Santo Chiappetta

Transcript

and seven. I'm in a dimly lit boxing gym. Skipping ropes snapping against the wood floors, gloves thundering against the heavy bags, fighters breathing quickly. People from all walks of life are here. Public servants, guys looking for a second chance, all learning the sweet science of boxing. But something doesn't quite add up because in a room full of fighters, Boyz II Men love songs are playing in the background. I couldn't figure out if I signed up for boxing lessons or baby-making lessons.

So I asked my coach, "Coach, why are we listening to this?" He stops, smiles, and says, "Because it's all about sharing the love, brother man. Yeah, yeah, yeah." Seriously. Then he said something to me that really stuck. He said, "Everybody thinks that boxing is about anger and aggression. But fighting, real fighting, comes from love. When you fight from anger, it's fear. But when you fight from love, it's clear. You'll do anything to win." At the time, I laughed because nothing says undisputed champion like four grown men harmonizing in the background.

But then I realized something. I've been fighting from anger long before I ever put on gloves. Let me take you back. I'm 8 years old. Now, I come from a big Italian family. And if you're Italian, you know, everything is loud and dramatic. So picture me walking home from school, crying my head off, backpack on, bigger than my torso, crying as if my life just ended. Like Italian-level drama crying, Okay? As if someone just canceled Sunday dinner. [snorts] I get home.

The kitchen smells like garlic and onions. My mom is stirring the sauce like it personally offended her. She's She's 4'11. Middle child of 16. Yeah, life didn't give her softness. It gave her survival. All right? After a few minutes of my performance, she finally snaps. "Go sit down. Be quiet. You're too sensitive." Eight words. Eight words that taught me something that I would carry for years. Sensitive meant weak. So, I learned new rules. No crying. No sharing. No feeling. I thought that was strength.

For years, I carried those rules everywhere I went. School, relationships, sports. I boxed hard. I trained even harder. I tried to be tough. On the outside, I looked focused. On the inside, I was an emotional volcano waiting to erupt. As courses failed, relationships fell apart, grieving the loss of my grandfather, I didn't talk about any of it. Because tough guys don't cry. They suppress. But suppressed emotions don't just disappear. They wait to erupt sometimes at the worst time possible. It's 2012.

I'm going for my fourth Golden Gloves title. Second round, I get hit with a Mike Tyson punch I never saw coming. Fight over. As I'm staring up at the lights, in that moment, I realized I didn't just lose to my opponent. After all those years of fighting with anger and fear, I lost myself. The grief, pressure, the breakup, something had to change. I had to break through this false narrative. After the loss, I came back focused on what really mattered. Me.

Before the bell rang for my next fight, I lean into the corner and I say the words the 8-year-old me would have never said. Coach, I'm nervous. He stops, smiles, and says, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, brother. Mad nerves are good. That means your body's ready." Ready. Not soft, not weak. Ready. For the first time, I was fighting out of love for me. And when you fight from love, it's clear. Clear why you fight, clear what is right, clear as to what makes you ignite.

What about you? What are you holding back from in fighting against out of anger and fear? On that night, I won. But not because I wasn't sensitive or suppressed my emotions, but because I finally let them work for me. The boy in the kitchen thought he had to change who he was. The man in the ring understood that he just had to understand who he is. That's the breakthrough. Strength is not about becoming harder, it's about becoming honest. So, now, before a big fight or give a little conversation or come to speak on stage, I don't listen to fight music.

I listen to Boyz II Men. Because nothing says undisputed champion like four grown men in the background harmonizing to notes that you absolutely cannot hit. But here's what I know now. When you fight from anger, it's fear. When you fight from love, it's clear. And that clarity always wins. Thanks coach.

Transcript generated from the recording and lightly cleaned. Some names and wording may differ from the spoken speech.