The walls of Heather Hardy`s small office at Gleason`s Gym in Brooklyn are covered with photos that tell the story of her 11-year boxing career. Pictures show her in a green outfit to celebrate her Irish background, and in another, she`s in workout clothes with red boxing gloves over her shoulder. Many photos capture moments of victory, with referees raising her hand.
Now, a year into an unplanned retirement because of head injuries from boxing, the 43-year-old struggles as these photos bring back memories of better times. Then, her eyes stop on one photo that makes her lose her composure. It`s a picture of Heather at 21, holding her baby daughter, Annie, who was less than a year old.
“I feel so sorry for her. I wish I could tell her that no one is going to help you,” Hardy said, tears welling up. “You`re going to have to do everything on your own.”
She isn`t talking to Annie now, but to her younger self.
These are possibly the toughest times for the former World Boxing Organization featherweight champion, who has both given and taken many hard hits. Her brain doesn`t seem to work quite right anymore. Her short-term memory is unreliable. Getting out of bed is hard. Her balance is unsteady, and her vision is uncertain. Even training fighters at Gleason`s, which is how she makes a living, is exhausting.
Hardy is determined to reform the boxing management system, which she feels often exploits fighters and fails to teach them about health and financial planning during their careers. The excitement of being in the ring and the chance for bigger paychecks often distract fighters from the dangers of physical damage that can appear later in life. By then, there is often little or no support available. Hardy insists this must change.
“My nose never got broken. No scars on my face,” Hardy says, looking at the photo. “I didn`t even know what my life would be. I thought I had already seen hard times then.”
Tears roll down her face behind pink, heart-shaped glasses, and her voice trembles.
BOXING GAVE HARDY fame and recognition, but it came at a great cost. Her aggressive style – willing to absorb punches to land her own – made her popular with fans and helped sell tickets. Her Brooklyn and Irish connections, along with her outspoken personality in interviews, also added to her appeal. She also brought a unique style to weigh-ins with bright outfits, red lipstick, and stylish glasses.
“She made people excited about women`s boxing again,” said actress and boxing fan Rosie Perez. “People don`t give her enough credit for that. She really did.”
For five years, Hardy was a leading figure in women`s boxing – known as the First Lady of Lou DiBella`s boxing promotion and a Brooklyn favorite with a 24-3 record. She reached her peak just before the big payouts became common for stars like Amanda Serrano, Katie Taylor, and Claressa Shields.
Hardy earned more than most female boxers of her time, though she`s unsure of her exact career earnings. However, even as a world champion, it wasn`t enough for retirement. Her highest payment was $90,000 for fighting Serrano in 2023.
Last year, a neurologist diagnosed her with a traumatic brain injury after a 32-fight career with too many head punches, concussions, and other injuries.
“I am worried about Heather Hardy,” said Larry Goldberg, a former client and promoter.
The last year and a half have been marked by unpredictable behavior and mood swings. She sometimes forgets to eat. Vision and balance issues have made it hard for her to move around, even to cross streets safely.
Hardy says marijuana and alcohol help to lessen her symptoms, despite medical warnings about alcohol`s negative effects on brain injuries. Recently, she shared on Instagram that she had returned to Alcoholics Anonymous.
Stories like Hardy`s are common for men in boxing. Bruce Silverglade, owner of Gleason`s for 42 years, says Hardy is the first woman fighter he`s worked with to show these symptoms.
“I don`t think she`s getting better,” Silverglade said. “I think she needs help.”
Hardy mentioned that doctors advised rest for her brain to heal. Her social worker suggested taking daily photos to help with her short-term memory.
Hardy didn`t have health insurance when she retired. It wasn`t until September that she was diagnosed. With limited job options, she earns a living by training clients at Gleason`s.
At Gleason`s, Hardy found a sense of stability and community – a refuge from the physical and sexual abuse she has experienced outside the gym.
Hardy often blames promoters, managers, and athletic commissions for her situation. However, it`s hard to get her to acknowledge her own responsibility for some of her choices.
“Last year was some of the worst months of my life,” Hardy said. “And I`ve lived a life. And it didn`t have to be like this, that`s the saddest part. Because I kept thinking: How could all these people not care if I died?”
WHAT HELP LOOKS LIKE is complicated. Hardy says financial and medical assistance are most urgent, but she also wants to fix a system that has not addressed unfairness in promotion, representation, and the pay gap between male and female boxers.
