married in a rush, in part because they really wanted it for Total Divas. Since our relationship had been documented there, we thought it seemed fair. Plus, Bryan is a pushover. If we had to do it over, I think we would have tried to stretch it out, so it wasn’t all a blur. Bryan had his title match in WrestleMania 30—a massive, massive moment in his career. Then we were married the following Friday. We also closed on our first house. It was a lot, probably too much. But it’s also hard to want anything to be different when it was amazing despite the condensed timeline.

  Maybe it’s that Nicole and I were raised in a farming family, and were always around animals, but I’ve always felt most comfortable in nature—and I’ve always had a deep kinship with Native American cultures. When genetic testing came along, I wasn’t surprised to discover that we’re actually part Native American. I grew up with a lot of love and respect for the land, and always found places like the more industrial parts of New Jersey to be really disturbing—like the land was being pillaged and denuded in a way that didn’t seem just or sustainable. But Bryan is a next-level environmentalist. Give the guy a composting toilet, a gray water system, and the opportunity to live off the grid, and he’s really happy. If I wouldn’t vehemently object, he’d build an outhouse in our backyard, hook up a rain shower, and turn off our water.

  Bryan and I are both vegetarians, which hasn’t been a lifelong choice for me. I had tried it in my twenties—then pescetarian, ultimately—but now it’s how we live, and it feels right to me. In theory I’d love to become vegan, but I’m not quite ready to give up on the cheese plate. When Bryan goes on the road, I pretty much live on wine, pickles, and cheese—and not the kind made from cashews. Bryan has taught me a lot about sustainability over the years, and really pushed me to be better at what I believe in. I love our environmentally friendly life and take a lot of pride in the fact that we’re good role models and protectors of the earth. And the added pressure of all those eyes on us has probably made us double down on it, too.

  It’s funny, because in contrast Nicole seems like she’s consumed with superficial things. But that’s selling her short, because she absolutely gets it. In fact, she has lost out on tons of money because of me. We’ve turned down a lot of deals from big fast-food companies simply because I couldn’t get comfortable with their factory farming practices. She never tries to strong-arm me into doing it (though we did toy around with the idea that I could donate my share to the ASPCA or Sierra Club in a subtle middle finger). Instead she vows that she will never make me do something that goes against my beliefs. Bryan always calls Nicole when he needs gift advice for me, which I’m sure boils down to her advising him to go and buy me some shoes made out of
recycled tires, or a purse made from trash bags. She doesn’t try to foist the stuff that she likes on me. Even though she lives a five-star life, she’s sacrificed a lot for me and she never complains; she’s always known who I am.

  I grew up lower middle-class, but Bryan grew up really poor. He lives in constant fear of never having enough, even though we have plenty. We live as small as possible—both to limit our environmental footprint and also because enough is just perfectly enough. My only goal in life is to have a savings account that will cover us in case of emergencies so I don’t have to wake up in the middle of the night stressed about making our mortgage. And if I can, I love to fly business class. I’ve been spoiled a bit in the last couple of years, though I spent a decade flying across the country for WWE in the back of the plane. It’s one big splurge that Bryan and I agree on. (This is not to say that I don’t still sometimes fly coach, which I just did the other week with Birdie on my lap—we sat in the bitch seat, in the back of the plane, in the row of seats in front of the bathrooms.)

  Right now, we have two homes. My husband will not give up on Washington State, and when I had Birdie, I felt acutely that I needed to be close to family in San Diego, and I needed sun. We made a compromise and built a house in Port Townsend, which is a cute town outside of Seattle. It’s in the rain shadow, meaning it’s not quite as wet. Then we found something to rent in California. I did finally convince him that we needed to give up his childhood home in Aberdeen. His mom was making more use of it than we were, and it still seemed like it belonged to her. And probably rightfully so. I didn’t feel comfortable dismantling it in order to make it my own, since it clearly held a huge amount of sentimental value for him. He said I could change it, but I never felt like I could do anything other than add a throw pillow or two. After all, if Bryan wanted to preserve something from childhood, then he should keep it preserved. I’m not sure why houses have never really meant anything to me—I think it’s because my own home growing up was never a fun place to be, so I never grew attached.

  I envy people who have one home, with their family nearby in the same town. It’s hard because Bryan’s sister lives in Pennsylvania, my mom is in Tampa, my dad is in Mexico, my brother is in Phoenix, my sister is everywhere. What I wouldn’t give to not have to travel over the holidays but just root down with everyone, all in the same place. So it will be in our next lives.

  Besides Aberdeen, the only other thing we’ve really fought about in our relationship is booze. Bryan’s dad was an alcoholic, which was debilitating for both him and the family. He walked out when Bryan was young, leaving Bryan’s mom to struggle to make ends meet as a single mom. Bryan did maintain a relationship with him during the times he was able to stay sober. Bryan is rigid and rule-based, and at a very young age he vowed to never even test his tendency for alcoholism. He has never had a sip of alcohol, he’s never tried a drug, he’s never had a drag of a cigarette. But he does have the addiction gene: He has designated days to eat sweets because if left to his own devices, he’ll stand over the sink and smash ten cupcakes in under ten minutes. Sugar is his drug.

  I on the other hand have trouble wrapping up a day without a glass of wine. Besides being the signal to myself that it’s time to unwind, it’s the primary way that I socialize. I love to have a drink while watching the sunset, I love happy hour with friends, and when the occasion demands it, I love to get into full-on Brie Mode. When we were courting each other, it was tough to not be able to fall back on a typical drinks-at-the-bar fail-safe date.

