The Fight Within Us

Why I Fight (The Text Version)

Just wanted to post the text version of the talk I gave back in October for the NEABPD Meet & Greet. It is quite timely considering the coming events.  I will be focusing only on a few things for the next few days and these words help me muscle up my determination and grit. Thanks again for all your kind words of support. You’re in my heart!

Below is the text:

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This night is very special to me, not only because we are here to celebrate all the progress we are making in research and treatment for borderline personality disorder, not only because I see so many familiar and supportive faces, and new ones too, advancing the BPD cause, but more on a personal note, this night is very special to me, for it was here, sitting on that very table a few years ago talking to Dale Terilli and Jim Payne, that I decided to become a competitive boxer.

After sharing my idea — documenting my journey as an a competitive boxer and using it as a metaphor for my fight for those with mental illness — I said to the group, “well, what do you think?” and I believe Jim looked at me and said enthusiastically, “Well, why not?!!”

So I have you all to thank for my journey thus far.

But it wasn’t an easy decision, not just because it was boxing. But mostly because I was still struggling in a very real way with my illness. I had been making progress with my therapy, my medication, my support network, but I was still in deep despair. A suffering so painful that it always lead to one single question, every morning:

Is today the day that I choose to end my life?..

I would say to myself how I wish I was normal, that I wasn’t made for this struggle. I didn’t have what it take to keep going, to keep alive. The pain was so great and the mountain to climb was too high.

I have lived with suicidal thoughts and urges for most of my adult life. But right here in this very room, sitting in that table, a few years ago, I decided that I could either keep feeling sorry for myself or I could try. I could do.

I could do boxing.

Sure, the uncertainty was there. Could I really get in the ring and hold it together long enough? Could I really learn all there is to the sweet science of “hit and not be hit?” I didn’t have an answer, but somehow, I found strength in the act of doing, of translating thoughts, and ideas and beliefs into deeds.

And from that, I began to understand pain and struggle in an entirely new way, not as something to get rid of, as was my natural habit, but something to respect — for I began to learn, through boxing, all of those things were a natural process of breaking down and building up, of repair and recovery; of developing strength. The suffering, struggle, and pain I once thought prohibited me from leading my life instead became an avenue for me to create a meaningful one.

From my journey with boxing thus far, I have tasted what it feels like to overcome fear in the ring, of facing my demons, of pushing on with my will when my body no longer agrees with me. It was only in this kind of framework — boxing — did I learn that I could exist beyond pain, beyond exhaustion, beyond the lactic acid building up in my muscles. I could exist beyond the struggle. I could and do exist. It was a big breakthrough for me: In that ring and completed my first boxing match, I realized I had a will — not only to live —but to live out my purpose, my living story.

This is my small example of turning a personal tragedy into a human triumph. Boxing has taught me in a very concrete way that for all those who have fought the long, lonely battle alone:  We are worthy of striving, of pursuing. We are worthy of the struggle.

And so to all those who struggle, and especially to all of you here tonight in this room. I fight for you. I am fighting for you, for Matt, the high school sophomore student  from upstate NY, who presented to his class my video to let people know about BPD. I’m fighting for Nicole who told me about her cousin, though diagnosed with BPD, still took her own life.. and how she is doing all that she can to spread the word about BPD in the living memory of her cousin.  I fight for Kayla, who went through a treatment program in the UK, called “teach me how to live” and is learning to do so day by day. And I fight for Helen, whom I learned those great words from, whose daughter so desperately tried to learn how to live but took her own life too.

This is my living story. But more importantly, we need to tell the living story of BPD, where others find their own meaning from their struggle. That they too can share their story, but most of all, live out their story.

I would have never gotten this far and and be here if it wasn’t for that special night, here in this room, when I decided to do. For what gives us strength, hope and vitality for those who have suffered is not only what we are given, but also what we, as a people, do. So thank you for making this night so special for me, giving me the opportunity to recommit to my living story and help others find their own.

Thank you for believing in me.

