In 2019, I returned home to Kansas City to attend the University of Missouri–Kansas City in hopes of a fresh start. Just a few months earlier, I’d had a traumatic experience that would change my life forever.
Before my return home, I was on the national stage as a collegiate wrestler at Northern State University in Aberdeen, South Dakota — a Midwestern town much like the one I grew up in. I got involved early: student government, Student Athlete Advisory Committee, even serving as emcee for the homecoming ceremony. Given that Friday night football and wrestling were at the heart of the community, I felt like I belonged. Being welcomed so fully meant the world to me, and South Dakota quickly felt like home.
Wrestling was my whole world. I loved training every day with a team of guys who gave everything they had. We traveled across the region, and every match brought something new.
At the time, I wasn’t dating; I didn’t need to. Wrestling, training and campus life filled my cup. But I was out as gay to my teammates, coaches and even the NCAA, and I was respected as one of the team. These guys were my brothers, and that brotherhood meant everything.
Then came Halloween night.
