Sports Illustrated had named Rhonda Rousey the "world's most dominant athlete." And she had had quite a run at that point: the first US woman ever to win an Olympic medal in Judo; the youngest woman to ever qualify for the Olympics, at age 14; consistently one of the top three ranked judo champions in the world before transitioning into mixed martial arts, where she quickly dominated and became a world champion; going into November of last year, she was 12-0 as an MMA fighter, and only one fighter had ever even survived the first round … eight of her twelve challengers were defeated in less than a minute.

And then, in November 2015, she lost—badly. In an interview shortly after that devastating loss she said, "I was literally sitting there and thinking about killing myself and at that exact second I'm like, 'I'm nothing. What do I do anymore? And, no one [cares] about me anymore without this.'"

Her whole identity was inseparable from her image as the "most dominant athlete in the world." Without this—if she couldn't be this person—if she couldn't have this identity—if she couldn't be known for being this person, she was nothing! She was good for nothing. She was unlovable.