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Don’t Quit

7 Rounds of sparring this morning, last session before Saturday’s fight. Lots of challenges as I prepare, but even the Greatest had difficulty — and that didn’t stop him from trying. We’ve got to try. We’ve got to do. That’s why I love this quote from Ali. I posted it up on my desk and inside my locker. Hope you gain some inspiration from it too.

This is It.

The professional understands that Resistance is fertile and ingenious. It will throw stuff at him that he’s never seen before.

The professional prepares mentally to absorb blows and to deliver them. His aim is to take what the day gives him. He is prepared to be prudent and prepared to be reckless, to take a beating when he has to, and to go for the throat when he can. He understands that the field alters every day. His goal is not victory (success will come by itself when it wants to) but to handle himself, his insides, as sturdily and steadily as he can. - Steven Pressfield. The War Of Art.

My coach told me to be ready by the first day of Golden Gloves competition. Even though the women usually don’t start competing until mid-February, I received this letter in the mail last night, to my surprise, reporting to the first night of Golden Glove competition — perhaps the most hyped and high-profile night besides the finals at Madison Square Garden.

To be honest, I freaked out a little. Okay, I actually screamed four or five times as I told the news to my husband. I had scheduled two fights in the next two weeks, thinking it would be a good way for me to get ready for the tournament. Little did I know I would receive this, throwing the proverbial monkey wrench into our training plans. That night I went for a run and like all runs, I gazed into the winter sky to clear my head.

No one said this was going to be easy. No one was going to hand this to me. This is it. There’s no time to be afraid. There is only now. Now is the time to take what you’ve worked so hard for. All the hours of training, the rounds of sparring, the miles of roadwork, all the struggles, the setbacks, the pushing forward — all for this moment.  

And a grand moment indeed. If I succeed — and you’re damned sure I’m going to give it my all in order to succeed — I’ll do so in the bright spotlight of BB Kings in the middle of Time Square. I’ll do so with the greatest boxing writers and analysts at ringside. I’ll do so with the most media attention an amateur boxer will see until the finals at MSG.

And you can bet that when they ask me I will talk about why I’m fighting and whom I’m fighting for. You can bet all of you will be with me that night. All your stories, your struggles, your triumphs. As much as I have grown since my diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, I am constantly reminded of how painful, debilitating and scary life can be without proper treatment. I am there for you just as many beautiful people have been there for me.

It is how I’ve made peace* with the monkey wrench. Now it’s time to bring down the hammer.

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If you’re in the New York City area, I would love to see you there! Here are the details:

Daily News Golden Gloves Tournament
January 19, 2012
Showtime: 7:30pm (doors open: 6:30pm)

BB King Blues Club & Grill
237 West 42 St. New York, NY 10036
Tickets are $25 at the door (though there is a line)
Tickets can also be purchased via TicketMaster.

*Prayers, cheers, slow claps and good juju are appreciated!!!

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What It Takes

The most helpful method to stop self-doubt and negative thinking is thought replacement. Effective thought replacement occurs when you decide what you want to have happen and then think more often about what it will take to make it happen. - Jason Selk

It was another test. I should’ve known that was what happened, but instead I began to feel those all-too-familiar emotions: anger, denial, and fear. Forget the fact that my opponent was taller. Forget that she was 6 lbs heavier. What got me was that she had four fights to my one. There were two other women there I could have been easily matched with that made more sense, but I was fighting the one with the most experience. “Maybe they mixed it up. It didn’t make any sense to be matched with her,” I began to rationalize.

It was no mix up.

And that’s when it changed. I went from anger, denial, and fear — to acceptance. This is it. I gotta make the best of it. I quickly went into preparation mode, spending the next three hours psyching myself up, trying to face the reality of my situation, trying to figure out what I needed to push me through. In a small hallway filled with 50 or so other fighters waiting for the late doctor (we all have to get cleared by the doctor before we can fight and for some reason the doctor is always late to these things), I crouched on the floor against the corner wall trying to conserve my energy, trying to block out any distractions or stress, and most of all, trying to get my mind right.