Despite her current condition, Hardy is hesitant to discourage others from boxing, believing it helps more people than it harms. She says she would choose the same career again.
“I`m the first one facing this awful, messed up situation,” she said. “When I reached out for help, everyone turned their backs on me. That`s terrible. It`s wrong. It`s cruel.”
She specifically criticized DiBella, her former promoter, and the New York State Athletic Commission (NYSAC), which oversaw most of her fights.
Mentioning DiBella caused a string of curses. She and her family criticized him for lack of support after their long partnership. Hardy said DiBella offered to start a GoFundMe, but she refused, not wanting her fans to feel obligated to donate again.
Silverglade said DiBella was initially supportive, paying $4,000 for her office space rent at Gleason`s. However, payments stopped, possibly due to Hardy`s online insults about DiBella.
DiBella declined to comment, only saying he still cares for Hardy and wishes her well.
It`s hard to determine who is at fault. Hardy made her own choices. But boxing fighters are essentially freelancers. There`s no union, league, or reliable protection system. Hardy believes this must change.
“She feels DiBella should have done more because she`s alone, but there`s no legal requirement,” Silverglade said. “Morally? Well, she`s not alone. Every fighter faces this eventually.”
NYSAC has no fund for retired fighters in need. The World Boxing Council provided some financial help through a fighter fund. Goldberg and others also contributed.
At Gleason`s, trainers cover her clients when she needs time off and bring extra breakfast to help with her weight loss. Clients have prepaid for training and offered financial help.
Brit Phelan, a client and filmmaker, cast Hardy in her Kickstarter-funded film, `Something Happened,` where Hardy plays a trainer of female vigilantes. Phelan is helping Hardy create an acting reel.
“These are all my best friends,” Hardy said about the people at Gleason`s.
HARDY HAD TO sell tickets for almost every fight, including $10,000 worth for her first one. As she became more popular, demand grew. She was the first woman to sign a long-term deal with DiBella.
She sold tickets at the gym, in her neighborhood, and local bars. Gleason`s bought blocks of seats.
She took Annie to school and worked at Gleason`s in the morning. If her fight was at Barclays Center in Brooklyn, she`d run there in a plastic suit for cardio. Then she`d pick up $10,000 in tickets, wrap them in plastic bags, and run back to Gleason`s.
She organized seating charts and made sure her family sat together. Her sister helped collect money. Hardy sometimes prepared will-call envelopes herself and dropped them at the box office.
“I used to say I was a part-time fighter and a part-time ticket seller,” Hardy said.
Her ability to sell tickets increased her local fame. She got an Everlast sponsorship but struggled to get higher billing on fight cards.
A 2015 fight at Barclays Center was particularly upsetting. She had presold thousands in tickets but fought early on the card, before the doors opened. Fans couldn`t get in.
Her theme song, `Girl on Fire,` played as she entered, but there was no crowd, no cheering. She won but never forgot the embarrassment. She said a sponsor backed out because of it.
“You felt bad,” Perez said, recalling another early fight of Hardy`s. “There was nobody there. It was sparse. It was tense.”
In 2018, Hardy said she called an HBO executive while drunk and pushed to get her featherweight title fight televised. She won her World Boxing Organization title against Shelly Vincent and slept on the couch that night in her small apartment, her belt on the table and her daughter Annie in the bed.
Finances were always a problem, partly due to pay and partly her choices. In 2017-18, she switched to MMA for better pay. She says if she`d made enough money, she might have retired after winning the WBO title.
Silverglade noticed Hardy slowing down and tried to dissuade her from fighting. “It was like talking to a wall because she needed the money,” he said.
Pride and financial insecurity kept her going until she lost her title to Serrano in 2019. She returned in 2021, losing to Jessica Camara. Her relationship with DiBella worsened. Goldberg and DiBella collaborated on her next two fights. Then she fought Serrano again.
“It`s like a bad boyfriend,” Hardy said about boxing. “No matter how many times it breaks your heart, I go back. MMA was like the boyfriend with money and a good job. But I still went back to boxing, trying to fix things.”
ONE MORNING last month, Hardy arrived at Gleason`s in white glasses, a white outfit, pink socks, and sandals. It was a good morning; her symptoms were mild enough for her to work.
Hardy`s peripheral vision is poor, and her brain damage makes physical contact risky, preventing sparring and limiting her use of punching mitts. She uses foam noodle sticks for clients to jab at. She typically works about four hours before fatigue sets in.