  While the idea of Bryan being able to enjoy a drink with me is tempting, I’m relieved that he is so unrelenting about not even trying it. It was just frustrating at various points of our relationship when he expected me to be the same. In the early days, he treated me like a burgeoning alcoholic. He used to be so judgmental—when I’d go to order a second drink, he’d stare at me from across the table. “Don’t go old big bug eyes on me!” I’d yell. I wouldn’t back down or let him cow me into limiting my drinking, because I know I don’t have a problem with booze. I knew that if I were to give in to his pressure, it’d be over. I refuse to be policed by my husband—to me, that doesn’t sound like a relationship, that sounds like jail. I’ve always been the loud party girl. Nicole and I were the ones on the bus during the WWE European tours singing and drinking wine and DJ-ing with Santino. Bryan thought we were “those really annoying Bella twins,” but it was fun, and those trips were always the most bonding. Nowadays, people are more inclined to dive into their iPads. But at that time, those bus trips were the best. Bryan has always known that that’s how I like to roll. I’m the type of girl who likes to get drunk and do interpretive dances.

  Ultimately, I had to have a big talk with him and remind him that I’m not his father. If I don’t feel like having a drink, I can certainly abstain. I’m perfectly capable of having a dry January or cooling it when I feel like I’ve had enough. When I was pregnant with Birdie, he asked me not to drink even a sip of alcohol. I felt like I had to give that to him, even though most women I know felt like they couldn’t get through the third trimester without an occasional glass of wine. Near the end, when she wouldn’t come and I was going days past my due date, my acupuncturist directed me to go home and have a glass of wine. But no dice.

  The addict gene isn’t the only one Bryan has to contend with. There’s also a pretty terrible history of depression on his dad’s side of the family, and Bryan has struggled with it throughout his life. I definitely think that the concussions he’s suffered have amplified this tendency. Though to hear him tell it, he’s always been Eeyore. He has struggled with crippling bouts of depression since he was a kid. He can feel them coming, and just puts himself to bed until they pass. He understands all the while that it is a chemical imbalance and not a deeper statement about who he is; he has also learned ways of minimizing the attacks, typically through watching what he eats and exercising every morning.

  I think the other reason I’m dedicated to living well within our means is that I don’t want the added pressure of being performers for the rest of our lives—particularly because it’s not necessarily possible. When Bryan was forced to retire in 2016 because of issues from concussions, he was devastated. He’d known he couldn’t wrestle forever and was prepared to leave at some point—but he wanted it to be on his own terms, not on doctor’s orders.

  Because of this, he suffered from a mental breakdown, compounded by debilitating depression. It was horrible to watch, and as Bryan’s wife and partner, it was scary, too. When you’re defined by one thing for decades, and it’s no longer yours to own, you can lose your entire sense of self. Bryan went back to WWE to be a general manager, in the hopes that being around wrestling would be satisfying enough. But he always felt like going back without being able to get in the ring actually impeded him from getting over it and finding something else to do with his life. He had to watch from the sidelines as his friends wrestled, when he wanted so much to join them.

  When forced into retirement, Bryan spent an insane amount of energy getting cleared to return to the ring. He traveled across the United States meeting with doctors—all of whom believed that he was well enough to wrestle, his brain was not irretrievably damaged, and his neck was sturdy enough (he broke it in 2014, on live TV). But ultimately it was up to WWE. I have always told Bryan that I will support him in whatever he wants to do. I’ll never hold him back, because I know that I would resist being held back myself. I firmly believe that nobody should have dominion over someone. We’re all here to live our own lives.

  That said, Bryan knows what could happen if he causes irretrievable brain damage through one more bad fall. It’s just not worth it if any of the doctors think it’s a risk he shouldn’t take. I think trying something new could be amazing for Bryan—he’s a brilliant guy, passionate about the earth and the environment, intent on leaving it in a better place than when he found it. I would love to see him working outdoors, expressing his love for animals and the planet, put
ting his energy into something like watershed management or telling the world why everyone needs a composting toilet.

  But he’s not done wrestling. In March 2018, he landed in Texas from Saudi Arabia and had a voicemail from Dr. Maroon that he wanted to see him. He boarded the next flight to Pittsburgh, ran through a handful of tests, and then Dr. Maroon slipped a piece of paper across the desk that said, “Finally, you’re cleared!” He was immediately on a flight to Texas for SmackDown, where he was power bombed by Kevin Owens. I watched him on TV that night and could see him fighting back a massive smile—only Bryan would welcome a power bomb from a 266-pound man.

  I think that Bryan’s story is really inspirational. I feel that he needs to spend some time out on the road speaking, letting people know that they’re not alone if they suffer from depression or mental illness. We filmed his complete breakdown for Total Bellas—it was all on tape. He had the option to cut it, but we ended up airing a significant portion of it. He wanted other people who are feeling the same way, who grapple with the same types of issues, to see him tackle it head-on. He wanted the world to know that it’s okay to be depressed, it’s okay to be devastated when something that you love is taken away from you. You can grow from it and ultimately thrive. You can find a way to reconcile yourself to depression’s presence in your life without letting it paralyze you from going after what you want. People who are depressed don’t want to be alone. They want to find a path to achieving their dreams alongside people who love them, too.