This was going to be a tough fight, there would be no room for errors, for panic, for bad habits to show up. I thought about what it would take for me to win. As I visualized my moves and combinations, I thought about who I was fighting for. I thought of those who told me about their story with BPD and those who didn’t have their loved ones any more. Their stories flashed before me. They gave me the will to push forward; I was going to give them all I had because they deserved all I had. I was given a second chance, I told myself. I can’t let this life go. I owe it to them. I owe it to myself.

I thought about eating afterwards, about how happy and satisfied I would be eating whatever I wanted knowing that I won. It would be a long ride home from the venue, and I didn’t want it to be a quiet ride. We had tickets to one of the greatest professional fights at Madison Square Garden that same night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that if I lost, my mind filled with regret, what-ifs, and what-went-wrong. No, that wasn’t going to be how my night went out.

I had to get it done.

And that’s basically what I intended on doing. I mentally suited up my armor. I mentally turned the switch on to No Mercy. I remembered what my therapist would tell me each time I prepared for a fight:

This is a sport. Your goal is to win the fight, to throw more punches and connect. She knows what she’s getting into. She signed up for this too. No mercy, Amanda.

It was the permission I needed to get the job done, to be professional, to let go of judgment, to have one thing on my mind and one thing only: prove you belong here.

The bell rang and it all became a blur. I kept hearing my corner screaming, You first, Amanda! You first!!! There was hardly any time to think in my head, just do: punches, combinations, slips, bobs, hooks. She’d punch me and I kept on. There was no time to feel them, to let them get to me; I had to move on to the next combination. I couldn’t let her in because I knew if I let her in, she would win. So I kept on pushing. Somehow, in the second round, the ref gave my opponent a standing-eight count. I knew, however, that standing-eight counts didn’t mean much in terms of points and so i continued to press on.

In the third round, I found myself thinking for a moment, noticing I was becoming fatigue. I finally realized I was chasing her around (which was making me tired) and so I cut the ring. It was my most proud, though short-lived moment — cutting the ring. It was something we practiced time and time again, I couldn’t get it right, I didn’t get it, and yet, there during the fight, I actually made an attempt. My opponent was tricky and experienced and she soon got out of that one. In the next moment I had left my guard open; she landed a good one-two on my knocker. In that split second I said to myself, Oh, please don’t give me an eight count… the ref told us to break but sure enough, he didn’t. The final bell rang.

We won that day. We had fun on the ride back home. We watch a great fight go down at Madison Square Garden. And I ate ice cream.

Special thanks to my corner — my coach Moises and my sparring partner Karen. To my other sparring partner Ed and for Kyce coming down to cheer us on. Thank you all who are in my corner and to those whom I fight for.

Oh and the test? Well, my coach later told me that he wanted to see how I’d react realizing on the day of the fight my opponent would be much more experienced than I. Glad to say I passed.

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Video: Why I Fight

It was a great honor to speak in the same breath as Drs. John Oldham, Bruce Cuthbert, Barbara Stanley and Herb Pardes during NEABPD’s Meet & Greet in October. I’m so thankful to NEABPD for giving me the chance to share my voice and experience in order to help others.

In preparation for the talk, NEABPD specifically asked me to talk about my personal journey with boxing. I began to question and compare my own story of a blue-collar sport with the great minds who would speak that same night. BPD is a disorder filled with serious debates and discussions in science, research and treatment — but I only knew the sweet science of boxing. I certainly understood for myself how boxing has contributed to my mental, emotional and physical well-being… but would it connect with others? Would I make sense?

I wrestled through those doubts and from that struggle a message slowly evolved. I began to listen to my heart and speak from a place I have not touched on before. Sure, it wasn’t the best presentation I have ever given but for me, it is the most personal. So thank you for watching this video and listening to my story that night. The act of preparing and writing a speech, sharing it, and then talking to those who have listened is such a great reward (and very validating).

My talk follows Barbara Stanley’s wonderful presentation around the 28 minute mark:

Will post the transcript shortly!

