Lessons From Becky Lynch
Or should I say Rebecca Quin. Neither of which are me. I'm Becky Handley. Is this confusing yet?
Hi, I’m Becky, an artist and writer based in Derbyshire. I write about my life in what I hope is an honest and open way. I write about an array of topics, such as sobriety and neurodivergence, and about simply trying to find my way in this world. Please subscribe to support my work and to read more of my posts.
Last week I began reading Rebecca Quin’s memoir - Becky Lynch: The Man: Not Your Average Average Girl1 - and it has been a really good, yet surprising read.
Before I get into it, let’s alleviate some confusion that may have amounted seeing as I am Becky, writing about another Becky who is also a Rebecca2 but somehow has two different surnames.
Becky Lynch is a WWE wrestler whose real name is Rebecca Quin. She is one of the top wrestlers in the WWE and although I had some idea that it had been a hard slog for her to get to the top I had no idea how hard.
I also had no idea that sometimes one of the biggest fights she had to get there was against that voice inside her own head telling her she wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t pretty enough, she wasn’t strong enough.
She, simply, was not enough.
I found myself reading it and finding myself surprised by how much we have in common.
She writes about places she worked before making it as a wrestler and struggling to make small talk and how many people found her strange. She feels imposter syndrome. She lacks confidence in her abilities, her looks and herself as a whole. She says yes when she wants to say no, even to a marriage proposal. She has felt like she doesn't belong, an outsider who is seemingly always left out in the cold.
At one point, she writes:
“At home, or with Colby [her husband, better known as wrestler, Seth Rollins], I needed no mask. He was very aware of the insecure, strange, often shy girl I was who would struggle to say how I feel or speak up.”
I would never have thought any of this because she seems so confident when she is on the television, kicking arse in a wrestling ring or on the mic.
But, that’s Becky Lynch, the character, not Rebecca Quin, the person.
I’m not much like Becky Lynch at all, except for our first names and that we are both capable of rocking orange hair and rocking it well.
But, apparently I share some similarities to Rebecca Quin.
This all got me thinking about insecurities and the vast difference we see between a person’s on screen persona and who they really are.
And I don’t just mean a wrestler playing a character on TV. I mean the way in which many of us do it, via social media, every single day.
I am only on Substack now but there is that strong sense of social media here, particularly on Notes.3 If I ever find myself looking at the more general notes and not just the people I subscribe too, I see it everywhere.
The quick, clever little quip that I would bet took a lot more time and effort than anyone would imagine.
The too good to be true conversations with that random person in a coffee shop who miraculously makes the point you’ve wanted to make for ages but thought you weren’t allowed to just make it because “WHAT IF I”M WRONG?”
The copy and paste Notes which are there just because someone cracked the formula for this week and the amount of likes garnered are seemingly more important than any raw, truthful reality.
Liking this means you like what I’m saying, what I’m doing, who I am. Except none of it matters if you don’t like yourself.
Just ask Rebecca Quin.
We achieve things and it doesn't fix the pain inside.
We achieve things and we move the goal posts. Quickly now, onto the next thing!
How many beautiful celebrations have been missed because we didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t take a moment to look around and say “I fucking did this!”
And I don’t mean big, shiny things like becoming the WWE Women’s World Champion, I mean little things like going for that 5 minute walk that you really, really didn't want to go on, even though it immediately made you feel better.
I mean writing that Substack post/blog post/Instagram post that was unfiltered and real. Still feeling proud of it when there is no tangible evidence that anyone else cared.
I mean taking a break when you need to.
I mean stopping yourself from apologising for every, little thing, including simply existing. Saying thank you for helping me, instead of sorry, I’m such a burden.
I mean remembering to brush your teeth and your hair.
I mean still seeing your worth when you can’t do any of it.
I’m never going to be WWE Women’s World Champion but I reckon I can work on achieving the rest.
What about you?
As always, thank you so much for reading.
If you enjoyed this letter or anything resonated, please let me know by replying to this email or, if you are on Substack, by giving it a like or leaving a comment. If you really enjoyed it, please share it or restack it so someone else might find it. Thank you. 🖤
Until next time, take care of yourself and have a lovely week.
Lots of love,
Becky
🖤✨🌈
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As am I but please don’t call me Rebecca. It makes me feel like I’m being told off.
Substack’s answer to Twitter. No, I don’t know why either.