An in-depth report in espnW called the optics [of intergender wrestling] shocking” and “chilling”: “It is hard and it is complicated and it is fraught because two things can be true at once,” Hallie Grossman wrote. “It can be true that these women and men consent to be in a ring together and agree to inflict damage on one another’s bodies. It can also be true that it is unsettling to see and hear it happen. Especially with children looking on, young people who are still forming their world views. Especially with potential survivors of domestic violence looking on, people whose worldviews already know abuse.”

Mia Yim (also known as Jade) is a noted intergender competitor who has also been vocal about surviving domestic violence. She’s particularly adamant that simulated violence between men and women in the wrestling ring does not excuse or invite actual violence between romantic partners.

“We choose to get in the ring. We’re trained to keep ourselves and our opponents safe. But when someone brings it back home, that’s not wrestling anymore. That is not entertainment. That is just straight abuse,” Yim, who is an ambassador for intimate partner violence organization Safe Horizon, told The Huffington Post in 2016.

“Anyone [who] believes intergender wrestling and domestic violence are in any way similar is ignorant in the worst way,” Grace told ABP via email.

The difference comes down to the concept of kayfabe. In wrestling parlance, kayfabe refers to the fictional reality where wrestling exists. In other words, it’s fake. All the violence that takes place in the ring has been agreed upon by the wrestlers beforehand. There are no victims, only heros and heels.

In fact, some female wrestlers say battling men makes them stronger. Third-generation wrestler Tessa Blanchard, who won the All In women’s match, told VICE Sports she likes intergender wrestling “because I could show that I could go toe-to-toe with one of the guys. I don’t think that I would be the athlete or the wrestler that I am today if I didn’t have some of the intergender matches that I’ve had … The way that [men] think, the way that they act in the ring, the way that they move, their timing, their position … It forced me to step my game up and start thinking that way … so now I’m able to do that in my [women’s] matches.”

“[W]hen someone brings it back home, that’s not wrestling anymore. That is not entertainment. That is just straight abuse.”

This isn’t to insinuate that male wrestlers are inherently “better” at wrestling, but that perhaps they’ve been trained and conditioned to go no-holds-barred in the ring. Whereas women wrestlers were long taught to go heavy on the slapping and hair pulling, “[n]ow we’re able to go out there and hang with the boys; show them that we’re just as tough, we’re just as mean, we’re just as strong,” Blanchard said.

“I believe [intergender wrestling is] empowering to both men and women,” Grace agrees.