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The First Step to Madison Square Garden

Registering for the Daily News Golden Gloves is the easy part. Fill out a form, put a couple of stamps on the envelope, drop it in a mailbox and voila, I’m in. The next 3 month journey, however, will be a difficult challenge. It will test me, push my buttons, and ask from me more than I ever thought I could give, but I’m ready to tackle it head on.

I will rely on my faith, the support of my friends and family, the guidance of my coach, the camaraderie of my sparring partners. I will remember the reason I fight:  that my effort will shed light to those struggling to live with BPD and those who’ve gone before us. I will believe in what has been given to me so that others may believe in themselves.

I will fail, I will succeed, but most of all, I will persist on. This is the road before me. I hope you’ll come for the ride.

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My Next Fight

Due to few speed bumps on the road and a no show, I finally have my next fight this weekend (crossing fingers — you never know even though you are scheduled to fight). I know it’s been a while but we’ve been working hard. We’ve peaked this week, finely tuning and sharpening our tools with sparring, roadwork, ab work and nutrition. The last few days I’ve been spot on with my weight and I feel solid. Actually, I feel a subtle yet noticeable transformation happening. Now it’s time to translate that into action. It won’t be easy (I still am fairly new to all of this), but I’m determined to push forward.

I’ve been thinking about all of you during this time, especially during my nighttime runs. You are whom I fight for.

Wish me luck and thanks for all your support!!!

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Beauty & Starting Over

Beauty, I’ve realized, is a process. To discover beauty is to know another facet of oneself; a clarification of perception; to realize something so precious that wasn’t there before. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, sometimes it gradually forms… as if you knew how pretty a flower would bloom, but not how precious it would be if the blooming flower was given to you, just for you.

– Discovered today in my journal from 2001.

Ten years ago as I walked out of a subway car I was approached by an unkempt man holding a single rose in his hand. He didn’t seem all there but he didn’t seem threatening either. He motioned that the flower was for me. My city instincts kicked in and I refused, saying, “Oh no, you must’ve mistaken me for someone else.” He said nothing, but insisted that I receive the rose. He walked away, hands in alms. I sheepishly accepted and spent that day thinking about the beauty of people, the meaning behind the gift.

That same night, still carrying the rose on my way to school, I said hello to the custodian and conducted our usual chat. It was then I knew I could give the rose to him. He would appreciate it and I found meaning in the gift: to share beauty with other people. He smiled, perhaps a little teary eyed from the randomness and thoughtfulness about it. We both left with our cups filled.

It’s been too long since I carried that spirit within me. The road to the Golden Gloves has been complicated and difficult: three steps forward, four back, and two sideways. But as I begin the journey back to competition, I look towards Beauty as my guide. A simple appreciation for where we are, who we are with and our journey into the unknown. I’ll accept the randomness of life in all it’s ugliness and beauty, bit by bit.

The Pain of Radical Acceptance

The pain will never go away.

I know, I know. Deep down inside I knew this. I write and write about this and that…  trying to convince myself otherwise; that there was, indeed, a higher road. I tell myself, We can be remarkable despite our illness. It sounded noble and beautiful and hopeful. It was my battle cry; a way to turn mental illness up over its head and declare that, hey, there’s no looking back. How desperately I wanted to believe this. It was clean, pretty and neatly tied up in a bow.

And then life happens. BPD happens. The two collide and you find yourself back in that old familiar place: complicated, messy, and above all — painful.

In my hearts of hearts I want so desperately to escape how the pain feels. I still hold on to the idea that maybe it will disappear. That, in time, therapy will make it go away and prescription medications will christen me anew. My life will start all over and all the hurt, the mistakes, the self-hatred, the shame — it would all disappear. You have brief glimpses of that — moments of living like everyone else in the world. There’s contentment. There’s peace. You finally feel normal.

But as it is with borderline personality disorder, the feeling came in a wave and I was left in the wake of an empty shore, vulnerable to images, urges and actions I’d rather not share with my therapist.

