In the intensely masculine world of professional wrestling, Denise Winkelman once thrived as Dr. Melvin Winkelman, performing in over 500 shows across America's Midwest and South. Today, she shares her remarkable journey of transitioning and finding acceptance in an environment few would associate with gender diversity.
A Tense Reunion in Kentucky
Walking away from the merchandise table at a Northern Wrestling Federation event in Ludlow, Kentucky, Denise felt a familiar pang of disappointment. She had just encountered Wildcat Chris Harris, an old friend and colleague from her wrestling days. Expecting a warm reunion after eight years apart, she was met with a brief, brushed-off greeting that left her questioning how her transition would be received by those from her past.
"I spent the next couple of hours watching the show with a million thoughts running through my mind," Denise recalls. "As a trans woman still fairly early in my transition, I realized not everyone would be supportive. You never know how things will go when you see old friends."
An Unexpected Apology Changes Everything
After the show concluded, something remarkable happened. Wildcat Chris Harris approached Denise with a heartfelt apology and a warm embrace. "You look great. I didn't recognize you, but I'm so happy for you," he told her. In that moment, all her disappointment melted away. "His words meant more than any championship belt ever could," she reflects.
Early Recognition and Years of Suppression
Denise first recognized her gender identity at just four years old, though she wouldn't have the language to describe it until around age ten. Growing up in an extremely conservative evangelical Christian home created significant barriers to self-expression. "I wanted to tell my parents for years but I was afraid of their reaction, that they'd send me to a conversion camp," she explains.
This fear led to a deliberate decision to suppress her true identity. She immersed herself in sports and cultivated a hyper-masculine persona, believing that if she worked hard enough at wrestling and ignored her inner self, her true identity might simply disappear.
The Wrestling Years: Performance and Pain
Moving to Cincinnati in 2003 to pursue wrestling professionally, Denise found herself lonely and searching for community. She sent handwritten letters to local independent promoters, eventually landing with the Northern Wrestling Federation where she shared locker rooms with future stars like Jon Moxley and Karl Anderson.
Adopting the ring persona of mad scientist Dr. Melvin Winkelman, she performed in everything from street fights to blindfold matches. "For years, my life was wrestling: work, gym, train, shows, and on off-days, sitting around watching tapes," she remembers. Despite taking bruises, concussions, and chair shots, the physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional burden of hiding her true self.
"My way of masking my trans identity was to lean into the hyper-masculinity that wrestling gave me," Denise explains. "Outwardly, I was loud and tough. But offstage, I was quiet, withdrawn, and terrified of anyone getting too close."
The Turning Point: Leaving Wrestling Behind
By 2008, Denise made the difficult decision to leave wrestling behind. "My wrestling character had started to feel like a chain around my neck, and I felt so unfulfilled creatively," she says. The hyper-masculine performance hadn't made her true identity disappear as she had hoped.
She attempted what she calls "the American Dream" approach next, getting married in hopes that this traditional path might finally suppress her transgender identity. But soon, small aspects of her true self began to surface - an interest in makeup, feminine clothing, and other expressions she had long denied.
Therapy and the Beginning of Transition
Her then-wife eventually encouraged her to see a therapist. "As soon as I started talking about being trans, the big ole wall I had built had started to crumble," Denise describes. "It was like a little needle popping a hole in a balloon."
By 2012, maintaining the facade became impossible. "No matter how hard I'd tried to suppress it before, it was always there - like a smoke detector with a low battery you can't ignore, or a tap that won't stop dripping," she explains. "A constant reminder of who I really was inside - a woman."
Following her divorce that year, Denise relocated to Denver with her job and began her transition in earnest. The move proved transformative. "A lot of people had moved from other areas of the country to work at the Denver office," she notes. "Leaders, managers, entry-level workers, people of different religions, straight people, gay people, trans people - we all were new to the city and didn't know a lot of people. They became my second family."
Returning to Wrestling Circles as Her True Self
Coming out to wrestling friends proved nerve-wracking, but the responses surprised her with their kindness. "I braced myself for rejection, but most often, I got kindness," she says. Karl Anderson treated her like a sister, and after their initial awkward encounter, Wildcat Chris Harris became genuinely supportive.
"The most common response I got was: 'You look happy and finally look comfortable in your own skin. I'm proud of you. If anyone ever messes with you, they mess with us,'" Denise shares. These affirmations provided everything she had hoped for and more from her former colleagues.
Wrestling Lessons Applied to Authentic Living
Today, Denise has built a new life as a stand-up comedian, with her debut special "Bougie On A Budget" available for streaming. Yet the lessons from her wrestling years remain deeply integrated into her daily life.
"It taught me how to be tough and develop a thick skin - an essential for being trans in what, I'm sad to say, is a scary world for us right now," she reflects. "And also the resilience I'd need to live authentically every single day."
While life still presents challenges, Denise has found profound peace. "I haven't felt that drip in my head in 13 years," she says, referring to the constant reminder of her suppressed identity. "I'm confident and I feel so fortunate to be in a place where I can live life on my terms, to not live in constant fear. To be myself, because that's enough. And that's better than any championship belt."