Under a banner reading `Home of World WBO Champion Featherweight Heather The Heat Hardy,` she helps her first client with gloves.
Between rounds, she talks to clients about their lives, school, and spring break, seeing herself as part therapist, friend, and trainer. Clients say Hardy has greatly improved their boxing and lives.
Hardy moves between rings to check on clients, pausing for marijuana outside, which she says helps with pain and facial twitching.
During a session, Hardy suddenly sits down, feeling dizzy. Her body temperature drops, then she sweats, removes her glasses, leaves her phone, and goes to the bathroom to vomit—a daily event.
It`s 7:48 a.m.
HARDY TOOK 278 punches against Serrano in their 2023 fight in Texas, including 242 power punches in 20 minutes. She lost by decision. Hardy cried afterward, while Serrano praised her friend and sparring partner.
“Heather is a hell of a fighter,” Serrano said. “She`s incredibly tough.”
Serrano said she gave Hardy the fight for a payday and to showcase her friend.
Seniesa Estrada, a retired champion, visited after the fight to congratulate Hardy, noting her courage whether winning or losing.
Estrada thought it might be Hardy`s last fight. Friends and family hoped so. Hardy was unsure, needing to pay bills. But she knew her vision and brain were not right.
Hardy`s mother, Linda, had seen her daughter take hits before, but Heather would hide some things. This time, she was honest, reporting double vision, poor peripheral vision, and dizziness.
Linda didn`t want her to fly home, fearing a blood clot, and offered to drive her back to New York. Days later, Hardy called from Texas to say she was in the ER with post-concussion symptoms and couldn`t fight for six months.
Back in New York, dizziness made training impossible, and she started having seizures. Stubbornness and lack of insurance kept her from seeking help. Her weight loss was noticeable.
“It was clearly more than a concussion,” said Ronica Jeffrey, a friend and fellow fighter.
HARDY DESPERATELY NEEDED money after being out of the ring. In early 2024, she was offered $50,000 for a bare-knuckle fight in May, including a $10,000 advance. She accepted it as a financial necessity.
Associates urged her to withdraw. “You have a child, other reasons to live,” Jeffrey said. “Your story shouldn`t be dying in the ring for money.”
After days of vision problems after light sparring, she saw a doctor. Ophthalmologist Dr. Anthony Curreri said the problem was her brain, not just her eyes.
To the relief of those close to her, Hardy decided to retire.
The following months were confusing, seeking diagnosis and insurance while needing financial aid.
“There`s no system for her except WBC goodwill, but there are 6,000 boxers and no protection for someone like Heather,” Goldberg said.
Hardy got Medicaid in September after a seizure at NYU Langone Medical Center, making neurological testing affordable. Her diagnoses: post-concussion syndrome, traumatic brain injuries, depression, and insomnia, explaining her memory loss.
Finally, Hardy received the help her friends and family had urged. She has therapy, neurologist appointments, and sees a psychiatrist monthly. Access-A-Ride was set up for transport to doctors and work.
“I had damaged parts that would never recover,” Hardy said. “It`s terrifying to lose parts of your brain and not know what they are or how to fix it.”
HARDY STARTED BOXING later than most pros. She graduated from John Jay College in 2005 with a forensic psychology degree, holding Annie at graduation.
Before Annie, she considered the FBI or law enforcement. With a child, it seemed impossible. In 2010, her marriage struggled.
Her sister gifted her kickboxing classes. The first gym visit felt right. Hardy knew she was meant to fight.
She won amateur kickboxing and turned to boxing, winning the 2011 nationals at 125 pounds. Professionally, she worked six jobs to pay bills.
Annie always came first. Hardy sacrificed financially to ensure Annie`s education and needs, paying for most of her college.
Friends say financial management wasn`t Hardy`s strength, and boyfriends sometimes added to her distress.
Facing fragile health and domestic issues, Hardy chose to “fight for my life right now” over tolerating abuse and risking survival.
Hardy`s next fight is to help abused women and advocate for better fighter protection: insurance, physicals, union representation, and boxer rights education. City Hall efforts have had limited results.
A city spokesperson said they support Hardy`s efforts and are reviewing the New York State Boxing Bill for potential improvements.
Perez credits Hardy for pushing for advancements now benefiting women`s boxing, even if she didn`t benefit as much herself.
“I`d say to her, I see what you did for boxing and women. You made people pay attention, and I thank you. I`m happy you`re retired, and know you still have fans.” Perez said.