And just when you think you can’t handle the pain anymore, you start looking again. Something to convince yourself to keep on going. Something to hang on to when it got tough, when it got messy, when you don’t know if you can get through it. Something that will make it worth all of this suffering.

Maybe making the pain disappear isn’t the point.

I grieve tonight and rejoice at the same time. The burden of doing away with pain and the urges towards myself don’t have to go away in order for me to participate in life. I can accept these very difficult, quite confusing, intensely emotional parts of myself and still, walk on. I can choose to keep pushing forward — even if the pain will never completely go away. That’s radical acceptance in a nutshell.

The pain will never fully go away and frankly, I cannot wait until then. There is too much to do in the time that we have here to wait for it to go away in order for my life to begin.

One Step Closer: My First Fight

Success … depends on the ability to sustain discomfort for prolonged periods of time. All it takes to relieve it is to stop — and that’s what we’re fighting against, all the time… It’s about winning the battle against the urge to stop.
- Ultramarathon runner Ted Corbitt as quoted by Sam Sheridan.

Before heading out to the fight, I walked into an empty church and sat in one of her dark stained pews. I haven’t been to church in some time, but a lot of boxers pray and I wasn’t about to mess with tradition. There was an older gentlemen at the piano, tuning the keys, hitting the same note over and over again, slightly adjusting the tightness of each string. There were eighty-eight keys he planned to go through but it didn’t bother me. In fact, for first time in a very long while I wasn’t bothered at all. I sat in church not because I was suffering and needed relief, not because I did something stupid and needed forgiveness, not because I was confused and wanted to ask why. Instead I sat there, visualizing the fight in front of me, before my God.

I went over the plan: the combinations, the footwork, the bobbing and weaving. I closed my elbows in, put my guard up and shifted my weight around in my seat, colluding in a prayer of strategy. As the wooden pew squeaked underneath me, I wondered aloud if it were okay to go over such things in the solemnity of a church. Maybe any reason to come to church would be a good reason. To balance out any ill will, I prayed for the safety and protection of my opponent. For myself, I humbly asked for courage, strength and determination, then went back to the business of preparation. I was crossing my t‘s and dotting my i’s, but something was still missing.

I sat there searching, and then, during the Lord’s Prayer, I remembered what this fight was all about: that somehow this would serve the work we are called to do. When I realized that, my focused changed. I realized this wasn’t about just me. I remembered it was about who and what I was fighting for. I didn’t know exactly how it all was supposed to fit in — I left it up to the big guy to worry about — but a calm came over me. I trained very hard for this moment, this opportunity, this first step towards the Golden Gloves. Now it was a matter of doing the job. Everything else was secondary. I was ready.

Nine hours later, however, it all went out the window. We were at the venue waiting for our turn and for the first time that night I saw my opponent across from me. My coach noticed I got nervous. “You alright?”

“No,” I said. “I’m scared.”

She was a significantly shorter but we weighed the same — meaning the muscles in her arms, her calves and her thighs were very, very big. Depleted from not eating properly (to make weight), and realizing that time had been inching past my usual 10:30pm bedtime, I didn’t know if I had enough physical resources to put it together. Add to that the fact that I would be toe to tow with someone physically more powerful and I began to panic. Would I even make it past the first round? I had all this nervous energy. I started to shadowbox, but my coach told me to stop and save it for the ring. I had to psych myself up some other way.

Okay, you’ve prepared well. You’ve gotten hit with big shots before. You can take her. She can’t hurt you more than you’ve already been hurt.

We were up next. A rush of adrenaline overtook me.

The bell rung and she went straight for my body. POW-POW-POW! It was a blur after that. It was fast paced, intense and close. She kept going for my body, swinging for my head. She caught me with hooks, body shots, body blows. All power punches, all heavy handed. Is this what it’s supposed to be like for my first fight?

Two rounds past and it didn’t look good. My coach sat me down. I was breathing heavily. They lifted my arms up. He said, “Look, I’m not going to lie to you — you lost that round. You lost that round! Is this what you wanted? Is this why you trained so hard? For you to lose? All your hard work, all your training! You have one more round and you have to do better, you’ve got to throw more punches to win this fight, you got it?”

I nodded my head and with a fierce look in my eyes I threw everything I had. I was tired, I was out of breath and I didn’t know if I was going to win, if my form was proper, if I had any power behind my punches, but I gave it as much as I could. A minute into the round the ref told us to break — my opponent’s headgear shifted around for the third time and her corner needed to fix it.

Standing in the neutral corner, gasping for air, I was thinking, Oh my gosh, this is never going to end, it just won’t end! The gods are prolonging the pain! I just want to eat!

And then I said to myself, What am I saying? Why am I complaining? This is what you wanted. This is your first opportunity, your first fight, right here before you! Here, look, just don’t quit. Don’t quit. This is what it’s all about, you take the punches and you keep on hitting, you keep moving forward. It’s up to you now to find it, to get it done. No one else. Don’t quit. There’s only a few more seconds to your first fight, you’ve got to give it all you have. It’s up to you. YOU have to decide if you want it badly enough! Do you?!!

I did. Once we began to fight again I caught on that my opponent was swinging as if she were trying to knock me out. Knock outs in amateurs are few and far between, even rarer for women. But is she really trying to knock me out? In our first amateur fight?Okay, well, if this is the game she wants to play, let me show you how it’s done!!!

That’s when I began throwing combinations with no mercy. Her guard fell and I did my best to land consecutive, unrelenting power punches. In the last few minutes of the fight, I wasn’t pretending to box, I wasn’t pretending to fight. I became a fighter. I brought it to her and closed it out. The final bell rung, she, whether intentionally or not, threw in a cheap shot. I approached her, still in the zone, looking at her as if saying, you still want a piece of me?! The ref had to break us up and make us touch gloves.

Exhausted, out of breath and still trying to figure out what just happened in the past nine minutes, the ref took each hand and waited for the decision to be announced. “Good job guys, real close. Too bad there’s only one winner. 2-1-Split.”

I said to myself, It’s okay if I lost, I fought hard, I’ll learn from this. I tried my best.

“And your winner, from the BLUE corner, Amanda Wang.”

Oh Shoot!!!! Did they just say my name?!! What?!! I was shocked. I gathered my composure  and shook hands with my opponent, with her corner. I went back, still in shock. I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, we won. We did it.

*****

A few days passed and my coach said to me, “You must be happy.”

“Happy about what?”

“That you won.”

My coach is always testing his fighters, seeing what they’re made of. I could tell he was challenging me, so I thought about it before I opened my mouth. Sure I experienced something I’ve never felt before — working so hard for something until the very end, pushing with all your might and realizing what it feels like when athletes talk of determination, willpower and never quitting. I know I’m just an amateur, but I’ve never physically and mentally prepared so hard for something, so much so that in a weird way I didn’t want to connect all that work with just winning or losing.

Yes, the object of the sport is to win. Sure I had a big smile on my face; I was shocked, elated and riding a high. But the highs of the night fade away, crowds disperse into the parking lot and time continues to move forward. It’s sobering. It’s humbling. If I didn’t learn anything except that I won, then it would be hard to consider myself a fighter.

Fighters comes back to the gym and pick up where they left off. They listen to the lessons the match spoke of and grow from it. The fight has broken them down and now they must build themselves back up again. They prepare harder, smarter; they know that somehow, someway, the next fight will test them even further. They ask more from themselves, wondering whether or not they’re training harder than their opponent… because when you enter the ring, you can’t save it up for later. You have to leave it all out there on the floor.

I told my coach, with a serious face, “It’s not about winning. It’s about the fight.”

He looked at me with a smile. I think I passed the test.

*Special thanks goes out to all those who cheered me on, for your support, prayers and good vibes. To my coach Moises, my sparring partners Karen, Kevin, Ed, Hector & Susanna and everyone who helped prepare me for my first fight, I could not have done any of this without you. Thank you for getting me one step closer.

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